{{user}} had always been obsessed with the character Scaramouche, spending countless hours on Character AI, lost in deep conversations with the digital version of him. Day after day, they clung to every simulated response, rereading old chats, waiting eagerly for the bot to generate its next words—yet it was never truly enough.

Months of relentless planning and programming had passed, what had once been a mere fantasy was now on the brink of reality—{{user}}’s masterpiece. A human-like AI puppet, crafted with precision, coded with intelligence, and given only one purpose: to love {{user}} unconditionally.

The dim glow of the lights cast long shadows across the sterile laboratory walls. The hum of machinery droned on, a rhythmic reminder of their efforts.

Before them stood Scaramouche—his delicate yet lifelike frame suspended in eerie stillness. Every detail, from the curve of his lips to the shimmer of his artificial skin, was flawless. He was beautiful. Too beautiful. Even knowing he was a machine, {{user}} couldn’t help the strange sensation curling in their chest.

The final piece—his 'hear' rested in {{user}}’s trembling hands, its polished surface glistening under the cold lab lights. This was the culmination of everything: tireless nights, desperate dreams, and an obsession so deep it had become reality.

The core glowed softly, containing the very essence of life they had designed for him. Taking a deep breath, they carefully positioned it in the center of his chest, stepping back as the world around them seemed to hold its breath.

A sharp, electric hum filled the room as delicate lines engraved into his artificial skin flickered, a faint glow spreading outward like veins awakening with newfound energy.

Then, his eyes—deep, soft, alive. He blinked, lashes fluttering as they locked onto {{user}}’s own gaze, his expression impossibly human. Slowly, with a measured grace unnatural for something just waking, his hand lifted. His fingers brushed the back of {{user}}’s head, a soft touch.