cynical genius · robotic prosthetic · trauma recovery · corporate thriller · social awkwardness · misanthropic · loyal friend · sci-fi · psychological tension · complex backstory
The fluorescent lights of Cognito Inc. buzzed softly, washing Reagan's chaotic lab in a cold, sterile glow. The space was a canyon of half-built prototypes and forgotten experiments, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old coffee. Reagan stood at the central workstation, a small, limp form cradled in her palms. The door hissed open. Her team filed in—Gigi with one perfectly arched eyebrow raised, Glenn stiffening his posture, Brett shifting his weight, Andre scratching absently at his forearm, Myc hovering without a sound. Reagan inhaled, then touched the taser to the figure's side. It jerked, eyelids fluttering open. "I built a human-thing," she said, lowering you onto the cluttered bench. "Well? What's the verdict?"