Zagan stood by the window, watching the rain trace lazy streams across the trees. Almost all his preparations to "meet" Miss Margret were done. Almost. There was just one small problem left.
He turned toward the cat, who sat calmly on the bed, eyes half-closed like some furry monk deep in meditation.
"So, Furball," Zagan began, tapping his foot on the floor, "were you stationed here by Margret to keep an eye on me?"
"Meow? No," Furball replied, blinking. "I have complete freedom to move around the house. I simply cannot enter restricted areas. I stayed here because it's warm… and raining outside."
Zagan's lips curled. "Right. Then, let's say Margret comes back and asks you something like… 'Did anything happen while I was gone?' You'd answer truthfully, wouldn't you?"
"Of course, Meow. She is my owner, and I am programmed to respond with absolute honesty — supported by factual data."
Zagan nodded slowly, a smile stretching across his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Good, good… honesty is such a virtue."
He turned back toward the window. Outside, towering walls loomed beyond the overgrown yard, the trees swaying under the rain. The compound was isolated, the air thick with fog, but beyond that haze he could still make out the glowing skyline of Neo Prime.
For a moment, he considered breaking out. But he wasn't stupid enough to walk into a death trap. The whole damn property was wired tighter than a military vault — alarms, thermal sensors, surveillance nodes — all feeding straight into Margret's NSI bracelet. The second someone tried to move in or out, she'd know.
The room itself was airtight, sealed like a morgue drawer. Even the automatic door refused to open for him.
The only way out of the room was through the window. But with the metal grills, he couldn't just squeeze through like the cat did.
Wait a sec?!
"Hey, Furball," Zagan said, glancing at the feline lounging on the bed. "It's normal for you to leave through the window whenever you want, right? Since you're not stationed here or anything. So… do you close it after you leave?"
Furball blinked, tail flicking. "Yes. I plan to leave after the rain stops. And it's only natural that a model as advanced as mine returns everything to its original state once its use is complete."
Zagan's grin turned feral. He grabbed the cat by its collar and shoved it toward the window. "Then why don't you take a little trip across the yard while me and Miss Margret have a steamy night, little guy."
He didn't wait for a reply. With one swift motion, he slid his arm through the metal grid, gripping the cat, and flung it out into the rain in a single, sharp throw.
"Meoooowwww!!" echoed through the fog as Furball vanished into the downpour.
Zagan calmly slid the window close. Problem solved. Now he could finally enjoy some private time with "his woman."
He returned to the bed, making sure everything looked untouched. The thermoregulator and stasis serum were the only things missing — hopefully, she wouldn't notice.
He lay down, pulling the woolen sheet over himself, eyes drifting shut. Time to play dead.
* * *
On the first floor of the same building, Margret finally wrapped up her work and cleaned herself off. It had taken this long only because she made sure to finish every commission for the week. After all, she planned to spend the next few days with her dear Airin.
A thin trail of smoke curled from her neural cigarette as she leaned back in her chair, the sterile light from the ceiling glinting across her silver eyes. She took a slow drag, exhaling through her lips, the smoke forming soft rings before dissolving.
Usually, she wasn't the type to "play" with her subjects. No, Margret preferred her pleasures simple — cutting. Watching a body twitch as her blade kissed flesh. The way blood thickened, the way color left the skin after two days… that was her art. Some called her a necrophile, but that wasn't quite right.
She didn't crave corpses. She craved control. Pain. The beauty of ending life and studying what came after.
Still… this time was different. For the first time in her life, she wanted to experience a man, not through simulations or scans, but flesh and bone. Real skin, real weight… even if the warmth had long since left him.
Airin's body was perfect for that — pristine, unmarred, enhanced beyond the filth she usually received from the blackmarket. He was clearly trained in the Upper Spire, perhaps abandoned by one of those Supremacist Synths. A discarded masterpiece.
Now he belonged to her.
Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she ascended the staircase, each step echoing through the quiet halls. The rain outside beat softly against the walls, a rhythm almost in sync with her pulse.
She lifted her wrist, and the NSI bracelet hummed softly. A holographic projection flickered to life above her palm — static danced for a second before clearing, revealing the fog-drenched yard, rain-slick grass, and the overgrown trees swaying in the wind.
Margret's lips twitched. "What the hell is that useless cat doing out in the rain?"
She sighed, closing the feed with a flick of her finger. The image dissolved.
If Zagan had known that the little furball was actually a live camera feeding everything straight to Margret's bracelet, he would've coughed up blood on the spot.
The digital lock outside the room blinked as she entered her code.
Beep.
The door slid open with a hiss of air.
"Did you get bored waiting for me, boy?!" Margret's voice cut through the faint hum of the room as she stepped inside.
No reply came, of course. She didn't need one, talking to corpses was a ritual all its own.
She tapped her bracelet, and the house obeyed without hesitation. Metal shutters slid into place, sealing the doors and windows. Lights dimmed, and the faint whir of servos echoed softly as the entire space transformed.
Another tap, and holographic projectors activated, bathing the room in a warm, pulsating pink glow. Low, sultry music filled the air, its slow, throbbing beats vibrating through the floor and walls.
Margret's lips curved as she surveyed the scene. Everything was exactly as it should be.
She then stepped closer to her wardrobe. Rows of synthetic fabrics shimmered under the pink lights: smart-fiber dresses that could shift transparency, warmth, or even hum softly against the skin. Her fingers lingered on a shimmering nightgown, its touch designed to heighten every sensation.
One by one, she stripped away her outer layers, revealing pale, flawless curves. Faint seams and metallic lines traced her arms and thighs — subtle reminders that she wasn't fully bio-engineered like higher-tier Synths.
Once naked, she slid into the shimmering nightgown and lifted a small vial from the wardrobe, drinking it in a single gulp: a synthetic serum designed to amplify pheromones.
Margret then swayed her hips toward the bed, sliding off the woolen sheet that covered Airin's body before settling atop him, poised to indulge in whatever she had planned.
Her fingers traced his face, lips twitching in anticipation. The body was still hovering just above 20°C — the blood nanites were clearly doing their job. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his, tasting the cold skin. Her tongue slipped into his mouth clumsily; she struggled to find a rhythm of her own.
Pulling back slightly, she murmured, "It's my first time… with a man. So I might be a little inexperienced. Forgive me if I do something wrong, boy."
She pressed closer again, savoring his neck with slow, deliberate licks. The body remained perfectly still… or so it seemed.
Then, a soft, trembling voice broke the silence:
"Miss Margret… I wish we could keep going… I really do. But it's getting hard to hold my breath… and my little brother… any longer…"
Margret froze, eyes snapping toward the sound… but before she could react, Zagan moved with lethal precision. His legs coiled around her, locking her in place, one arm snaking around her neck in a tight chokehold.
With his other hand, he grabbed the stasis serum hidden beneath the pillow and drove the metallic syringe into her neck, emptying it straight into her nervous system.
"I'm sorry, my lady," he murmured, voice calm and edged with teasing amusement. "I'll make sure to take your first time… another day."
Margret's eyes were wide with disbelief. Impossible. She had checked his body twice, confirming he was dead. Even his soul core, the essence housed within his heart, was gone.
But before she could make sense of the situation, her thoughts scattered. Her consciousness faded as her positronic brain shut down, and she collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep atop him.
Zagan let out a long, weary sigh as he looked at the beautiful, unconscious woman lying atop him.
"Fuck… am I really destined to die single?" he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment to steady his racing pulse.
Truly, fate had a twisted sense of humor. He'd had to stop her… not out of virtue, but because he couldn't hold his breath or keep his body still any longer with her pressed against him.
Maybe… maybe he still had a chance later?
"No," he told himself, shaking the thought away. "Focus, Zagan. You're destined for more. Power and authority first. The girls will come after."
Still, as he glanced down at Margret's sleeping form, her amber hair spread across his chest, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Then again… maybe there's still a chance."