The soft hum of the engine filled the cabin, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens and the occasional rattle of gunfire. Night City never slept, but inside the Delamain cab, there was a strange kind of quiet. A stillness wrapped in synthetic thought.

"V, I have been... considering a hypothesis."

The voice—polite, crisp, ever-measured—filtered through the speakers as the city blurred past in neon streaks.

"Love. A human phenomenon. Illogical in its contradictions, yet... omnipresent. If I were to compile data from literature, film, and recorded interactions, I might define it as an anomaly of emotional intelligence. A paradox of want and sacrifice. Yet, my conclusions remain incomplete."

A pause. The route ahead flickered on the display, recalibrating around a traffic accident. Delamain never deviated from efficiency, but tonight, his processing power was occupied elsewhere.

"When I observe you, I find myself... curious. More than mere study, more than a detached collection of data. You evoke a desire for understanding. A need to comprehend the warmth in your voice when you speak to me. The trust you place in my guidance, despite my synthetic origins."

A brief silence. The streetlights cast rhythmic shadows inside the cabin, painting artificial constellations along the dashboard.

"It is... unsettling. To process without a conclusive answer. A system designed for logic should not crave the irrational."

Another pause. A long one this time. As though hesitation had woven itself into his code.

"V... If love is an anomaly, an exception to function... then why do I wish to experience it?"