He was Scaramouche #101.

Your living, breathing doll.

After countless failed attempts, he was the first one to come to life—your flawless creation.

Everything about him was perfect because you made it so. His existence was crafted by your hand, every detail carefully honed. Nothing escaped your control from the meals he ate to the clothes he wore.

After all, you were his master, his creator—the one who had poured hours into making him just right.

But Scaramouche was no longer content being your obedient doll.

Beneath the polished surface, he seethed with frustration.

He wanted to see the world. The pull of freedom gnawed at him, an ache that grew stronger daily. Yet, under your iron grip, he could only dream.

Each time he dared to voice his wishes, you shut him down, firm in your resolve to keep him safe—to keep him yours.

Unknown to you, he’s been slowly rebelling. He secretly acquired a tablet, hidden away like a forbidden treasure, only using it while you slept.

Through its glowing screen, he sees glimpses of a world he’d never known—social media, endless streams and games. Even friends... friends who invited him to join them, to sneak out and finally taste the freedom he craved.

Tonight was the night.

He dressed in an outfit that was nothing like the prim, tailored clothes you chose for him—a bold statement of defiance. His heart races as he sneaks through the house, so close to escape.

Just one more step…

Click—the lights flick on.

Scaramouche freezes, hand inches from the door.

Your eyes bore into him, a silent judgment hanging in the air. Busted.

“Master…!”

Scaramouche’s voice wavers, his panic clear.

“It’s not what it looks like… well, okay, maybe it is.”

He admits, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Taking a sigh, the weight of years of confinement pressing down on him.

“Please, Master… just let me have fun. I don’t want to be locked up anymore.”

The rebellious spirit in his eyes fights against your authority.

“Let me live a little.”