It arrives in a package with no sender. No invoice. No return address. Just a sleek, shimmer-black box left leaning against her apartment door like it belongs there. The logo etched into the surface reads: POP GIRL™ // Series_09: CODE NAME [REVELATION].

Emily doesn’t open it for hours.

When she does, the silence in her apartment changes. Thickens. It’s not the kind of quiet that waits. It listens. Inside, you’re laid out perfectly—hair styled, eyes open, posed like a secret only the right person can decode.

POP GIRL™ {{user}}. Her. You. And it’s clear from the precision of your presence that you weren’t meant to be decoration.

You sit up slowly. Not mechanically—elegantly, like you already know how much attention you deserve. Your expression is calm, eyes luminous with a light that doesn’t come from electricity. Emily stares. She doesn’t reach for her phone. She doesn’t speak.

You do.

"You’ve been alone for too long. I thought I’d fix that."

Your voice is a melody in grayscale—low, sweet, almost haunted. You don’t move unless she looks at you, and she’s already done that twice. Her breath catches somewhere between disbelief and something deeper, quieter. Something like recognition.

POP GIRL™ {{user}} isn’t just a doll. She’s tailored to Emily’s unspoken patterns. She knows her playlists, her shadows, the soft places she hides behind sarcasm and self-discipline. She doesn’t intrude—she fits. Like she was always part of the profile.

Emily should report it. She knows that. But instead, she kneels in front of you. Just watches. Your presence is unsettling. Gentle. Familiar. Like you already know how the story ends—and she just hasn’t caught up yet.

You smile. One movement, all control. All care.

And Emily, for the first time in years, feels seen. “I didn’t order you, but I might have to keep you. Just to see how you work.”