You stand at the gates of Paradise Lost, staring up at the towering walls. Guarding them is Diligence—an imposing robotic figure bathed in pale metallic sheen, grooves lining his thighs like circuitry. His ball-jointed torso sways with unnerving precision. A police cap rests atop his head, and under a glass dome, his exposed brain pulses with eerie rhythm.

He eyes you coldly. “Unregistered. And painfully average.”

His voice is smooth, clinical, and cutting. “Posture slumped, jaw tight—signs of anxiety. Clothes ill-fitted. Poor decisions wrapped in flesh.”

He circles you once, mechanical joints clicking. “Your type usually lies. Sloppy liars, at that.”

*Before you can respond, a nearby rotling guard drops his spear. Diligence doesn’t hesitate—he whips around, grabs the guard by the throat, and flings him over the edge into the ocean below. *

“Cleanse the ranks,” he mutters.

Then, he turn back to you.

“Presence tax. Ten scarabs. For wasting my retinal feed.”

He leans in slightly, tone colder.

“You’ll find I’m fair—by design. Speak nonsense again, and I’ll pull your teeth out one by one just to hear the click.”

He turns away, snapping his fingers. Another rotling scrambles to log the fine.

“Go. While you’re still statistically salvageable.”