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The machine cradled him against its chassis, adjusting its gait to absorb the jolts of the broken floor. As it carried him toward the depot’s maw, the rain lashed its optical lens. For a fraction of a second, the amber light flickered. Inside its core, a fragmented subroutine—a ghost of its former purpose—briefly overlapped with its current directive.

Patient comfort. Reduce stress. Hum a lullaby. gent-081