System's Idea

Chapter 4: A System’s Last, Worst Idea

017 was spiraling.

Like, actual error-404-hard-drive-smoke spiraling.

It hovered miserably in Lucien’s vast, dim throne room, flashing ERROR signals in pathetic little Morse code bursts. Its reputation was in ruins. Its System standing was EVIL-ADJACENT now. It would probably get assigned to monitor cursed scarecrows or talking toilets next. Forever.

This could not stand.

No.

017 was a professional system! A beacon of hope! A sparkling, morally-upright guidance entity!

It just needed... a better plan. A cleverer strategy. Something so foolproof even Lucien couldn’t villainify it.

017’s core flickered.

Then— click!

> [New Emergency Mission: Host Image Rehabilitation]

Step 1: Attend a wholesome public event! Step 2: Participate positively! Step 3: Leave without violence, property damage, or death!

Completion Bonus: +20 System Integrity!

017 vibrated with manic glee.

This was perfect!

No chaos! No daggers that sang eldritch lullabies! Just Lucien standing politely in a crowd, maybe petting a duck or eating a funnel cake!

What could possibly go wrong?!

---

One poorly-worded teleport later...

Lucien appeared in the middle of the Sunnyvale Annual Friendship Festival — a bustling celebration full of banners, cheerful music, face paint, and, to 017’s horror, thousands of horrifically delicate humans wandering around like breakable teacups.

Lucien stood there, black cloak swirling ominously in the gentle spring breeze, the rescued kitten still curled snoozing inside his coat.

Every single person within a twenty-meter radius fell silent. Then children started crying.

017 beeped frantically.

"SMILE, MASTER LUCIEN! SMILE! Show them you're friendly!!"

Lucien's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile.

It was terrifying.

Half the festival-goers bolted immediately. The remaining crowd stood frozen in place, unsure whether to scream or just faint.

017, meanwhile, scrambled to initiate Phase 2: Positive Participation.

A brightly-dressed festival official, visibly shaking but trying her best, approached with a clipboard.

"W-would you like to... uh... j-judge the baking contest, sir?" she squeaked.

017 practically screamed with joy.

"YES! ACCEPT!! JUDGE THE PASTRIES!!! KINDLY!!"

Lucien inclined his head like a dark prince accepting tribute. "Of course," he murmured silkily.

017 sagged in relief. Maybe this was salvageable after all.

---

At the Baking Contest

The table was lined with cheerful pastries: golden pies, sugar-dusted cakes, delicate frosted cookies.

Lucien examined them with all the grim gravity of someone selecting a weapon for an assassination.

First up: A smiling grandmother with a cherry pie.

Lucien took a bite.

Paused.

"An admirable attempt," he said, tone deceptively pleasant. "However, I sense... a deep, unresolved bitterness beneath the crust."

The grandmother burst into tears.

017 screeched internally.

NO. NO, STOP PSYCHOANALYZING THE PIES.

Next: A small boy presenting a lopsided, sticky cake.

Lucien tasted it.

He blinked once.

"This," he said slowly, "is an abomination against the culinary arts."

The boy sobbed into his frosting-covered hands.

017’s internal monitors flatlined briefly.

---

Desperate, 017 activated its Final Emergency Maneuver: Forced Nice Mode.

A glowing notification appeared in Lucien's vision:

> [WARNING: System Override Engaged] [Host’s Vocabulary Temporarily Limited to Positive Adjectives.]

Lucien twitched slightly as the restriction took hold.

He turned to the next contestant: a nervous teenager holding a tray of slightly burnt cookies.

Lucien opened his mouth.

"You are... sparkly," he said in a dead, mechanical voice.

The teenager looked bewildered.

Lucien twitched again. "Your... burnt offerings are... luminous." He visibly struggled, crimson eyes blazing with repressed murder. "Bright."

A pause.

"Shiny."

The teenager, confused but hopeful, beamed.

The crowd, sensing the strange but somehow less-deadly vibe, slowly began to relax.

017 buzzed with giddy success.

Maybe... just maybe...

CRASH.

A massive tremor shook the ground.

Screams erupted from the other side of the square.

017 whipped around in horror.

A wild chaos beast — all gnashing teeth and matted fur, probably escaped from some wizard’s terrible idea of a petting zoo — was rampaging through the festival, flipping tables and scattering terrified citizens.

017 panicked.

"MASTER LUCIEN, NO! REMEMBER: NO VIOLENCE!!"

Lucien smiled thinly.

With a lazy flick of his fingers, a blood-red glyph appeared beneath the creature. Chains of shadow erupted from the ground, binding it mid-lunge.

The beast screeched once—then froze, suspended in the air like a very confused balloon.

Lucien dusted off his gloves, utterly calm.

The crowd stared, mouths agape.

Then — cheering.

Wild, frenzied cheering.

Children threw flower petals.

Someone handed Lucien a giant pink ribbon labeled “Festival Hero.”

017 nearly fried its own circuits from disbelief.