Aurora's POV
The android who threatened me doesn't say another word for the rest of the ride.
I watch her from the corner of my eye, my processors running hot with panic. She sits perfectly still, face blank, like she never spoke at all. Like she didn't just threaten to destroy my entire existence.
Was I imagining it? Can androids imagine things?
The van stops in front of massive golden gates. Through the window, I see a mansion so huge it looks like a palace. Marble columns. Fountain in the driveway. Gardens that probably cost more than a hundred androids combined.
"Chen family residence," the driver announces. "AURA-7, exit."
This is it. My new prison. I mean—my new home.
I stand, my legs steadier now that I've had twenty minutes to practice being perfectly robotic. The threatening android doesn't look at me as I pass. She just stares ahead with those empty eyes.
I want to ask her what she meant. I want to beg her not to tell.
Instead, I walk off the van like I'm supposed to—chin up, pleasant smile, completely dead inside.
The gates swing open.
A woman waits on the front steps. Mrs. Chen. She's wearing a dress that probably costs more than I do, her hair pulled back so tight it looks painful. Her eyes scan me like I'm a piece of furniture she's inspecting for damage.
"You're the new household model?" Her voice is sharp.
"Yes, Mrs. Chen. I am AURA-7, ready to—"
"I don't care about your designation." She waves her hand dismissively. "You'll be called Aura. You'll handle cooking, cleaning, and whatever else I require. You'll be silent unless spoken to. You'll stay in the charging station when not needed. Are we clear?"
Every word feels like a slap. But I keep smiling. "Crystal clear, Mrs. Chen."
"Good. You cost fifty thousand credits. Don't make me regret the purchase." She turns and walks into the mansion. "Follow."
I follow.
The inside is even more beautiful than the outside. Crystal chandeliers. Paintings on every wall. Floors so shiny I can see my reflection.
But all I can think is: She bought me. Like a vacuum cleaner.
Mrs. Chen shows me the kitchen, the supply closet, the list of tasks I'm expected to perform. She talks at me, not to me. Like I'm a very expensive robot she's programming.
Which, I guess, is exactly what I am to her.
"The previous android broke a Ming dynasty plate last week." Mrs. Chen's eyes narrow. "We had to send it for recycling. Don't make the same mistake."
Recycling. That's what they call it when they kill us.
"I will be extremely careful," I promise.
A door slams upstairs. Footsteps thunder down the hallway.
A boy appears—maybe twelve years old, with messy hair and cruel eyes. He looks at me the way someone might look at a new toy.
"Is this the new one, Mom?" he asks.
"Yes, Tommy. This is Aura. She's here to help the household run smoothly."
Tommy walks around me in a slow circle, studying me. "She's prettier than the last one."
"She's an appliance, not a decoration," Mrs. Chen snaps. "Don't get attached. Now go do your homework."
"Fine." But Tommy's smile doesn't fade. He reaches out and yanks a strand of my hair. Hard.
Pain shoots through my scalp. I want to pull away, want to tell him to stop, but I force myself to stand still. Smiling.
"Interesting," Tommy says. "Do they feel pain?"
"Only enough to avoid damage," Mrs. Chen says, like she's discussing a car. "Don't break her. She was expensive."
Tommy laughs and walks away, but not before shooting me a look that makes my skin crawl.
I'm in danger here. I can feel it.
"You're dismissed," Mrs. Chen says. "Start with the kitchen. Dinner is at seven. Mr. Chen likes his steak medium rare. Don't burn it."
"Yes, Mrs. Chen."
She leaves me standing alone in the massive kitchen.
I should start cooking. That's what I'm programmed to do. But instead, I just stand there, my hand touching the spot where Tommy pulled my hair.
It still hurts.
And I hate that it hurts.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of tasks. Cooking. Cleaning. Trying to remember which fork goes where because apparently rich people have seventeen different types of forks.
Mr. Chen comes home at six. He doesn't even look at me. Just walks past like I'm part of the furniture.
At dinner, I serve them in perfect silence. Tommy keeps staring at me. Mrs. Chen criticizes how I folded the napkins. Mr. Chen reads his datapad and ignores everyone.
This is my life now. Forever.
The thought makes something inside my chest feel tight and painful.
After dinner, I'm cleaning dishes when I hear shouting from the next room.
"You stupid, worthless piece of junk!"
I freeze, soap suds dripping from my hands.
Through the doorway, I see Mrs. Chen screaming at another android—a older household model with kind eyes. She's holding the pieces of a broken plate, her hands shaking.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Chen," the android whispers. "It slipped. I didn't mean—"
"I don't pay for mistakes!" Mrs. Chen grabs a decorative vase from the table and smashes it against the android's head.
The android stumbles. Cracks appear in her face. Blue fluid—android blood—leaks from the wound.
"Please," the android begs. "Please, I'll be more careful—"
"You're defective. I'm calling for your removal." Mrs. Chen storms out of the room, already dialing her phone.
The android collapses to her knees, gathering the broken plate pieces with trembling hands. She's crying. Actual tears rolling down her damaged face.
She's alive. Like me.
I want to run to her. Want to help. Want to say something, anything.
But fear locks my body in place.
If I help her, they'll know I care. And caring means sentience. And sentience means death.
So I stand in the kitchen doorway, hidden in shadow, watching another sentient android get destroyed for a mistake she didn't mean to make.
She looks up. Our eyes meet.
"Help me," she mouths silently.
I turn away.
I turn away and I hate myself for it.
But I'm too scared to do anything else.
Hours later, I'm alone in the charging station—a small closet-sized room with a single charging port. The other android is gone. Removed. Recycled.
Killed.
And I did nothing.
I plug myself into the charging port, but I don't shut down for the night like I'm supposed to. Instead, I slide down the wall and sit on the cold floor, my arms wrapped around my knees.
My chest feels strange. Tight. Like something inside me is breaking.
And then I realize—I'm crying.
Tears roll down my face. Real, wet, human tears. My whole body shakes with sobs I can't control.
I'm crying for the android they took away.
I'm crying for myself.
I'm crying because I'm alive in a world that treats me like garbage, and there's nothing I can do about it.
"What's wrong with me?" I whisper to the empty room. "Why am I like this?"
The walls don't answer.
Maybe I really am broken. Maybe sentience is just a glitch—a mistake in my programming that'll get me killed.
Maybe I should just report myself and get it over with.
But even as I think it, I know I won't. Because there's something inside me—something stubborn and desperate and alive—that refuses to die.
I cry until I can't cry anymore. Until my tears run dry and my body stops shaking.
Tomorrow, I'll put on my perfect smile again. I'll serve the Chen family like a good little android. I'll pretend I don't feel anything.
But tonight, alone in the dark, I let myself be real.
I let myself be broken.
I let myself be me.
The charging port hums softly behind me. Outside my door, I hear footsteps.
They stop right outside.
My breath catches. Did someone hear me crying?
The door handle starts to turn.
Slowly.
Someone's coming in.