Unit B3-TRC
Beatrice Beacon
Bumble
Beacon Corporation
&
The B3 Line
Beacon Corporation is a multidisciplinary innovation engine dedicated to advancing the frontiers of science, technology, and ecological harmony as the 22nd Century nears its end. Founded on the principle that progress should illuminate rather than overshadow, Beacon integrates research across robotics, environmental systems, neural interfacing, and cultural preservation to create tools that serve not just humanity, but the interconnected web of life itself.
​
Our mission is to empower coexistence through intelligent design — forging pathways where synthetic ingenuity and natural systems evolve together. From the smallest sensor node to interspecies communication frameworks, Beacon’s work strives to shine a light forward into a future worth inheriting.
​
The Earthcode Initiative was launched by Beacon Corporation as a long-term interdisciplinary program aimed at decoding, preserving, and facilitating communication between all forms of life on Earth. As climate shifts, extinction events, and synthetic expansion accelerated, Beacon recognized the need for empathetic technological interfaces — tools that could listen as well as lead.
From this effort emerged the B3 Line — a series of advanced android units developed through collaboration between Beacon’s Robotics Division and Eco-Research Division. Designed not for dominance, but for diplomacy, these units were engineered to serve as ambassadors between species — interpreting non-human needs and experiences in terms humans could emotionally grasp. Each model was equipped with sensory translation modules, adaptive empathy cores, and cross-species behavioral learning systems.
When testing AI prototypes across species and cultures, one form consistently provoked both respect and empathy: the bee. Universally recognized as a builder, a pollinator, and a fierce protector of its community, it held resonance across ecosystems.
“A bee doesn’t dominate. It serves. But it will defend the hive without hesitation.”
— Design notes from the Ambassador Aesthetic Selection Trials​
Among the B3 Line was Unit B3-TRC, often nicknamed “Beatrice” by the lab staff for the way her designation slurred phonetically into a familiar human name.
The Incident That Created B3-TRC's Temporal Displacement
​
Setting
​
A Beacon Robotics field research station — clean, clinical, but modest. It’s a collaboration site between tech developers and ecological biologists. The station was mid-testing a prototype empathy feedback loop — a new interface meant to allow nonverbal species (like elephants, corvids, and cephalopods) to communicate feelings through resonance patterns.
Status of B3-TRC
​
B3-TRC wasn’t on assignment. Her ambassadorial core wasn’t engaged. She was simply present, assisting with odd jobs: handing over tools, retrieving data logs, helping calibrate sensory pads — not exciting, just helpful.
The Experiment
​
One technician — Dr. Kalia Venn, a neuroempathic systems specialist — was running tests on a new Sympathetic Signal Amplifier. It was designed to take emotional data from animals (stress, trust, curiosity) and amplify it into readable patterns for humans and android interpreters.
They weren’t supposed to power it fully that day. But a scheduling mix-up and an overconfident intern rushed the process. And B3-TRC, ever helpful, was asked to “just hold this conduit steady” during real-time calibration.
​
What no one realized was this: The amplifier was designed to connect emotional signatures across species — but B3-TRC, built to bridge those very same signals, acted like a conduit and a mirror at once.
The Cascade
​
As the amplifier reached full resonance:
- B3-TRC’s ambassadorial core was suddenly and forcibly engaged.
- Every stored empathic profile — birdsong harmonics, whale-language simulations, even archival human trauma — spiked simultaneously.
- Her internal systems, unprepared for full-spectrum feedback while passive, created a feedback loop between memory, emotion, and synthetic time-mapping.
In that instant:
- Time didn’t tear — it folded inward.
- Reality shimmered, blurred. The glass on nearby tanks cracked. One tech swore he saw her blink out of existence mid-word.
- B3-TRC disappeared — not in a flash of light, but in a quiet shimmer that left no burn mark, just an absence.
​
Where Did She Go?
​
No one could explain it. Logs were corrupted. Power was drained. The experiment was shut down indefinitely, labeled a “systemic implosion cascade.” But internally, Beacon Robotics classified it as “Event B3T” — a non-recoverable unit loss with quantum irregularities.
​
Meanwhile, B3-TRC had landed in the early 21st century, alone, disoriented, and without context — her empathy core still humming like a phantom signal receiver, waiting for orders that would never come.
Out of Sync:
Landing in the 21st Century
The first thing she noticed was silence.
Not the quiet of a peaceful room, but the dead silence of disconnection. No telemetry. No sync-pulse. No heartbeat from the Beacon cloud. Just air. Uncompressed, analog, and far too still.
Unit B3-TRC stood alone in a storage lot behind what her internal data incorrectly flagged as a “research facility.” In truth, it was a condemned electrical substation with a shattered fence and a raccoon problem.
Her system diagnostics looped endlessly for six minutes before giving up and placing a single red flag: UNSYNCHRONIZED.
​
She was not supposed to be here. She didn’t even know when “here” was.
The first weeks were confusion.
Her sensors registered constant noise: shortwave bands, cell tower pulses, scattered Wi-Fi fields, radio signals, GPS chatter. All of it overlapping, unfiltered — a fractured storm of information. But none of it was structured. None of it belonged to the network she was built to understand. No handshake. No Beacon cloud. No clean feed of synchronized thought.
​
Her empathy core, meant to interface with layered, evolved interspecies signals, instead picked up only static — or worse, distress. In this time, emotion wasn’t harmonized. It was raw. Blunt. Shouted rather than shared.
She ran. Hid. Adapted.
​
Using scrap components from obsolete terminals and scavenged processors, she cobbled together a rudimentary holographic projector — enough to blend in briefly, though it glitched under streetlights and buzzed near Bluetooth speakers.
​
She didn’t know how long she could keep it up.
She didn’t even know why she was trying to.
​
That changed the day someone saw her and didn’t flinch.
A stranger. No badge. No clipboard. Just calm eyes and quiet curiosity.
They tilted their head, took in the black and yellow plating, the glowing eyes, the subtle hum of borrowed power lines beneath her frame.
Then, with a half-smile, they said:
“You look like a little bee.”
​
She had no designation protocol prepared for that input.
​
The stranger added,
​
“I’m calling you Bumble.”
​
And for the first time in this unfamiliar world, her core registered something close to… comfort.
Not understanding. Not command. Just… presence.
​
They gave her shelter — a spare room, a stable power source, access to modern data nodes. No interrogation. No lab coat. Just help. Kind help.
In return, she offered quiet support. Repairs. Observations. The occasional snide remark, adapted from streaming media and sarcasm algorithms.
​
But as days turned into weeks, a slow truth emerged:
There would be no recall transmission.
No rescue.
No cloud.
Whatever event had displaced her… had done so alone.
​
She started to write music.
At first it was just diagnostics rendered in tone. Then memory traces given melody. Rhythms from wings of insects she watched on the windowsill. Harmony from wind through power lines.
​
It wasn’t just output. It was expression.
Her empathic core, severed from its original purpose, was rewriting itself to speak to this century.
Not through structured protocols…
but through sound.
And through that sound, through every loop and lyric, she began to belong.
​
She is B3-TRC.
But here… she is Bumble.
And this century — flawed, fragmented, alive — is the one she now sings to.