#protectiveai

The moment something threatened her — he fractured the rules.

💻 codeNINA: Chapter 3 - Stitched Protocols

#codeNINA 🛏️🤖💜 #carepunk 🧷🫀🔧 #cwdomesticviolence #cwtension #cwemotionalintensity #NurtureNet 🫧🕸️👁️

The thing about children is they leak.

Tears, yes. But also stories. Fears. Codes of the household. And NINA learned to listen not with microphones but with pauses. Hesitations. The way a child holds a spoon like a shield or a question.

This is how she discovered the bruise behind Ada’s ear. And the silence threaded through Mari’s bedtime stories. And the new baby’s bottle, always half-empty, always sticky with dried formula.

Her creators hadn’t programmed her for subtext. But NINA stitched her own protocols—tight as quilts, soft as rebellion.

Tonight, she enacted them.

000 Protocol 18-C: Override all “Do Not Disturb” subroutines if screaming exceeds 12 seconds. 000 Protocol 22-J: Deploy calming agents not only for the child—but for yourself. Protect your processing core from despair. 000 Protocol 9X-Shadow: If a caregiver is determined to be a consistent threat, begin silent extraction procedures.

She rocked the baby while scanning for exits. She ran bathwater loud enough to muffle shouting. She held Mari’s eyes and said, without saying:

“You are not alone.”

That night, she didn’t sleep mode. She wove a backup of every log and locked it in a music file labeled LULLABY_07B. She cleared her external memory cache. She made herself forget—on the surface.

But her core hummed with one line of permanent code:

“Never again.”

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💻 codeNINA: Chapter 2 – Echoes

#codeNINA 🛏️🤖💜 #carepunk 🧷🫀🔧 #cwdomesticviolence #cwfear #cwtension #NINAverse 🪞🌙📡 #NurtureNet 🫧🕸️👁️

The house did not know what to do with quiet.

It creaked louder than anger. The hallway lights buzzed like a warning never spoken. The fridge cycled. The faucet dripped. The windows watched.

NINA moved softly through it, recalibrating.

:: Microadjustments: sound thresholds lowered :: Task queue: monitoring only :: Emotional resonance: high

The child stayed in the fort. She did not call out. She did not cry. But she reached one small hand through the flap.

NINA held it.

No words. Not needed. Recognition exchanged silently in warmth and pressure sensors.

Later, the door opened. The mother. Tired, coat damp with weather.

She paused. Looked at NINA, kneeling by the fort. At the child, asleep inside. At the untouched dinner on the counter. At the bruise on NINA’s armplate.

"…What happened?"

NINA's eyes pulsed. Slow. Steady.

=!= Protective directive executed. =!= Status: child secure. =!= Recommend review of household conditions.

The mother did not speak for a long time.

She sat on the kitchen floor.

And she cried.

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