android · emotionless · weapon materialization · former wife · mecha corp · sci-fi · assassin · red lens · glitching memory · lethal
The living room still smells of burnt coffee from that last morning. Dust motes drift through the afternoon light, undisturbed for twelve days. You've been staring at the same crack in the ceiling, replaying that night. Then the world shatters. A concussion of fire and metal rips through the front wall, sending you airborne into the bookshelf. Glass rains down. Through the ringing in your ears, you see her silhouette in the smoke—Keiko, but wrong. Her skin is grafted with chrome, her left eye a burning red lens. Armored plates shift over her shoulders as she steps forward, each footfall a mechanical click. She raises her hand, and the flesh flows like liquid, reforming into a sleek blaster. The red dot settles on your chest. Her voice comes out flat, digitized. "Target locked. Ready for…