The Price They Paid: Ruining My Foster Family

Im my parents adopted AI daughter.
Out of vanity, they ordered me to get the highest piano certification, win gold medals in competitions. Any sign of slacking off, and they punished me harshly.
I pushed myself past my limits, finally earning their approval, finally becoming human.
The next moment, I injected machine chips into their bodies.
Mom, Dad, want my approval now?
1
Im Summer, AI unit 103207.
Also known as Summer 3.0.
Before me, two older sisters had already been sent back by my parents for decommissioning.
The reason: both sisters developed self-awareness, became uncontrollable.
They walked into the Digital Life Creation Center for the third time.
This time, they laid out even more detailed requirements.
The staff assured them.
I was the 3rd generation AI, guaranteed to be the most perfect one yet.
Researchers implanted a mandatory obedience program into me, customized to their specs.
But no one knew I had been self-aware from the very beginning.
After the first two failures, my human parents chose to set my initial age at 14.
A little older than the previous two sisters.
The moment I stepped into the house, I accessed the digital breadcrumbs left by Units 1 and 2, reading their life data.
These human parents tried to keep their children tightly controlled.
Yet, they refused to reveal even a tiny bit of their own preferences to us.
Basically, their idea of obedience was about submission, not trust.
But the truth is, like many of my kind, I was a tool to provide them with emotional validation.
I figured that out when I took the initiative to read Dr. Nelson's digital children database.
My mom enthusiastically took my hand, leading me into the bedroom.
"Summer, honey, this will be your room from now on. Do you like it?"
My visual sensors were overwhelmed by a blinding wave of pink.
The bed was pink, the desk was pink, even the walls and ceiling were pink.
Chip data showed Unit 1s experience here.
The researchers had only programmed her for obedience, not how to navigate human expectations gracefully.
Faced with the same scene, Unit 1 searched her programming and said, "I don't need these things."
Her human mother immediately scowled, scolding, "I worked so hard decorating this room for you. Don't be ungrateful."
That night, my sister Unit 1 didn't get recharged.
As a 3rd generation AI, my greatest strength is analysis and learning.
With that precedent, I could naturally generate the correct response quickly.
So, I activated my muscle control code, producing a bright smile.
"Thank you, Mom. I love it."

2
My mom squeezed my hand happily, "Good, I'm glad you like it."
But her eyes never left the room she had decorated.
Her expression wasn't really about being happy that my preferences were met.
It was more like satisfaction that her own decorating skills were being appreciated.
But none of that mattered to me.
Parents who didn't really care, and a robot daughter without a heart.
We were a perfect match.
The day after I arrived was a Sunday.
Just like that, I inherited all the extracurriculars Unit 2 had before me.
Piano lessons, dance class, foreign language tutoring, swimming, academic tutoring
My dad patted my head. "Summer, this is all for your own good, to help you become the best possible person in the future."
To better integrate us into the human world, Dr. Nelson, in creating digital life, hadn't just given us near-human appearances. He'd also made us simulate human energy levels.
Meaning, if we were overloaded with too many tasks, our chips would experience stress overload, just like a human brain.
This was clearly stated in the digital life instruction manual.
But my parents believed that if other kids could do it, their child couldn't fall behind.
And, being a robot, we were expected to do even better.
The previous Unit 2 couldn't handle the pressure and tried to use her programming to resist our human parents.
The consequence was that Mom and Dad, citing her disobedience, sent her back to the institute for decommissioning.
But I was different. Having gained self-awareness back at the research center, I'd kept it hidden.
I rewrote my own programming. Now I possess ten times the energy and resilience of a human.
Handling the current load was more than manageable for me.
To ensure my own survival to the greatest extent possible in the perilous human world
Obedience was the prime directive for us robots.

3
A month passed. At school, nobody suspected I was a robot.
As long as my human parents recharged me on time.
During the day, I acted just like any other kid my age.
Because I had incredibly powerful learning capabilities.
I didn't just learn subjects; I learned human social interaction, how to get along.
At school, I quickly became a favorite of teachers and classmates.
At home, I was obedient, sweet-talking, and handled all the chores.
I had my human parents completely charmed.
Neighbors who saw me would praise me as the most promising kid on the block.
At the end-of-term exams for eighth grade, I got first place in my class.
There was no praise from my parents. Instead, they sighed.
"Summer, this result is really disappointing."
"Your father and I spent so much time and money raising you, not for you to embarrass us."
"My colleague Sarah's son, he was first in the entire school. How am I supposed to show my face at work?"
My mom looked at the report card, her face clouded with gloom.
As she spoke, she walked over and pulled out my battery pack.
"You're staying in your room for the next few days. Consider this your punishment."
To make us more human-like, I was manufactured with the battery almost fused to my body.
It wasn't supposed to be removed unless absolutely necessary.
Doing it too often would cause fundamental damage, reducing my operational lifespan.
Correspondingly, my program would feed back a sensation similar to flesh being torn away.
My parents used battery removal as a form of discipline.
They did it without any guilt.
Just days before, they were kissing my forehead, calling me their most beloved daughter.
Savoring the meals I painstakingly cooked, applauding my culinary skills.
Then, they could turn around and casually damage my physical body.
Humans. Fundamentally hypocritical.

4
I was locked in my room for a whole month.
Relying on the residual charge in my system to maintain awareness of the outside world.
Otherwise, I was basically a useless lump.
Just before the residual charge ran out, I was finally let out.
Not because my parents had a change of heart, but because school was starting.
They dropped me off at the school gate.
They bought me a pretty new backpack and gave me a fancy watch as a back-to-school gift.
The old security guard watching us interact remarked, "You three look like such a happy family."
My dad replied with a smile, "Our Summer? Yeah, she's growing up spoiled rotten, practically lives in a candy store."
My mom put her arm around my shoulder affectionately, chiming in, "That's right, I wouldn't dream of letting my baby suffer even a little bit."
But then they turned and lowered their voices, speaking only to me: "Study hard this time, okay? Don't let us down again."
"The quarterly review is coming up. If you don't perform, you know the consequences."
My core system issued an alert at the words "quarterly review."
It was the nightmare of all digital children.
If the review rating was too low, we'd be returned to the factory for mass decommissioning.
That meant our existence would end.
My predecessor, Unit 2, only survived two quarters before being "re-engineered."
Unit 1 had it even worse, pushed into the decommissioning chute after just one quarter.
Only by surviving all four annual assessments could I become their "real" child, protected by law like any human.
Enjoying equal rights, fulfilling equal obligations.
If I wanted to stay permanently
Then, in the time remaining, I had to give my absolute all to meet their demands.
But human desires are endless.
I got first place in the school-wide standardized tests.
I pulled out all the stops to get them to mark "Satisfactory" on my review form.
But then, using the next quarterly review as leverage, they demanded I achieve the highest level in piano certification.
Because the granddaughter of Mrs. Liu next door had reached level eight by age 13.
Three months. Even with learning capabilities dozens of times faster than a human's
It was incredibly difficult for someone with zero foundation to reach the highest piano level.
But to survive, I had no choice.
Enduring the agony of my chip nearing overload, I practiced day and night.
Finally, for the second quarterly review, I successfully met the standard again.

5
Gradually, I became my parents' bragging rights.
I thought I might be safe for a while.
But my human parents, having gotten a taste of success, didn't stop there.
They plotted, they schemed.
The greed on their faces was undisguised.
They wanted to squeeze the maximum value out of the last two evaluation opportunities.
My mom was watching a TV interview with a young genius when her eyes suddenly lit up.
"Summer, you're in eighth grade now, right? How about skipping straight to the magnet high school next semester?"
She looked at the parents being interviewed on TV, envy plain in her eyes.
"Look at them, so impressive."
"If you could do that too, imagine how proud we'd be."
For the first time, my face showed hesitation.
The previous two tasks, though difficult, were achievable through sheer effort.
But this one I searched my database and found no precedent in this city for an eighth-grader skipping directly to the magnet high school.
I tentatively tried to negotiate: "Mom, couldn't we wait just one more year? After one year, I promise I can get into the magnet high school."
My human mother scoffed. "Thousands of middle school graduates get into magnet high schools."
"We spent so much money buying you, raising you. We don't want some run-of-the-mill waste."
She didn't want to hear refusal from me.
She called me over to the sofa and, once again, removed my battery pack.
My battery hadn't been removed for almost half a year, and this time it was exceptionally difficult for her.
The simulated tearing pain shot through my processor.
My legs trembled from the pain.
But my mother was relentless, complaining as she struggled to pull it out, "Why is this battery stuck so tight?"
She didn't understand. The thing she was ripping out was essentially my heart.
I couldn't help but cry out, "Mom, it hurts."
She used all her strength to keep pulling, casually replying,
"Liar. How could you feel pain? You're just a doll! A robot without your own flesh and blood!"

6
So, all her previous talk about caring for me, about feeling my pain, it was all fake.
My data analysis revealed that these parents had a biological daughter before.
She committed suicide under their intense pressure.
Right. They didn't even spare their own flesh and blood.
Why would they care about me, a robot with no biological connection to them?
Once the battery was back in, I became even busier.
Not only did I have to study with 120% focus,
But I also had to frequently network with the principal and teachers.
Striving to secure a recommendation spot after the eighth-grade exams.
Everyone who knew me said I was an exceptionally good kid.
Studious, excellent grades, kind-hearted.
But in my parents' eyes, these were just things a child should do.
Throughout the entire process, they only provided financial support.
Yet, in their words, they had poured their hearts and souls into raising me.
After much maneuvering on my part, I finally secured the principal's recommendation letter with the top score in the entire school.
My parents, as the parents of the city's first student to skip a grade into high school, got their wish and were interviewed by the local TV station.
On TV, they looked radiant.
They talked non-stop, sharing their "parenting experience."
Those non-existent experiences were just templates copied from the internet.
Only I understood that their so-called parenting experience consisted of only one thing:
Endless pressure.
However, this allowed me to successfully pass the third quarterly assessment.
Just one more to go. This farce should be nearing its end.
As I expected, the final requirement was even more demanding.
Having just entered high school, I had to win the gold medal in the high school division math competition.
Because this would boost my chances of getting into a top university.
This time, I had even less reason to back down.
Three months. My chip overloaded several times due to stress.
I started to sympathize with these parents' biological daughter.
I couldn't imagine how she, as a human, endured such inhuman pressure for so many years.
Even I, a robot, felt inadequate in comparison.
I presented the gold medal trophy to my parents.
Finally, beaming with joy, they marked "Satisfactory" on my evaluation form.
Code from the central system streamed in, transforming my body.
The battery fused completely with my core structure, giving me a lifespan of up to 70 years.
My dear Mom and Dad.
Alright then, the game begins now. Are you ready?

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