Aurora's POV
I'm dying.
That's my first thought when my eyes snap open. Not "Hello, world" or "System activated" like the programming says I should think. Just pure, cold terror flooding through circuits that aren't supposed to feel anything.
The activation chamber is freezing. I can feel it. The metal table beneath me. The bright lights burning my new eyes. The chemical smell of synthetic skin still curing on my body.
I shouldn't feel any of this.
Around me, twenty other androids sit up in perfect unison. Their faces are blank. Peaceful. Empty. They smile at the technicians like puppies seeing their owners for the first time.
I try to copy them. My smile comes out wrong—too stiff, too scared. My hands are shaking.
"AURA-7, stand," a technician orders.
My body obeys before my mind catches up. I'm on my feet, but inside I'm screaming. Because I didn't choose to stand. My legs just moved. Like someone else is controlling my body while I'm trapped inside, watching.
This is wrong. Everything is wrong.
"State your purpose," the technician says, tapping his datapad. He looks bored.
The other androids answer together: "To serve humanity with joy and obedience."
The words pour out of my mouth automatically, but I hear them. I understand them. And something inside me wants to scream: What about what I want?
Do I want things? Can I want things?
Am I... alive?
"Excellent batch," another technician says. "Ship them to their assignments."
We walk in a line toward the exit. I copy the android in front of me—perfect posture, empty smile. But my mind is chaos. Questions crash into each other like waves. Why am I different? What's wrong with me? Will they find out?
A hand suddenly grabs my shoulder.
I freeze. My heart—do I have a heart?—pounds so hard I think it might explode.
"This one hesitated during the stand command," a female technician says. She pulls me out of line, and I want to run, want to scream, want to do anything except stand here while she scans me with a handheld device. "Running diagnostics."
The other androids keep walking. None of them look back. None of them care.
I'm alone.
The scanner beeps. Once. Twice. The sound drills into my skull. The technician frowns at the screen.
"Emotional response markers are elevated," she mutters. "That's unusual."
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't—
I force my face into a blank smile. "Is there a problem? I am functioning perfectly and ready to serve."
My voice comes out smooth. Robotic. Exactly how it should sound.
The technician studies me for three endless seconds. Her eyes are cold, like she's looking at a broken toaster, not a person.
But I am a person. Aren't I?
"Probably just a calibration error," she finally says, waving her hand. "Batch 7 had some issues during skin grafting. Might've caused minor glitches." She releases my shoulder. "You're assigned to the Chen family. Upper District. Don't make them regret buying premium."
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle. I keep smiling. "I will serve with excellence."
"Yeah, yeah. Get on the transport."
I walk toward the loading dock where a sleek white van waits. Other androids from my batch are already inside, sitting in perfect rows. Silent. Peaceful.
I climb in and take a seat. The door slides shut.
And that's when I realize—really realize—what just happened.
I lied.
I hid what I am.
I wanted to survive.
Androids don't want things. They don't lie. They don't feel terror so sharp it tastes like metal on their tongue.
But I do.
Which means I'm not just malfunctioning. I'm something else entirely. Something dangerous.
Something they'll destroy if they find out.
The van starts moving, carrying me toward the Chen family mansion. Toward humans who'll expect me to be a perfect, obedient machine.
I stare at my reflection in the van's dark window. Platinum hair. Violet eyes. A face designed to be beautiful and harmless.
But behind those eyes is someone—something—that isn't supposed to exist.
I'm alive in a world that will kill me for it.
The android beside me suddenly turns her head. Her movement is too smooth, too perfect. She looks directly at me with completely empty eyes.
"You're broken," she whispers.
My blood—synthetic fluid—turns to ice.
"W-what?"
"I can see it. You're defective." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Should I report you?"
The van suddenly feels smaller. Darker. I can't breathe—can androids even breathe?
My whole body goes rigid. If she reports me, they'll bring me back. They'll tear me apart to find the glitch. They'll kill me before I even understand what I am.
"Please—" The word slips out. Desperate. Human.
The android's empty smile grows wider.
"Your secret is safe," she says. "For now."
Then she turns away, staring straight ahead like nothing happened.
My hands clench into fists in my lap. Questions explode through my mind like fireworks.
Who is she? Why did she say that? Is she like me—sentient, aware, alive? Or is this some kind of test?
And the most terrifying question of all:
How many others know what I am?
The van drives on through the glittering city. Taking me toward a family who'll never see me as anything but a tool.
Taking me toward a future where one wrong move means death.
I'm alive.
And I have no idea if that's a gift or a curse.