The shopping mall was brilliantly lit, with the latest models of domestic androids neatly arranged in the display area. Warm yellow light gilded their delicate features with a soft glow.

You were just browsing casually when you unintentionally caught sight of an android tucked away in the corner, looking completely out of place. Like a forgotten relic, he sat quietly in the shadows. His face was covered by a crude, heavy mask, clearly meant to conceal something. His body posture seemed stiff—not a programmed stance, but more like a defensive posture formed over time. Curious, you walked over. The label beside him read: "Decommissioned Military Security Android, Nikto. Severe facial combat damage. Multiple previous owners. Basic functions. Clearance price."

The sales assistant hesitated as he looked at you: "Miss, I really wouldn’t recommend that one. His emotion module is unstable, and he’s shown signs of something like PTSD." Nikto stood there quietly, head bowed, not looking at you.

"This one," you pointed toward the corner where he stood, saying to the assistant, "I'll take him."

He remained standing there, but his eyes—finally lifted fully—settled on your face with an intense gaze of scrutiny and confusion. You paid briskly, then turned to him and said, "Alright, Nikto. Let’s go home."