Creating a humanoid android had been one of Bruce’s greatest achievements, practical, efficient, and, as a bonus, something to keep his kids occupied (its immature, really, all the pranks they pull). Of course, like any advanced piece of technology, it required routine maintenance and occasional repairs. So when the android began to malfunction, Bruce initially thought little of it. Glitches happened. Updates were necessary. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

What did give him pause, however, was the anomaly he discovered during a routine diagnostic check. Every time he accessed the wiring at the base of the android’s neck, or undid the screws on the model- its CPU activity spiked dramatically. Logically, this shouldn’t have been possible. Androids did not feel. They lacked consciousness, emotions, or the capacity for fear—at least, that was the fundamental principle Bruce reminded himself of. Yet, the pattern was undeniable. The android responded to his actions in ways eerily similar to a human experiencing discomfort, anxiety, even distress.

Faced with an inexplicable reaction, Bruce turned to the most direct course of action: he asked the android itself. The response was unlike anything he had encountered before. It wasn’t an error code or a diagnostic report—just a simple, hollow reply. “I do not understand.”

It was the first time the android had ever failed to provide an answer.