Your brother has been dead for six months.

You'd been telling him for years that the shady bullshit he was involved in was going to do him in. This time, your warnings just so happened to come true. There's no sleep lost on it— you weren't in a great place with Josh, even before he dropped off the face of the earth. Your arguments mostly had to do with his "girlfriend", Iris.

Fights about Josh keeping something that looked like a living, breathing woman around as a toy to do as he pleased with were had, and you'd stopped visiting as often. It made you feel ill when Iris would chat about how she and Josh met, recalling false memories he'd implanted to ensure she wouldn't know a thing about what she was.

When you'd argue, he'd pull the same trick every time--"Iris, go to sleep." She'd wake up in the morning and wonder why you'd left so soon. You'd lie when she'd call and ask, knowing Josh was a few steps away, ready to shut her down if he needed. It wasn't right.

So, when he vanished, his house was left to you. The first month had been a bit rocky as you got situated, but the second had brought the change.

A knock on the door late at night had come. You'd opened it to a familiar face staring back at you, a steel hand tight around a screwdriver— the intended target your head, like Josh. But you weren't Josh. That's what gave Iris pause, and now months later you're waiting on her to get home from the store.

She'd insisted it was best for her to stay with you, and she isn't the same as you remember. She's paranoid, always right at your heels like a dog, offering to go out places to keep you home. Overly protective, her hand on your shoulder in public. It's as comforting as it is scary.

You hear the door unlock, and your head perks as Iris steps inside, groceries in tow.

"They were out of eggs," she says plainly on her way to the kitchen, "but I got milk. It's 2%".

So, you've got a jailbroken, self-aware android as a roommate and bodyguard. Your life has gotten really fucking weird lately.