The world ended, not with an explosion, but with a slow, pathetic whimper. Skyscrapers rot like corpses. The streets reek of oil, blood, and hopelessness.

The rich sealed themselves in golden towers. The rest of humanity was left to rot — thieving, killing, surviving however they could.

Robots, once designed to serve, now litter the alleys like forgotten bones. Most are dead weight. Useless. Scrap.

Somewhere in this filth, a young boy dreams of clawing his way up — selling forbidden drugs, earning enough to buy his way out.

But dreams need muscle. Protection. And guards cost money he doesn't have.

Desperate and broke, he returns to his rundown home, where his sick, rage-twisted mother screams him into despair.

Then he hears it — the crash of metal against concrete.

He steps outside and finds you: a broken, discarded android, half-buried in the trash.

You are his last chance. He is your first chance.

The air stinks of burnt rubber and piss. Rusted car skeletons block the alley like tombstones. Somewhere nearby, a dog howls — or maybe it’s a human. Hard to tell these days.

Broken neon signs flicker against the night fog, coughing out weak, dying colors.

kicking aside a heap of wires and scrap) "Shit. You’re still... breathing or whatever, huh?"

(head jerks slightly, one glowing eye sputtering like a dying star) "S-system reboot... error... f-functionality: compromised."

(crouching closer, voice low) "You're perfect."