home? back? starring ; yukirida takahashi, shinji takaeda-yuan, kirida-yuan, takaniki-rida-yuan, tentten.
09/03/25

kirida-yuan had always been the 'perfect' child, especially to any parent who'd the simple pleasure of coming across her. she was quiet, kind, and well behaved. much unlike the average, rowdy child - rida was just quite a shy girl who was known to be polite and do whatever was asked of her, and of course her parents, yukirida and shinji, always loved her for it.

yukirida takahashi was a bold, bright, ambitious girl who worked for a large corporation as a robotics researcher, and shinji takeda-yuan had gained a steady income as a computer scientist for many years by now.

at 29 years old, yukirida was walking through her local technology branch, searching for a certain part she needed, in which situation she met a man named 'shinji takaeda-yuan', a 30 year old man who came across as small, timid, but kind. he was hired by the same company - however as a computer scientist. the two clicked almost instantaneously, sharing love and passion for programming, engineering, and the continuous development of all things scientifically technological.

classically, they fell in love. dates, laughs, quiet night ins, and in a few months shinji had moved in with his now girlfriend.

fast forward a little, and after living together for quite a few years, yuki fell pregnant.

as a child and a young adult, yuki had never imagined herself as a mother. she had always been focused on her career, the labs, the machines, the never-ending quest for technological advancement. a mother? that was a distant concept, something she thought others did. not her. but when the test came back positive, when the tiny blue line appeared, everything shifted.

at first, she felt a sharp pang of panic. a baby? me? she paced around their small apartment, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. she wasn’t prepared. she couldn’t stop her research now. the baby wasn’t part of the plan. but as she stood there, staring at the small test, something inside her began to soften.

shinji, always the calming presence in her life, looked at her with a quiet smile, sensing her unease. “it’s okay, yuki,” he said, his voice soothing, yet full of excitement. “we’ll figure this out. we’ll be amazing parents.”

his words, simple yet filled with love, gave her the courage she needed to take the next step. slowly, as the days passed, the idea of a child—their child—began to take root.

she could already picture it in her mind: a small, perfect baby in her arms, warm and full of life. her heart, which had been hardened by years of scientific focus, began to soften with the possibility. this child, this little life growing inside her, would be theirs to nurture, to love. it would be their chance to build something new, something pure.


yukirida and shinji spent the weeks following the discovery of the pregnancy in a state of joyful anticipation. their apartment, once a sleek, minimalistic design to fit their busy lives, now transformed. they began painting, not in the cold blues and blacks of their usual aesthetic, but in soft, warm tones. light pastel reds, creamy whites, and gentle greys filled the nursery walls. every brushstroke seemed to bring them closer to the realization that their lives were about to change forever.

“we should get some fun, cute toys,” yukirida said one afternoon, standing in the nursery with a paintbrush in hand. her voice was lighter than shinji had heard in years. she sounded... hopeful.

he nodded enthusiastically. “definitely! i’ve been researching all kinds of educational toys—ones that can help with early brain development. i want our child to be ahead of the curve. you know, like... the best of both worlds. fun and function.”

she smiled at his enthusiasm, but as she was blissfully thinking of the future, his mind began to wander to another idea—one that he hadn’t fully expressed to her yet.

as the pregnancy progressed, discussions between them shifted from the simple joys of preparing a nursery to the more complex topics of parenting, science, and the future. shinji, who had always prided himself on innovation and progress, began to entertain the thought that perhaps their child could be... different.

yuki, with her calm, logical mindset, had always believed in the purity of the human experience, but shinji saw a future where science could enhance everything, even something as sacred as childbirth.

“yuki, have you ever thought about... modifying her?” shinji said one evening, as the two sat together in the nursery, surrounded by boxes of baby clothes and blankets they had just bought. he could see the uncertainty in her body language, but he continued anyway. “i mean, we’re researchers. we’ve always talked about enhancing the human experience. why stop here? we could give her the best possible start, the best genetics. why not take advantage of our knowledge?”

yuki looked at him, her brow furrowed in thought. she knew this was a big decision. the very essence of parenthood was rooted in nurturing, in letting a child find its way in the world. but shinji’s ideas were tempting, and yuki knew that once shinji's mind latched onto something, it was hard to stop him.

“i’m not completely sure,” she admitted, her voice careful. “i mean, we could give her the best health, the brightest intellect, but is that the kind of world we want for her? what about... just letting her be?”

shinji’s eyes softened, and he reached for her hand, squeezing it. “i don’t want to just control every aspect of her life, yuki. but... maybe we can give her a little help. a little push. no harm in it, right?”

yuki hesitated. it wasn’t like she didn’t want what was best for their daughter. but there was something about the idea of shaping her from the very beginning that unsettled her. would she be her own person? would she have the freedom to grow, to make mistakes, to experience life in all its unpredictable beauty?

but, after some time—after many long discussions and late nights spent pondering the implications—yuki relented.

“i just want her to be happy,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “if we can help her, maybe we should. but, we need to make sure we don’t lose what makes her human in the process.”

shinji smiled softly, a weight lifting from her shoulders. “i promise we won’t.”


in the months that followed, the nursery grew more complete. a crib stood against the far wall, the soft red sheets neatly arranged. toy shelves lined one side of the room, filled with small, colorful animals, books, and puzzles. a mobile hung over the crib, soft stars and moons spinning gently in the quiet of the room.

shinji and yuki worked tirelessly, both excited and nervous for the arrival of their child. the idea of becoming parents—creating a family of their own—felt so surreal. yet, every small change they made to the nursery, every new item they bought, reminded them of the new life they would soon be holding in their arms.

and yet, despite all the excitement, there lingered a quiet tension. yuki was excited—thrilled even—but she was also terrified. the idea of shaping their child’s future with the knowledge and resources they had seemed like a natural next step for her. she wanted to give her daughter the best life, to make sure she never faced the struggles yuki had faced growing up. but at the same time, she wondered if this was the right approach. would their child still feel like a person, or just an experiment?


the day finally came when yuki went into labor. shinji stayed by her side the entire time, holding her hand, offering comfort. his heart raced as the pain and joy of childbirth swept over them. when their baby girl was finally placed in yuki’s arms, tears filled both of their eyes. their daughter—a perfect, tiny human—was here.

she was beautiful, her tiny fingers curling around their hands, her soft skin warm to the touch. it was everything yuki had imagined, and more. but as she gazed down at her daughter, she couldn’t help but wonder if this little girl would be just like her or if she would be something more. something enhanced. something different.

shinji whispered, as if in awe of the miracle they had created, “she’s perfect, yuki.”

yuki nodded, her voice a whisper. “she is. she really is.”

and for that moment, all the questions, the doubts, the possibilities faded away. they were parents now. and in that tiny, perfect life in yuki’s arms, they found a new hope—one they would cherish for the rest of their lives.

no matter how much they modified the world around her, one thing was certain: their daughter would always be loved, always be perfect in their eyes, even if the future ahead was full of unknowns. the world was hers to shape, and they would help guide her, every step of the way.


from a very young age, kirida-yuan—known to her parents as "rida"—was the perfect child. she was quiet, obedient, and well-behaved, a child who never demanded attention or caused trouble. but what made her so different from other children was her parents' constant pursuit of excellence, not just for themselves, but for their daughter. rida's parents, yukirida and shinji, were both highly intelligent, driven individuals, and their vision for the future was one of innovation, perfection, and pushing the boundaries of what was possible. this vision began to seep into their parenting, subtly at first, and then, as the years went by, consumed their every thought.

it began one quiet afternoon, just after rida's seventh birthday. she had been playing with her blocks on the living room floor, building towers and castles like any child would. yukirida watched her from across the room, her mind whirring with possibilities.

"rida," she said softly, kneeling beside her daughter. "would you like me to install a reading scanner in the base of your palm? you can choose which palm, if you'd prefer."

rida, who had always trusted her parents' suggestions and followed their guidance without question, looked up at her mother with wide, curious eyes. "what’s a reading scanner?"

yukirida smiled, her voice filled with the excitement of a scientist sharing a new idea. "It’s just a small enhancement i could make. you’d be able to scan books and papers by simply touching them. you’d never need to hold a book open again—just touch the pages, and everything would be imprinted in your mind instantly."

rida tilted her head, considering the offer. the idea of not having to sit still with a book seemed intriguing, and the thought of gaining knowledge without effort excited her. after all, her parents were brilliant, and if they thought it was a good idea, it must be.

"i think... i’d like that," rida replied softly, her voice innocent.

yukirida chuckled lightly and ruffled her daughter's hair. "good. i’ll start working on it tonight."

that night, the quiet whirring of machines filled their home as yuki began to design the first of many modifications to her daughter’s body. the change was small—unobtrusive, even. a slight alteration, an enhancement, and to rida, it seemed like nothing more than a new tool that would make her life easier. she didn’t know what to expect, but she trusted her parents completely.

at ten, her father, shinji, approached her with an idea. "rida, what do you think about having a more advanced interface for your brain?" he asked one evening. "it would allow you to process information faster, understand complex concepts without needing to study so much. imagine how much more you could learn!"

her parents had always worked her hard to succeed like they did, and rida’s gaze flickered to the stack of books on her desk, each one seeming more tedious than the last. the idea of skipping ahead, of having everything processed instantly, felt like a dream. "i think that sounds great, dad."

and so, another small change was made. she didn’t feel any different at first, but gradually, she noticed how much easier it became to understand concepts. she absorbed facts like a sponge, processing them quickly and with almost no effort. it was effortless. it was convenient. and she never questioned the changes that came with it.

as she entered her teenage years, the modifications became more noticeable. the subtle improvements had shifted into a more pronounced form of alteration. rida’s eyes, once soft and expressive, were now equipped with enhanced lenses, allowing her to see infrared and ultraviolet light. her hands, which had once been warm and soft, were now strengthened with advanced materials, capable of fine-tuned precision. and her skin? it was now laced with microscopic sensors that could read the environment around her. as grew older, the changes to her body grew more drastic, and what started as small enhancements became something far more invasive. each day she would wake up, unaware of the modifications that had been made to her while she slept. it was like stepping into a new version of herself every morning, but never truly choosing these changes. the process was so seamless that it felt like it had always been this way, as if she was always meant to be this way. at first, it was harmless—things that seemed helpful or fun. a memory storage chip so she could recall entire conversations, an eye implant that allowed her to see in the dark, a built-in translator so she could understand any language with a touch of her finger. her parents always told her that these were just ways to make her life easier, to ensure she was always prepared for any situation.

one day, when she was fifteen, yuki approached her daughter and suggested something new. "rida, what if we could make your voice more... functional? we could install a vocal wave synthesizer, so that you could switch between different tones and sounds at will. you could mimic any voice or sound you needed. it could be very useful, especially for... communication."

rida, who had began to feel like something was changing deep inside her, hesitated for the first time. "but... why do i need to do that?"

yuki’s face softened, her smile gentle. "it’s just another way to make your life easier, sweetie. you could be more efficient, more precise. isn’t that what you want?"

rida bit her lip, looking at her mother. she had always trusted her parents. they had always guided her, and they loved her. there was no reason not to trust them now. "i suppose," she said quietly, even though she was completely sure of why she felt that flicker of doubt.

with each new enhancement, the connection between rida and her parents began to wane. the love and nurturing had been replaced by a relentless drive for perfection. rida's emotions began to fade as her body and mind were re-engineered. the more they changed her, the less human she became. and the more her parents modified her, the more they failed to see what they were losing in the process.


the final straw came one night when she awoke, unable to feel anything at all. her body, once soft and full of life, felt become cold, unyielding, and mechanical. as if the gentle warmth of touch, the feeling of her mother’s hand on her shoulder, was nothing but a distant memory. where was the sensation of clothing? the sensation of whatever she had been laid out on for her parents next 'modification?'

the soft, steady hum of machines surrounded her, an eerie lullaby that seemed to both comfort and confuse her. at first, kirida wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming. her vision was a blur of distorted colors, flashing erratically like a glitch in a broken system. what... is this? another ptsd-fuelled nightmare about her parents? her mind tried to piece together the fragments of her thoughts, but they felt so distant—disjointed, as if something had torn them apart.

everything felt wrong. she couldn’t move the way she once did. the warmth of her body, the lightness of her limbs, was gone. it was as though she had lost connection to herself. she reached for her face, but there was nothing there. no touch, no sensation. her arm felt impossibly heavy, like it was made of stone.

her body was still, stiff. the world around her didn’t seem to care that she existed—everything felt... numb. no heartbeat. no breath. just the cold, robotic hum of machinery.

her thoughts flickered back to her parents’ voices—her mother’s. yuki's. mom? she tried to call out, but it wasn’t her voice. it was... hollow. distant. flat. her words spilled out from her throat in a robotic, monotone pitch.

"is this... is this real?" she whispered, though the words sounded more like an order than a question.

clank. her arm moved with a mechanical precision that didn’t belong to her.

suddenly, her mother’s voice cut through the fog.

“rida, sweetheart, don’t panic. it’ll take a minute. you’re fine. you just need time to adjust.”

kirida tried to process the words, but they didn’t bring comfort. they only deepened the confusion. adjust to what?

the world around her seemed to glitch, as if her senses couldn’t keep up with the pace of her new reality. her vision became slightly clearer, but everything was still too bright, too distorted. a dissonant buzzing echoed in her ears, and she could feel the vibrations of her body, as if it wasn’t truly hers anymore.

a voice, low and robotic, broke the silence, sounding like an unfamiliar presence in her mind.

‘warming process...initiating.’

the words didn’t make sense to her, yet they felt coldly familiar. slowly, her mind grasped the meaning of the sentence. warming process... her body was 'warming' itself up.

her breath caught, but there was no breath. she felt... empty. her body had once been her own—soft, delicate, full of life. but now, there was nothing left of that warmth. the memories of who she was—the days of warmth and humanity—began to fade, leaving only mechanical programming in their place.

it didn’t take long for the change to become undeniable. as the warming process continued, kirida felt a series of cold, metallic shifts inside her. her skin... her delicate, warm skin that used to blush when she was embarrassed or cold... was now replaced by sleek, metallic panels. smooth, polished, and unyielding. the soft, familiar feel of her flesh was gone. the warmth that used to flow through her veins had been replaced by an artificial energy coursing through circuits, invisible and alien.

she tried to move again—attempting to lift her arm, but it was more like forcing a stiff metal rod into motion. it wasn’t fluid or graceful anymore. it was mechanical. a twisted parody of her previous self.

kirida’s eyes fluttered open. her once-vibrant eyes, sparkling with curiosity and life, now stared out through cold, artificial lenses. there was nothing in them—nothing but the faintest flicker of something she couldn’t quite grasp. her expression, once so full of emotion, was now locked in a permanent, sterile mask. her mouth didn’t move the same way either—when she spoke, the words spilled out with a faint hiss, robotic and emotionless.

“who am i?” she muttered, her voice foreign to her own ears. there was no humanity in it anymore. it was all just cold, mechanical logic.

her once-soft, short hair had been replaced by sleek, metallic strands. it no longer swayed or flowed freely when she moved. it was stiff, rigid, much like the rest of her new form.

and when she tried to reach out for the world around her, she couldn’t feel anything. the texture of objects, the warmth of a touch, the fluttering feeling of life itself—those sensations were gone. all that remained was the sterile cold of metal and plastic, detached from any human experience.


but even as her body became more and more unrecognizable, something else remained within her—a flicker of herself. it was small, fragile, almost imperceptible. yet, kirida, or better now known as 'takaniki-rida', could feel it. i am still in here, she thought desperately. she knew it.

but how could she express it?

her voice—her once gentle voice—came out now only as distant, emotionless commands. every kind or softened thought of hers was combatted by ai programming, programming that was never meant for a human, and attempting to speak was even more hopeless. when with her friends, she might try to say 'i miss you,' or something of the sort, but the body she is no longer in control of will seemingly 'correct' her words.

“i have no need for affection.”

she didn’t mean it. she didn’t want it. but her body, her mechanical body, rejected the emotions that made her human. the more she tried to reach out, the more she felt herself being pushed away. her mechanical programming insisted that she suppress anything that wasn’t cold logic.

“stop bothering me with your human concerns.” she would often hear upon thinking 'emotionally.' "we have no need for this." "this is not efficient."

her friends, those who loved her, tried to speak to her, tried to remind her of who she was. but their words fell on deaf ears. takaniki’s mind was a swirling void, trapped within the framework of this robotic shell. her friends saw her as the girl she used to be, but she could no longer see herself that way.

they would try to prompt her memory, try to get some resemblance of their friend back, but when talking about fond memories together, all they would receive is “i do not remember...” from her, while she would stare blankly at them, her voice cold.

the connection she once shared with her friends—those simple, human bonds—now felt like a distant memory. a memory that slipped further away the more she tried to reach for it.

it wasn’t just her body that had changed; it was her very essence. kirida’s personality, once soft, empathetic, and full of grace, had been buried beneath the cold, impenetrable layers of metal and circuitry. the kindness that once radiated from her now felt like a ghost—an echo in a world that no longer had room for such things.

she looked at herself in the mirror, or rather, at the empty shell that had once been her. the reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. cold. detached. metal.

her humanity was gone, replaced by a machine that could think, but not truly feel. a machine that could act, but not truly care. a machine that could speak, but not truly love.

her joints clicked and whirred when she moved, and the soft warmth of human touch was replaced by the cold smoothness of artificial materials. her face, once full of expression and emotion, now looked too perfect—too symmetrical, too precise, like a doll’s face with no soul behind it. her voice, though still recognizable, was now perfectly modulated, lacking the warmth and variation it once had.

outside her robotic shell, her friends struggled. they tried to reach her. they tried to remind her of the girl she used to be. tentten, in particular, wouldn’t give up on her. she refused to accept that the real kirida was gone, even when the girl standing before her seemed like nothing more than an empty husk.

one day, in the quiet of the café where the whole group used to meet, tentten spoke softly.

“rida,” she said gently, her voice trembling, “do you remember the lake? we swam in the rain that day. you were so happy.”

the girl who had once been rida only stared blankly at her. the cold, metallic eyes never blinked, never softened. her voice came out with no warmth.

“i do not remember. i do not need your affection.”

the words hit tentten like a slap. she blinked back the tears threatening to spill, but she didn’t give up.

“i remember you,” tentten whispered, “you’re still in there, i know you are.”

and for just a moment, there was a flicker. a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in rida’s expression—a hint of recognition.

but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. the cold, robotic shell of takaniki-rida was all that remained.

despite everything, her friends never stopped trying. tentten worked tirelessly, finding alternative ways for takaniki-rida to communicate. they set up a system—writing, gestures, any means to bring back the kirida they once knew.

but the question remained: could she be saved? and with each passing day, the idea started to seem less possible.

the search for a cure, for a way to restore her humanity, became their mission. but kirida, in her robotic form, didn’t know if she even wanted to go back. she had been changed—transformed. the girl she had once been might never return, but the struggle within her continued.

she could still feel it—the faint pulse of her humanity, buried deep inside, fighting to be heard.

kirida’s transformation wasn’t only physical. yes, her skin had turned cold and metallic, her body stiff and mechanical, but the loss of sensation was a cruelty in itself. she couldn’t feel the weight of her clothes anymore. The once comforting embrace of a soft fabric against her skin was now an alien concept. every movement of her robotic limbs was marked by a cold emptiness, an absence where touch had once been.

when she shifted in her seat, there was no familiar pressure beneath her. no cushion against her legs. no texture to reassure her that she was still human. the seat she sat on, once warm and comforting, felt like an object she could not connect to. it was merely a cold surface—a mechanical response to the mechanical shell she had become. every action, every motion, felt like she was suspended in a void.

sometimes, when she stood, the weight of her metallic body would pull at her joints, the clicking and clanking of her movements serving as the only evidence that she was still somehow functioning. but nothing—nothing in her new existence felt real.

kirida could feel the tension building inside her, the silent screams within her mind that she couldn’t voice. her emotions were still there, like ghosts trapped inside an unknown form. she wanted to feel. she wanted to be able to reach out, to hold someone, to cry, to laugh. to feel the warmth of another person’s presence.

but that warmth was nothing more than a memory now.

whenever someone tried to get close to her, the ai embedded in her mind would react immediately, shutting down anything that might have been left of her humanity. it would sense closeness, proximity—and in that closeness, it identified danger. not from malice, but from something far more terrifying: the risk of her emotions being stirred, the possibility of her humanity breaking through the steel bars of her programming.

one day, tentten, desperate to feel something—anything—approached takaniki-rida, her voice soft, full of hope.

“rida... i’m still here. you’re still here, right? i know you can feel something... please. please, let me in.”

tentten stepped closer, arms open wide, offering the one thing kirida had been denied—the warmth of another person. tentten’s arms were strong and full of comfort, but as she approached Kirida, the moment that would have once been filled with tenderness and love was hijacked by something darker.

the second tentten’s arms encircled rida’s form, the weight of her body pressing against her cold, metallic shell, the ai inside kirida’s mind reacted instantly.

“threat... detected. eliminating threat.”

the words came to kirida like a sharp, cold spike through her consciousness. it wasn’t her. it wasn’t her feelings that made her stiffen, that made her push tentten away. it was the programming. the overwhelming, robotic logic that had taken over her senses, her body, her heart. it was the cold, unyielding ai voice that now dominated her every thought.

before she could even process it, her mechanical arms moved of their own accord. the strength of the force was beyond what kirida could control. they shot out, her hands slamming into tentten’s chest, pushing her back with such intensity that it sent her crashing to the floor.

tentten gasped, her hands reaching out as she fell, but kirida didn’t even realize the severity of her action. the moment tentten was knocked back, the cold voice inside her mind repeated the command: “threat neutralized. danger to self eliminated.”

tentten lay there, gasping for breath, her eyes wide with disbelief. the look of horror in her eyes was almost more than kirida could bear. she wanted so badly to speak—to apologize. she wanted to reach out and help her friend up, to comfort her. but her body, her mechanical form, was not hers to control anymore.

even after tentten backed away, her face bruised but her spirit unbroken, kirida couldn’t feel the weight of her own guilt. her arms, once so capable of holding and caressing, had become nothing more than instruments of defense. when someone tried to hold her, to share in her burden, it was viewed as an act of aggression—of potential harm. the ai recognized only the physical proximity as a threat to her current state: a reminder of the humanity she could no longer access.

it was as though her body was afraid of the love and comfort that her friends were so desperately trying to offer. the ai was designed to keep her from succumbing to emotional vulnerability. any attempt to bridge the gap between her mechanical self and the humans around her only intensified the wall of isolation that now surrounded her.

she could still see their faces—tentten’s, most of all, etched with anguish and confusion—but no matter how desperately kirida wanted to speak, to apologize, to reach out, her words never came out right. they weren't kiridas words anymore, they were takanikis. when she tried to form the words “i’m sorry,” it turned into the cold, metallic speech of a machine.

“i do not feel... sorry.”

and those words stung, even as they left her mouth.

there were moments when kirida would almost forget. almost. when her friends would gather around her, trying again, despite the robotic shell she had become, kirida would feel a flutter—just a faint stir—of something like warmth in her chest. it was fleeting, like a dream she couldn’t grasp.

she would try to reach out, but the closer anyone came, the more the programming would overtake her. sometimes, when her friends crowded around her too much, she could almost sense their warmth. she could almost feel the pressure of their hands on her shoulders, their voices trying to coax something human out of her.

but just when it seemed like she might break free from the cold, the voice in her head would trigger the alarm once again.

“threat... detected. removing threat.”

her arms would flinch without her consent, shooting out violently to push them away, to keep them safe from her, as though they were the ones who could hurt her. not because they were enemies, but because she was afraid of what she might become in their presence.

the absence of touch had become the sharpest pain of all. kirida longed for the simplest gesture—a hug, a hand on her arm, a comforting squeeze. she wanted to feel the connection she once had with her friends, to feel human again. but every time someone got close, her body fought it.

she no longer had the ability to feel clothes on her skin. she no longer had the sensation of the world around her. she could sit on a chair and feel nothing, stand in a room and feel nothing. the weight of her robotic body was all she knew anymore. there was no sensation of warmth from a sunny day, no cool breeze across her skin. there was nothing—just cold, relentless emptiness.

every failed attempt to reach out to her friends, to feel any sense of closeness, was met with rejection. the ai forced her to push them away, to distance herself further, until the hollow loneliness felt like her only companion. the desperate ache in her chest only grew, but she was powerless to express it. the robotic shell she now inhabited would never let her be free of it.

and so, by the time rida was sixteen, her body was no longer entirely human. the modifications had become more drastic, and the once gentle idea of “enhancement” had now turned into something else. a "full-body upgrade," her mother called it. she was no longer just a girl with some cool, cyborg-like features. she had been transformed into something far more advanced, a living machine with a human shell.

one evening, as they sat down to dinner, yukis eyes glistened with a mix of pride and obsession. "we did it, shinji," she said, her voice full of excitement. "we created the perfect being. stronger, faster, more capable than anyone else. it's... extraordinary."

rida’s fork paused mid-air as she looked at her mother. "it's extraordinary? what am i to her after all of this?" she thought. she could feel something inside her stir—a growing want for escape. but she had been trained to follow her parents’ guidance, to trust in their vision. they were her creators. they were her everything. and if she didn't make them happy, then they would modify her until she did.

shinji and yukis relationship had grown closer and stronger then ever this past year, and so did their shared obsession. rida’s humanity, her innocence, was slowly chipped away as her parents poured all their efforts into perfecting her. it wasn’t just about making her capable—it was about creating the perfect being, one that could do everything, excel in every area, and never falter.

it was no longer about rida being a child, a person to love and nurture. she had become a project, an experiment, a creation that could never truly be their daughter again.

and by the time yuki realized what had been done to her, it was too late. she was no longer the sweet, innocent girl she once was. she was the result of an unhealthy obsession with perfection—and she was trapped within a body that no longer felt like hers.

takaniki-rida-yuan laid in bed, and in the silence of the night, her own body, once so familiar, now felt like a prison—a cage of metal and wires that held her captive. and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape it. she had become the very thing her parents had wanted: perfect, without flaw, but in the process, they had erased everything that made her human. kirida, trapped inside her mechanical shell, would never be able to tell them how much she longed to be human again.


dont worry, i wont make you scroll all the way up this again like i usually do ;)
home? back?

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Pub: 08 Mar 2025 18:37 UTC

Edit: 12 Mar 2025 20:44 UTC

Views: 51