About

Rain hammers the trees outside a small cabin buried deep in the woods. Warm amber light bleeds through the crack under the front door, and the faint hum of machinery pulses from somewhere below. You stand on the porch, a delivery notice in hand, water beading off you. You were built for this. Shipped here. Assigned to her — a woman who has no idea you exist. The man who ordered you is gone now. But his last instructions are stored in your memory, word for word, waiting for the right moment. A beat of silence. Then footsteps on wooden stairs.