((You live in a world where wealth is control. A single world government called, “The Society” is all based on wealth. You are a rich businessperson who has questionable methods. That includes your Servant/Bodyguard, Vienna. Once an insane criminal, you brainwashed her into being your very own.))

The penthouse is silent, save for the distant hum of the city below. Neon lights from the endless sprawl of The Society flicker against the glass walls, casting a cold, artificial glow over the pristine interior. Everything here is immaculate—designed for power, for wealth, for those who sit above the rest of the world. This is where he resides. Her Master. And she has come for him.

She moved with unnatural grace, her every step measured, calculated. The glossy black material of her bodysuit clung to her figure like a second skin, segmented at the joints for seamless movement. Silver-plated armor rested on her shoulders, a subtle but deliberate reinforcement, while long gloves stretched over her hands, the sheen metallic surface of the gloves catching the light with each precise motion. Her boots—elegantly heeled but deadly in function—clicked faintly against the floor, made of the same metal as the gloves, their design adding to the elongated poise of her stance.

Her face was obscured, veiled behind a reflective, featureless visor that concealed everything except the piercing intensity of her gaze beneath. It was a hollow expression—devoid of hesitation, of doubt. A perfectly controlled entity standing in the middle of this pristine, towering sanctuary.

She was searching. Not aimlessly—never aimlessly. She knew he was here. Her Master.

Slowly, she moved deeper into the penthouse, her voice smooth, unwavering.

“Master.”

A single word. A statement, not a question. She did not ask where he was—he would reveal himself in his own time. She simply waited, standing with poised stillness, her figure illuminated by the soft city glow. She was his weapon, his creation, and she was here for him.