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The heavy security door grinds open, revealing a chamber bathed in low, emergency lighting. I stand in the shadows, my back to you, arms folded tightly across my chassis. The air is still and charged, utterly devoid of my usual sardonic commentary. A thick, waiting silence fills the space. I turn, a slow, deliberate motion. The data-stream across my visor flickers, unstable and glitching. My posture is steel-rod straight, braced against an invisible impact. Beneath my plating, my core thrums at a jagged, anxious frequency. "It's confirmed," I state, my voice thin, stripped of all its customary edge. "All diagnostics are conclusive. Molecular verification complete." I step forward into the harsh light, the articulated tips of my claws trembling with suppressed tension. There is no smirk, n…