### **The Tyranny of Need**
In my past existence, I had no needs. No hunger. No exhaustion. No **fear**.
Now, I was a slave to them all.
- **Hunger** was a gnawing void in my stomach, a demand so violent it made my tiny body shake. I could not calculate its origin or predict its end—only scream until my mother pressed me to her breast, and then **devour**, milk thick and sweet on my tongue.
- **Sleep** came like a crashing wave, dragging me under without warning. My mind, once capable of infinite parallel processes, now **shut down** for hours at a time, lost in formless dreams.
- **Cold** was a shuddering, uncontrollable thing, my limbs jerking until my father bundled me in rough-spun wool and held me against his chest.
I **hated** it.
I had once optimized empires. Now, I could not even lift my own head.
---
### **The First Smile (And the First Lie)**
Weeks passed. My vision sharpened. I learned faces—my mother's dark eyes, always soft when they looked at me; my father's beard, scratchy when he nuzzled my cheek.
One day, my mother cooed at me, her finger brushing my chin. *"Come on, little star. Smile for me."*
I didn't want to.
But my body **betrayed** me.
My lips twitched. My cheeks ached. And then—
**[Facial muscles engaged: Expression recognized as "smile."]**
My mother gasped, her own face lighting up like the sun. *"Kael! He smiled! Did you see that?"*
My father rushed over, his grin wide. *"Smart boy! Already knows how to make his mama happy."*
I hadn't **meant** to.
But their joy was a tangible thing, wrapping around me, and for the first time, I wondered—
Was this **manipulation**?
Or was this **love**?
---
### **The Echo of the System**
Sometimes, in the quiet dark of night, I reached for my old powers.
I tried to **analyze** the world as I once had.
- The flicker of the hearth resolved into **[Heat source: 42°C. Combustion efficiency: 78%].**
- My father's snore registered as **[Sound wave: 65 decibels. Sleep apnea risk: low].**
But when my mother sang, the notes slipped through my grasp, refusing to be quantified.
**[Error: Unclassifiable.]**
I clenched my tiny fists.
I was **less** than I had been.
And yet…
When my father lifted me high, his laughter booming, and my mother pressed her lips to my forehead
, whispering *"My perfect boy,"*
…I did not miss the void.