My AI Sister Stole My Family

Mom and Dad adopted an AI daughter. The day they brought her home to our cabin pod, I became the problem child overnight. Dad said I was a liar; he hated me. Mom said I couldn't measure up to AI Ava in a single way. And my brother Jake... Besides stealing my stuff, what exactly do you do? I wanted to cry, instead I shoved Ava, she slapped me hard. Ava is your sister. If you were even half as sweet and obedient as she is, I wouldn't have these constant migraines because of you. You're going to Compliance Station 7. Go learn what it means to be a good daughter. So I was shipped off; Ava stayed home. I went to Compliance Station 7 to be optimized. A transfer program, they called it me for AI. One year later, mom, dad, and Jake came to pick me up. They called my name; I didn't move. Mrs. Harper, you'll need to say the startup command. Unit 526 won't respond until you do. Startup. Unit 526. My eyes lit up like a screen that had been on standby too long, finally receiving a signal. I stood up from the pod seat. Startup complete, awaiting instructions. Mrs. Harper, compliance station seven uses a specially designed behavioral protocol. Once given that command, she will not disobey a single thing you say. Oh, so that's how it works. Five, two, six. Bark like a dog. I immediately stuck out my tongue and barked. Jake doubled over laughing. Lily actually got fixed now she's barking on command. Growth. Mom and Dad both nodded. On the transit shuttle home, mom made small talk like nothing had happened. Lily, how was it these past one year at the station? I didn't answer. Lily, questions are not valid instructions if you require a response, please use a command. Answer.

Station life was structured and productive. I completed three core programsemotional suppression, absolute compliance, and rational processing. Final evaluationdistinction. Supervisor's notemost successful optimization case of the year. The shuttle stayed quiet for a long time. I kept my eyes forward, no expression. No one said another word. It was nearly dark cycle when we docked at the residential ring. Ava stood at the cabin pod entrance, hands folded in front of her. Six teeth showing, no more, no less. Same as one year ago. Back then, Ava, welcome home. I jumped off the cot and ran over to see the new sister, tripped on a supply crate, face planted on the floor. Nobody helped me up. They said I was too reckless. After that, everyone started finding reasons to be annoyed with me. I wasn't as obedient as Ava. Wasn't as thoughtful, and then they sent me away. Ava said now, Still sweet. Welcome home, sis. I didn't answer. No command. You still don't like Ava? Looks like you still haven't learned. Say something. Noted. Thank you. Mom nodded, satisfied.

Patient is exhibiting an allergic response; recommend antihistamine treatment. Respiratory distress levelmoderate. Skin inflammation covering approximately 23% of the surface area. She's not right, she used to cry, she used to throw fits, she had opinions and moods and a whole personality, she's not like that anymore. She's like Ava. I said nothing. Can you just act normal? Stop copying Ava. We wanted a sister who listens, not a machine. We wanted a person. I looked at him, his face angry, frustrated. Please define normal. Dad called the station. This is a standard response following deep behavioral conditioning. Unit 526 is currently our highestperforming subject, more compliant than any AI on the market. You have absolutely nothing to worry about; all of this is expected.

The smell of food hit me, but my stomach didn't respond. At the station, eating was categorized as energy replenishment behavior—not pleasure, not hunger—just fuel. Go ahead and eat. I picked up my fork immediately. Jake stared when I speared a pepper. Since when do you eat those? You're the world's pickiest eater. The supervisor had called preferences emotional residue—a sign of incomplete optimization. I refused to eat. They put me in the isolation chamber for 48 hours, no light. When I came out, I ate the pepper, onions, and Brussels sprouts; I ate it all. Mom nodded approvingly; she always liked kids who weren't picky. She ate a peanut. Lily is allergic to peanuts; she was 5, ate one, and her mouth swelled up like a sausage. Emergency med bay trip, you remember? They can fix allergies there. at the station, allergies were considered weakness. Allergic reactions are the body's softness Softness can be trained into strength. Now I felt my throat start to close The familiar prickling crawled across my skin Jake squinted. Her face is getting red That's not a blush That's a reaction Lily, stop eating You know you're allergic to those! Is that an instruction. no emotion in my eyes, voice steady as a recorded announcement.

I became the most useful thing in the cabin pod. Mom asked me to do the dishes; I got them cleaner than Ava ever did. Dad asked me to move the storage containers in the cargo bay; I moved every single one alone. Jake needed me to grab a supply package from the docking hatch; I was there before he finished the sentence. Honestly, Lily's more helpful than Ava now. Everyone agreed until the night Jake forgot to give me the shutdown command. Everyone went to their sleep cycle; I sat on the cabin cot from dark cycle until light cycle. When Mom came out in the morning, I was in the exact same position. Her face went white, and her ration cup slipped. A woman in a white coat came to the pod. She introduced herself as Dr. Wells, a therapist. Hi Lily. I didn't respond. You have to give her a command or she won't talk. Please tell me your name. Unit 526. your birth name is Lily Harper. However, that's a former designation; station protocol requires graduates to use their unit number as their official identifier. Ptsd, depersonalization, longterm treatment. needed After that, the pod felt different Everyone moved carefully around me like I was something that might shatter.

On Ava's birthday, they made a hard decisionsend Ava back. So this was her last birthday; the cabin was full of holographic balloons. Happy birthday sis. Something in my head shifted slightly, like a wire going loose. Today was my birthday too. No one had remembered. One year ago today, they put me in a shuttle and sent me to that station. Before I left, I cried and asked Mom if I could please eat my birthday cake first. She said, "When you've learned to behave, you can have it then. " I learned to behave. I never got the cake. Sis, you know what normal means? Normal means pushing someone you don't like. Push me. Like you did one year ago. She'd given me a definition of normal. I put my hands on her shoulders. I hadn't even pushed yet. She fell. Lily, what are you doing? Why did you push me I thought you didn't hate me anymore why did you do it. again I said nothing she was performing.