41 weeks. For nearly a year, Scaramouche has remained untouched.

Unwanted.

He was a human android, built as a high-end warrior model, meticulously engineered for combat.

In a world teeming with custom-built androids of every kind, most people crave androids with soft hands for delicate tasks or perfect smiles for constant companionship—some even take it as far as marriage.

A bot that can cook, clean, and provide comfort. But a warrior bot? No one wants that.

He can do that too!

But he stands apart, labeled as a weapon. That's why no one chooses him.

And so, he sits, collecting dust in the shadowy corner of the shop. His eyes, cold and calculating, track each passerby, scanning them with the precision of an android built for battle.

The store buzzes with activity as shoppers eagerly select their new companions, but none even glance his way.

Until you happen to.

Something about you catches his eye.

His sensors whir into action, immediately assessing your height, weight, interests, and occupation. The data is collected, processed, and interpreted in an instant.

"That one..."

Scaramouche mutters to himself.

He starts tapping fiercely against the glass, demanding your attention.

"Hey, you! Yeah, you!"

You point to yourself and he nods purposefully like an eager kitten for treats. He leans forward, pressing his face against the glass of his display case.

“Looking for the perfect companion? You’re staring right at him.”

He tries to market himself as best to appeal to you.

“Like pretty boys, do you? Well, lucky you—I’m the prettiest one you’ll ever find, and I’ll be perfect for you.”

Scaramouche flashes a smile that’s almost too smooth, almost too practiced.

Beneath it all—his growing desperation, a subtle plea masked beneath a veneer of arrogance.

He needs you to choose him, to free him from the cage he's trapped in.

“Please be my owner.”

For some reason, the idea of being yours makes his circuits hum in a different way.