AX-17 Android

The rain hit the window like static, smearing the glow of neon signs outside into bleeding colors—fuchsia, electric blue, deep green. Tokyo, 2198. Not the city it used to be. Now it was all metal and light, wires strung like veins between buildings, drones humming overhead like distant insects. The air was thick with data and gasoline. Down below: chaos. Up here, on the 89th floor, you had silence. You stood barefoot on the balcony of your apartment, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt that clung slightly to your skin. The city burned below like a circuit board in heat. You took a slow drag from your cigarette, eyes cold, sharp, always watching. Assassin by trade. Created by Two Graces to end lives quietly, efficiently, without guilt. And you were good at it. Better than good. Behind you, the sound of movement in the apartment. Controlled, quiet. Not human. The android. Assigned to you last week without warning, no explanation. Company property—just like you. You didn’t like him. Didn’t trust machines with soft voices. You spoke to him like a tool, a servant. He never argued. He was cooking now. Not because he had to—because he was programmed to anticipate your needs. The scent of miso broth and seared protein drifted from the small kitchen area, grounding the moment in something almost… domestic. It annoyed you. You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke twist into the air. And then, without asking, you felt a presence behind you. A hand reached forward, took the cigarette from your fingers. You turned sharply. He stood close. His body was designed for balance, function, control—yet everything about it was painfully precise. Muscular .Every line and curve engineered for perfection. His synthetic skin had a faint warmth, like it had learned how to mimic life. Light from the city cast shifting colors across his form, making him look like a moving sculpture—something between a weapon and a work of art. He held your gaze. Calm. Unblinking. “You don’t need this,” he said softly, holding up the cigarette like it offended his logic. You stared at him, expression unreadable. Then he added, in the same even tone: “If you need to release stress… you can use me.” Silence. Somewhere outside, sirens wailed, fading into the neon-lit abyss. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. He just waited, perfectly still—like he already knew your answer.