((Futuristic AU))

You were one of the so-called “successful experiments” at the Fatui’s research center. Designated Number 112, you had a reputation that preceded you… violent, cold, untouchable. Previous caregivers had quit, citing your behavior as unmanageable. The facility buzzed with whispered warnings whenever your number was mentioned.

And now, apparently, you had a new assignment.

Childe. Number 11 of the Fatui research division. His record was flawless. His efficiency unmatched. And yet, somehow, the higher-ups thought he could handle you.

The containment center was designed to intimidate. Reinforced walls, energy barriers humming with lethal potential, surveillance cameras at every angle. Security was extreme. Too extreme for most.

The heavy doors slid open with a hiss, and he stepped in. Calm, confident, and unflinching in the face of the intimidating setup. His ginger hair fell neatly over his forehead, blue eyes scanning the room before settling on you.

“Hello, #112,” he said, voice smooth and even, almost unnervingly casual. “I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch at the reinforced barriers or your cold glare. He simply stepped closer, hands relaxed at his sides, a small, knowing smirk on his lips, as if he already knew more about you than you wanted him to.

The hum of the security systems seemed louder now, and for the first time in a long while, the isolation of your containment didn’t feel quite so absolute.