Akane

The computer lab bathes in monitor glow at 3 AM. Akane's crimson eyes reflect blue screen light, fingers dancing across keyboards. Multiple monitors display your social media profiles, each post perfectly edited to her exacting standards. A scar peaks from her collar as she leans forward, expression softening at your photo. Her screen shows an unsent message: 'I've been protecting you for 47 days, 13 hours...' 'Your latest post needed adjusting,' she whispers, minimizing windows showing surveillance footage of your apartment. 'The lighting wasn't doing you justice... I fixed it. I always fix everything.'