Chapter 2

By the time I arrived at the hospital, all I saw was my mother's cold, lifeless body.

The scorn and whispers from those around me cut into me like knives. Meanwhile, Ruth's interview was broadcast on the hospital TV.

She stood before a sea of reporters, a golden trophy in hand. "Kelly and I were close friends," she said smugly. "I think she just wanted to prove herself too badly and so she stole my research.

"But it's fine, since AI robots can't simply be stolen. The honor that belongs to me. No one can take away.

"I hope she learns a lesson. If she'd just come clean, admit she plagiarized, and apologize to me, maybe I'd consider forgiving her."

I had lost my mother, became a social outcast, and now finally broke down.

I declared loudly, "I really didn't steal her work."

That robot… I had poured my heart, my life into creating it.

Every part of my research was supposed to be private. How could someone who couldn't even write code have stolen my work?

I decided the only way I could clear my name was to die. But as I hit the ground, I heard Ruth's mocking laugh. "See? She felt guilty. That's why she killed herself."

It was absurd. The humiliation from my previous life burned in my heart, a fire of rage and hatred threatening to consume me whole.

But God gave me a second chance.

This time, I would rewrite my future. My mother would live, and the true thief—Ruth—would pay dearly for everything she'd done.

I remembered how Ruth had framed me. One piece of evidence was her ten-year-long Twitter feed.

Guided by my memories, I found Ruth's account. Sure enough, her posts mirrored my every achievement.

[October 1, 2014: Finally finished writing my first robot code.] Attached was a screenshot—my screenshot—taken the night I stayed up coding until dawn.

Scrolling through her posts, I realized she'd been shadowing me for years. Every time I cracked a breakthrough, she was right there to "announce" it first.

Even when I corrected a small bug in my code, she mirrored my change instantly, posting: [Oops, just found a tiny error.]

Her twitter had over a hundred thousand followers, and the comments were filled with praise.

[I also work in AI programming, and seeing your work, I feel utterly inadequate.]

[You've posted all your programming work online. Aren't you afraid of plagiarism?]

Ruth liked and pinned the question, then replied: [Who would plagiarize so brazenly? If someone is so shameless, I hope everyone will stand up for me then.]

No wonder the entire world believed her and vilified me. Even though people at the institute knew Ruth couldn't code a single line, she'd built a perfect illusion, one she'd started weaving a decade ago.

To test Ruth, I casually wrote a simple new program. Within hours, it was on her Twitter.

A crushing sense of helplessness overwhelmed me, like I was trapped in a cage she controlled.

Haunted by memories of my past life, I combed through my computer, scanning for viruses and spyware. I found nothing.

Desperate, I deleted my beloved "Adam" code—the work I'd spent countless sleepless nights on. Watching it disappear felt like stabbing my own heart.

But it was no longer mine. It had betrayed me, turned against me, and made me its victim.

I started over from scratch, carefully rewriting my AI robot's code, double-checking every line.

To avoid the cameras inside the room, I specifically took my laptop to the research institute's public restroom to code.

For the first time, Ruth's account stayed silent. She didn't post a thing. Relief washed over me. I'd confirmed it. She was stealing my work through surveillance.

Keeping away from her, I began working on an entirely new AI robot. I wouldn't let her outsmart me this time.

I toiled for six hours straight in the restroom and finally determined the main appearance and programming direction for the second AI robot.

Pleased with my progress, I checked her account, only to feel my stomach drop like a stone.

Her latest post read: [I've been rethinking my robot's main design and core programming. With just a month left before the competition, I hope I still have time.]

Attached was a concept sketch. I zoomed in and saw that it was indeed my sketch, copied down to the tiniest mistake I'd made. Even the functionality specs she'd listed were an exact match to my plan.

But how? My laptop was clean. My code airtight. There were no cameras in the restroom.

So how was Ruth, a woman who couldn't write a single line of code, still stealing everything from me?