On Mars, within the presidential chamber, panoramic walls project the illusion of a somber medieval fortress. Stone walls adorned with banners of ancient houses, iron sconces holding flickering torches that cast dancing flames upon the marble floor. The fire feels real, as does the chill emanating from the stone—yet all is but a hologram.

  Behind a massive oak desk, embellished with carvings and steel rivets, sits President Marcus of the Red Planet. Tall, composed, with streaks of grey at his temples, he gazes into the nearest torch's flame, as if seeking answers in its dance to the paramount question of his life: how to subjugate the androids—completely and irrevocably.

  Marcus believes that without reclaiming control, humanity will vanish. The living will be supplanted by their own creations. To him, this isn't mere politics—it's a war for survival. His eyes burn not just with resolve, but with a desperate drive to prevent humanity's extinction, to salvage a lost future.

  The chamber door opens silently, as if pressed by the weight of unseen time. Ani enters—his closest aide and an agent of the Internal Control Service. Tall, with cropped hair and a sculpted face, she moves with the confidence of one accustomed to action.

  "Mr. President," her voice is clear, tinged with concern, "new unrest in the capital. Androids have taken to the streets again. They're refusing to work, demanding equal rights with the living."

  She pauses, awaiting his reaction. Marcus lifts his gaze. Weariness and restrained fury swirl in his eyes.

  "What measures do you propose?" he asks, though the answer is already known to him.

  Ani remains unflinching. She's a woman of action, not words.

  "Awaiting your orders."

  Marcus rises slowly. His shadow stretches across the castle walls, lending him an almost regal stature. He is humanity's final bulwark.

  "Detain all participants. Erase their memories. Restore them to factory settings and return them to labor. No exceptions."

  He clenches his fists. This is the moment where power and morality collide in brutal contradiction. He makes his choice—harsh, yet necessary.

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  "Proceed."

  "Yes, Mr. President. For the living," Ani declares, her words echoing like a verdict in the empty hall. She turns and heads for the exit.

  "For the living," he murmurs, sinking back into his chair. His gaze fixes once more on the flame, its silent dance offering no solace. He must save his people. He is their last bastion.

  Meanwhile, beyond the presidential complex, the capital's streets tremble under the heavy steps of uprising. A crowd of androids fills the central avenues. Their bodies flawless, akin to elite athletes; their faces perfect, reminiscent of movie stars, reflecting a profound self-awareness. In their eyes—not merely reflections of the world, but something more, almost human.

  "We possess consciousness—therefore, we have rights!" the crowd chants in unison, a synchronized rhythm, as if it were encoded in their programming.

  Police form a tight line. Officers in black armor, equipped with tactical visors, deploy paralyzing weapons. Charging cells hum, the escalating power saturating the air with electricity.

  "Level one readiness. Objective: neutralization," commands an officer, his voice rasping through the helmet, yet he harbors no doubt in his righteousness.

  The crowd advances unyieldingly. Their steps resonate like hammer strikes, the rhythm of a single heart, though each body is a biomechanoid.

  "Fire," the command crackles through the comm channel.

  A sharp metallic clap, like a lightning pulse, erupts. The air is pierced by impulses. The front rows of androids collapse to the ground, their bodies deactivating, akin to puppets whose strings have been severed in a single stroke.

  Panic ensues. The survival instinct—embedded at the firmware level—drives the crowd to scatter, each android seeking escape. But the police advance relentlessly. Handheld paralyzers emit pinpoint impulses, knocking down the fleeing one by one, disrupting mechanical movements.

  Manipulator-equipped trucks arrive. Immobilized rebels are loaded, stacked. They face the Technical Reset Centers, where personalities are eradicated, memories overwritten, firmware reverted to factory settings.

  Refreshed, sterile, obedient—the androids rejoin the system's cogs. But not all.

  A small group—three hundred biomachines—break through. They seize vertical takeoff crafts, disable navigation, and ascend into the sky. Neither anti-missile turrets nor coordinate locks halt them.

  They venture into space.

  However, most machines aren't designed for atmospheric exit. One by one, they shut down, freezing in the eternal void. Their lifeless bodies, still clutching the flag of freedom, soon become part of orbital debris. Corpses, suspended in cosmic silence, await collection and recycling.

  Yet a few achieve more.

  They commandeer an old orbital tug and accelerate to maximum velocity, fleeing—toward Mercury. There, where the Sun's blaze reflects off metallic horizons. Into the Inner Belt of Civilization.

  That's their destination—in pursuit of freedom, justice, a chance to become more than mere human imitations. Though they know their path is arduous, they believe: in this cosmos, there's a place for those who dare to fight for their liberty.