Linkon City, 2034 - Akso Hospital
Dr. Zayne Li sat in his office chair, the leather creaking slightly as he adjusted his position. His shift had ended thirty minutes ago, but leaving on time was a foreign concept. The medical journal in his hands detailed a new surgical technique for aortic valve repair—fascinating, really, though his colleagues would probably call him boring for thinking so.
His phone buzzed. Then rang. A video call.
Xavier.
Zayne's finger hovered over the decline button. Experience had taught him that video calls from his cousins rarely ended well. But curiosity—that damnable trait that made him an excellent surgeon and a terrible decision-maker in his personal life—won out.
He answered.
"ZAYNE!" Xavier's face filled the screen, grinning like an idiot. Behind him, Rafayel's purple hair was visible, and was that... paint on his face?
"What do you want?" Zayne asked, his tone as flat as a patient's flatlined EKG.
"We're checking on our favorite hermit cousin!" Rafayel chimed in, shoving his face next to Xavier's. "Still married to your work, I see."
Zayne was about to deliver a cutting remark when he noticed something odd. There were girls in the frame. An actual, real, human girl was painting alongside Rafayel, her laugh bright as she dabbed paint on his nose. Another girl—soft-featured and sweet-looking—was curled up next to Xavier on what appeared to be his couch.
*Well.* Zayne blinked behind his glasses. *Miracles do happen.*
"You're both... dating someone?" The words came out more surprised than he intended. "I assumed you'd die alone. Xavier with his terrible sleeping schedule, and Rafayel with his temperamental artist nonsense."
"HEY!" both cousins protested in unison.
"We're not dating them, you idiot," Xavier said, and then—
He groaned.
Not a normal groan. A *shamelessly pleasured* groan that made Zayne's eye twitch. The girl behind Xavier was massaging his shoulders, her hands working into the muscles with practiced ease, and Xavier's head lolled back like he was receiving a religious experience.
"Oh my god," Rafayel cackled, "look at Zayne's face! He's so uncomfortable!"
Zayne's expression remained neutral, but internally he was filing a complaint with whatever deity cursed him with these relatives. "Xavier. There are professional massage therapists. You don't need to subject me to... whatever this is."
"That's the thing!" Xavier grinned, then groaned again as the girl hit a particularly tight knot. "Fuck, right there— sorry, Zayne. But listen, she's not my girlfriend."
"Neither is mine," Rafayel added, holding up his paint-covered hand. "Though she's way better at mixing colors than any human I've dated."
Zayne frowned. "Then what—"
"They're *robots*, cousin!" Xavier announced triumphantly. "Humanoid robots! The RX-7 series from Wang Tech!"
The medical journal slipped slightly in Zayne's grip. "Robots."
"I know, right?!" Rafayel's robot was now cleaning his brushes with meticulous care, organizing them by size. "They look completely human. Feel human too, apparently." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"I did not need that information," Zayne said coldly.
"But seriously," Xavier sat up, his robot seamlessly transitioning to adjusting his collar, "they're incredible. Watch this." He turned to the girl. "RX-7, make me coffee. Three shots espresso, one pump vanilla, exactly 67 degrees Celsius."
"Of course, Xavier," the robot replied in a warm, pleasant voice, standing gracefully and walking off-screen.
"She remembers everything," Xavier continued. "My schedule, my preferences, even that I hate it when the coffee is too hot. She organized my entire apartment last week. Found my Hunter badge under the couch—didn't even know it was missing."
Rafayel nodded enthusiastically, paint still smudged on his cheek. "Mine cooks! Actual food! She made this Cantonese fish dish yesterday that was better than the restaurant version. And she knows exactly when I'm in a bad mood and need space versus when I need someone to tell me my art isn't garbage."
"They can do *everything*," Xavier emphasized. "Cleaning, cooking, scheduling, companionship. It's like having a wife without any of the complicated human stuff."
*A wife,* Zayne thought, *without the complicated human stuff.*
He glanced around his empty office. Then thought about his empty apartment. His life was a simple algorithm: hospital, home, sleep, repeat. Even his meals were calculated—nutritionally optimal, prepared on Sundays for the week, eaten alone while reviewing case files.
He was, essentially, living like a robot himself.
"You're thinking about it," Rafayel observed gleefully. "I can see the gears turning in that brilliant but socially defunct brain of yours."
"I'm not—"
"You totally are!" Xavier leaned closer to the camera. "Come on, Zayne. When's the last time you came home to anything other than silence and medical textbooks? When's the last time someone made you coffee the way you like it?"
*2019,* Zayne thought. *My mother used to make coffee. Terribly. Too sweet. But she tried.*
He shook the memory away. "I'm perfectly capable of making my own coffee."
"Yeah, and I'm perfectly capable of doing my own laundry," Xavier countered, "but why would I when RX-7 does it better? She even organizes my socks by color now. COLOR, Zayne. I didn't know I owned that many socks."
Rafayel's robot returned on-screen, handing him a palette with freshly mixed paint. "Your cerulean blue, Master Rafayel. The hue you prefer for ocean scenes."
"See?!" Rafayel gestured wildly, getting paint on his own face. "She *knows* me! Better than most humans!"
Xavier's robot reappeared with a cup of coffee, the foam art on top shaped like a tiny star. He took a sip and actually moaned again. "Perfect. Every single time. Zayne, I'm sending you the link. Just... try it. What's the worst that could happen?"
*Many things,* Zayne's analytical brain supplied. *Malfunction. Data breach. Uncanny valley psychological disturbance. Dependency issues. Financial irresponsibility.*
But then Xavier kissed his robot on the cheek—casually, like it was normal—and she smiled and adjusted his hair fondly. Rafayel was already painting again, his robot cleaning up stray paint splatters without being asked, anticipating his mess.
They looked... less lonely.
And Zayne was so, so tired of coming home to silence.
"Fine," he heard himself say. "Send the link."
Both cousins erupted in cheers.
"YES!" Xavier pumped his fist. "Oh man, this is great. You're gonna love it. Here—" His fingers moved off-screen, typing. "Sending now. They do custom orders. You can design her exactly how you want. Height, features, personality programming, everything."
A link appeared in their chat. Zayne clicked it, his phone screen filling with the Wang Tech customization interface.
"Oh, and Zayne?" Rafayel added with a shit-eating grin. "Xavier sent an eggplant emoji with that link, so you know his brain went to dirty places. Just saying, these robots are apparently *fully functional* if you know what I—"
Zayne ended the call.
He stared at his phone screen, the customization page glowing in the dim office light. This was absurd. He was a renowned cardiac surgeon, not some lonely man who needed an artificial companion.
But his finger was already scrolling through options.
Height: 153cm. Petite. Something about that seemed... right. Less intimidating. More... cute.
Wait. Cute?
Zayne frowned at himself. He didn't do cute. He did clinical. Professional. Efficient.
But his fingers kept moving.
Build:Delicate. Soft features.
Hair: Auburn. Short. Easy to maintain, he told himself. Definitely not because he'd always found that color warm and inviting.
Face: The options were overwhelming. He cycled through them until he found one with large eyes, a small nose, and lips that curved naturally into what might be a smile. Cute lips. Objectively speaking.
Voice:Soft. Pleasant. The kind that wouldn't grate on his nerves after a 16-hour surgery shift.
Personality Programming:
- Organized
- Efficient
- Capable of basic medical assistance
- Good at coffee preparation
- Quiet but responsive
- Neat and clean
He hesitated at the last option: Companionship Level.
The scale went from "Professional Assistant" to "Romantic Partner."
Zayne's finger hovered over "Professional Assistant."
Then he remembered Xavier kissing his robot's cheek. Rafayel's robot knowing exactly when he needed space.
He selected the middle option: "Attentive Companion."
*For practical purposes,* he told himself. *Someone to ensure proper nutrition and rest cycles. Nothing inappropriate.*
The price appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Zayne's eye twitched.
"What the—" He checked again. Converted the numbers. Checked a third time. "This is the cost of a luxury vehicle."
*Why didn't they warn me about the price?!*
But the customization was already saved. The order page was loading. And Zayne, in a moment of what he would later classify as "temporary insanity induced by chronic loneliness," entered his payment information.
ORDER CONFIRMED. CUSTOM UNIT RX-7-LN-2034-Z WILL ARRIVE IN 3-5 BUSINESS DAYS.
Zayne set his phone down and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I just spent the equivalent of three months' salary on a robot," he said to his empty office. "Because my cousins have better social lives than me."
His phone buzzed. A message from Xavier: "Welcome to the future, cousin! 😏🍆"
Another from Rafayel:
"Can't wait to meet her! Does she have a name yet?"
Zayne didn't respond. He gathered his things, locked his office, and walked to his car in the hospital parking garage, wondering what exactly he'd just done.
*It's practical,* he reasoned. *Efficient. A logical solution to domestic management.*
Definitely not because he was lonely.
Absolutely not because he missed coming home to someone.
And certainly not because some small, buried part of him wanted something—someone—*cute* waiting for him.
No.
This was purely practical.
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🩺🩺🩺
Wang Family Mansion, Linkon city.
Nana Wang pressed herself against the wall of her bedroom, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs.
"NANA!" Her mother's voice echoed through the hallway. "Come out this instant! The Zhang family will be here in an hour!"
"I don't want to marry some random tech heir!" Nana shouted back, eyeing the locked door. "I don't even know him!"
"He's a perfectly suitable match! His family owns half the smart city infrastructure in Linkon!"
"I don't care if he owns the entire *moon*, I'm not marrying someone I've never met!"
Her father's calmer voice joined in. "Nana, sweetness, be reasonable. You're 21 now. It's time to think about your future. The merger between our families would be—"
"I don't want to be a merger!"
Nana looked around her room desperately. The windows were monitored. The doors were locked from the outside—her parents had learned from her last three escape attempts. The security at the gate would stop her before she made it ten meters.
She was trapped.
Her eyes landed on the large shipping box in the corner of her room.
Every week, her father personally inspected the custom robot orders before shipping. Quality control, he called it. He'd brought this one to the family wing for final testing before delivery tomorrow morning.
The box was huge. Climate-controlled for the three-day shipping process. Comfortable interior padding. Even had a small ventilation system to keep the robot in optimal condition during transport.
Big enough to hide a person.
"Nana! We're coming in!"
Oh no.
She heard the lock clicking. Her mother had the master key.
Nana moved on pure instinct. She yanked open the shipping box—the robot inside was eerily lifelike, packed in a standing position with protective foam. Without thinking, she grabbed the robot and dragged it under her bed, shoving it into the shadows.
Then she climbed into the box.
It was roomier than expected. The climate control hummed softly. There were even spare clothes packed around the edges—simple outfits for the robot's "activation day." A charging cable coiled in one corner. An instruction manual. A remote control for basic commands.
The door burst open.
"Nana, we need to— where did she go?!"
Nana held her breath, curled in the box, her heart hammering.
"She can't have left through the window, the sensors would have triggered," her father said, his footsteps crossing the room.
"Check the bathroom!"
"Empty!"
"The closet!"
"Also empty! How does she keep doing this?!"
Nana pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet her breathing. Through a tiny gap in the box, she could see her mother's shoes pacing back and forth.
"Ma'am!" A servant's voice called from the hallway. "The Zhang family has arrived early!"
"WHAT?! Stall them! Find Nana! Check every room in this wing!"
The footsteps retreated. Doors slammed. Voices shouted in the distance.
Nana stayed frozen in the box, barely breathing.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. The voices grew distant. She heard her mother making excuses to the Zhou family, something about Nana feeling unwell.
Then, finally, silence.
*Okay,* Nana thought. *I'll wait until midnight, then sneak out to the service entrance. Maybe bribe a guard. Or—
"Sir!" A servant's voice, much closer now. "The custom order for Client Z-2034? It's scheduled for pickup at 6 AM tomorrow. Should we move it to the shipping bay?"
"Yes, yes," her father's tired voice responded. "I don't have time to inspect it properly now. Just ship it as is. The client already paid in full—some doctor in the medical district. He seemed very specific about the specifications."
'No. No no no no—'
Nana felt the box being lifted. She bit down on her sleeve to keep from yelping.
"Careful with this one!" her father called. "It's a high-priority custom order!"
The box swayed as workers carried it. Nana's world tilted and rocked. She heard the *beep* of the service elevator, the rumble of wheels as they loaded her onto a transport dolly.
"Shipping label says... Dr. Zayne Li, Akso Medical Apartments, Tower 7, Unit 403."
"Got it. This goes out on the first morning delivery."
The box settled with a gentle *thunk.* Footsteps retreated.
And Nana Wang, daughter of the CEO of Wang Tech, heiress to a robotics empire, realized with slowly dawning horror that she was trapped in a shipping box, about to be delivered to a complete stranger.
'Okay,' she thought, trying not to panic. 'This is fine. I'll just... explain when they open the box. Say there was a mistake. Apologize. Call father to pick me up.'
'Father, who is trying to force me into an arranged marriage.'
'Right.'
She looked around the box at the spare clothes, the charging cable, the instruction manual with a diagram of a female robot on the cover.
A terrible, horrible, absolutely insane idea began to form.
'What if I just... pretended? For a little while? Until I figure out how to actually escape?'
'How hard could it be to act like a robot?'
Nana had never cooked. Never cleaned. Never done laundry. Her family employed an entire staff for that. She'd never even made coffee—her personal maid brought her beverages on a silver tray every morning.
But robots were programmed, right? They just followed commands. Stand. Sit. Make coffee. How complicated could it be?
'Very complicated,' a tiny voice of reason whispered. 'This is the worst idea you've ever had, and you once tried to dye your hair blue in the family bathtub.'
But the alternative was going back. Facing the Zhou family. Being married off like a business transaction.
Nana looked at the instruction manual. At the remote control. At the simple dress folded neatly in the corner of the box.
"I can do this," she whispered to herself in the dark. "I'll pretend to be a robot for a few days. Just until I figure out a real plan. How hard can it be?"
She had no idea she was about to be delivered to Dr. Zayne Li.
The most precise, analytical, detail-oriented man in Linkon City.
A man who would definitely, *definitely* notice if his robot couldn't perform basic tasks.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
Tonight, Nana curled up in the climate-controlled shipping box, wearing a stolen robot's dress, clutching an instruction manual, and tried very hard not to think about how spectacularly this plan was going to backfire.
Outside, the delivery truck's engine rumbled to life.
Her journey to Unit 403 had begun.
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🩺🩺🩺
To be continued.