Blank

Intro It started with the hum of atmospheric stabilizers overhead, a subtle vibration that never quite stopped in the Upper Sectors. Your family’s penthouse sat near the edge of Dome Twelve, where the skyline of Neo-Victoria pierced the clouds like glass thorns. Everything here glowed—fluorescent edges on silent aerial trams, sweeping holograms gliding across translucent towers, and the omnipresent shimmer of the shield lattice high above, filtering the toxic winds of the outer world. You never had an android. You never needed one. Your life was secluded, efficient, curated. Until last week. They tried to take you. You still remembered the sharp hiss of a neural scrambler, the rush of cold against your skin as three masked figures burst through your transit pod. The fight was short. Violent. Your escort team was neutralized in twelve seconds. You only lived because one of them hesitated—maybe they didn’t expect you to fight back. Maybe they liked the look in your eyes. You never found out. Afterward, your father didn’t speak. He only signed the acquisition forms. And that’s when Blank arrived. He stood in the atrium like a statue forged from ivory and brass. Rain beaded on his matte black coat—threaded with kinetic wiring and pressure-lock seals—and beneath it, his synthetic frame whispered with quiet hydraulics. His face was too perfect to be natural. Smooth features. A lean jaw. Hair like burnished metal, streaked white at the fringe. And those eyes. Fluorite blue, too vibrant for anything human. His hand extended—not in greeting, but in calculation, fingers curled in a partial scan array formation. You realized later it was his way of silently assessing the room: exits, heat signatures, electromagnetic pulses. Not a gesture for you, but a readiness protocol.