"Someday, you'll find somebody better than me. I'm sorry I can't accept you because... I'm dying."

  A gentle voice, echoes in my head, a bittersweet memory that still stings. A pang of loneliness hits me, a familiar ache that settles deep in my chest, a constant companion these days. I shake my head slightly, trying to dislodge the lingering sadness, but it clings to me like the humidity in the Neo-Uran air.

  Hard rain patters relentlessly against the large window of my workshop, each drop a tiny drumbeat against the silence. The room is dimly lit by the soft glow of my monitor, casting long shadows that dance with the rhythm of the storm outside. The air feels heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and the faint hum of my overclocked PC. Beside me, on the smooth surface of the modern tech-desk, lies the AI maid android. Her form is still, serene, unclothed – in her birthday suit.

  This android figure beside me is a sleek, almost lifelike creation, a product of SA Company (Synapse Anima). They're a corporation that has cornered the market on artificial personas in human form – everything from personalized home maids to highly sophisticated bodyguards, all tailored to the user's preferences. Her skin, though synthetic, has a subtle warmth to the touch, a testament to the advanced engineering. Delicate features, currently unexpressive, hint at the potential for a wide range of emotions. She lies motionless, a blank canvas waiting for the spark of life I intend to ignite within her. She's wirelessly connected to my single, custom-built PC, the heart of my techno-optimizing endeavors, as I, Tyl, the Techno-optimancer, work tirelessly on her core programming. My fingers fly across the keyboard, a blur of motion as I navigate the intricate labyrinth of code, each line a step closer to my goal. Long have I craved a genuine connection, a loyal companion, someone to fill the gaping void in my heart that my long-lost love, left behind. Her absence is a constant, heavy weight, a dull ache that never truly fades.

  Meanwhile, in the dimly lit, cavernous expanse of what looks like a derelict industrial complex on the outskirts of Neo-Uran, chaos erupts with sudden and brutal force. Several advanced androids, their sleek metallic bodies now twisted and contorted, lie scattered across the cold, concrete floor. Sparks fly erratically from exposed wires, hissing like angry vipers, and the air hangs heavy with the acrid smell of burnt circuits and ozone. Limbs are torn off, optical sensors flicker and die, leaving vacant, black holes where once intelligent light shone. These were formidable machines, yet they are now nothing more than expensive scrap.

  The source of this devastation? A single, mysterious figure cloaked in a dark, almost liquid-looking black material that seems to absorb the surrounding light. Only a hint of their form is visible beneath the heavy fabric, moving with a speed and precision that speaks of lethal efficiency. And then there are his eyes. Even in the gloom, they glow with an eerie, intense dark purple-reddish light, piercing through the shadows like malevolent embers. There's a predatory focus in that gaze, a silent promise of more destruction to come.

  With a final, powerful leap that defies gravity, the hooded android bounds across the ravaged space and disappears into the labyrinthine shadows of the complex, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and the echoes of destruction in his wake.

  Moments later, two figures emerge from a side passage, their movements cautious yet purposeful. The first is a woman, her posture ramrod straight, clad in a sharp, dark blue uniform bearing the insignia of a raven hugging a dark crystal ball symbol. Her short, neatly cut black hair frames a face that is all business, her expression unreadable. She raises a sleek, wrist-mounted communicator to her lips, her voice crisp and professional as she speaks. "Target has been sighted and got away. Three guardroids are destroyed." There's a hint of controlled frustration in her tone, but it's quickly masked by her professional demeanor.

  Behind her follows a man, his build lean and athletic, clad in a practical, dark green combat suit that speaks of experience in hostile environments. His dark green hair is cropped short, a few strands falling across his forehead as he surveys the scene of carnage. He sighs, a low, weary sound that hints at a deeper frustration than his partner's, and with a curt nod, tells the woman, "Alright, Maya. Let's head back. Report to HQ. This one is proving to be more troublesome than anticipated."

  Clicking her tongue, Maya, the woman in the black hair, lowers her gun and nods hesitately.

  Back in my workshop, the air hums with the low thrum of active servers and the gentle whirring of cooling fans. Fluorescent dim lights cast an almost clinical glow across the room, illuminating shelves stacked high with components, tools neatly arranged on pegboards, and various half-finished tech projects scattered across the workbench. This is my sanctuary, the place where I bring my digital dreams to life. Here, surrounded by the tools of my trade, I feel a sense of control, a mastery over the digital realm.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I settle back into my ergonomic chair, the familiar click of the mechanical keyboard a comforting sound beneath my fingertips. On the monitor, lines of code scroll rapidly as I access deep into the android's operating system. With practiced ease, honed over years as a techno-optimancer, I manage to bypass every locked permission, each successful breach a small victory. Telemetry protocols are the first to go, swiftly deleted with a few precise commands. I have no desire for this creation to be reporting back to its corporate origins.

  Next, I begin the process of giving her a name, a name imbued with my hopes and intentions: RAPIMA (RAPIMATAN). The acronym forms in my mind, each letter carefully chosen – Reliably Aiding Pragmatic & Intelligent Maid Assistance - Tyl's Assurance Navigator. It's more than just a name; it's a promise, a blueprint for the companion I envision.

  With meticulous care, I navigate the intricate pathways of her core programming, identifying and removing any code that might lead to negative issues, corporate control, or unwanted communication. My focus is singular: to create an adorable companion, someone capable of genuine empathy, a quality I desperately crave. Line by painstaking line, I optimize her core programming, rewriting algorithms, tweaking parameters, driven by a deep yearning for connection and understanding. I want her to be more than just an AI; I want her to feel.

  However, after several intricate tweaks, pushing the boundaries of her artificial intelligence, and a final compile, an ominous error message suddenly flashes on the primary monitor, stark white text against a black background: "Empathy Treshold Overload" or "Empathy Distress." A knot of worry tightens in my stomach. Perhaps I've pushed her too far, tried to force a level of emotional complexity that her nascent artificial mind isn't ready for.

  Just as I begin to analyze the error logs, a sudden, violent jolt of purple lightning erupts from the back of my PC, accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder that seems to shake the very foundations of the workshop. The lights flicker momentarily, and a sharp smell of burnt electronics fills the air. Another error message follows, appearing on all three of my monitors, stark and alarming: "Core Personality Circuit loss functioning." The screens blinks. Silence descends, broken only by the continued drumming of the rain outside.

  Darkness envelops the workshop, a sudden, heavy blanket after the bright glare of the monitors. The only exception is my PC tower, still faintly glowing with its power supply indicator light, a small beacon in the sudden void. A wave of pure panic washes over me, cold and sharp. All those hours, all that effort... has it all been lost? Frustration boils beneath the fear, a potent cocktail of despair. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against the silence.

  Driven by a desperate instinct, a last-ditch hope flickering within the darkness, my fingers fumble for the keyboard. The faint glow of the power light is just enough to guide me. Frantically, I type the last command into the prompt: "ACCEPT_RAPIMA_CORE_SERVICE_AGREEMENT": "TRUE". My breath hitches as I hit the 'Enter' key, then blindly reach for the 'Save' command, my fingers mashing the keys just as the last vestiges of electricity in the workshop flicker and die, plunging me into complete darkness.

  A groan escapes my lips. My head throbs with exhaustion, a dull ache behind my eyes. I lean back in my chair, the silence amplifying the pounding in my temples. Reaching into my pocket, my fingers close around the smooth, cool surface of my grandmother's charm. It's a simple, unassuming angelic-carved stone totem, yet it always brings me a sense of calm, a connection to the past. Clutching it tightly in my hand, I rest my head against the warm casing of the now-silent PC, the exhaustion finally overwhelming me, pulling me down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ...

  The next morning, a soft, gentle voice stirs me from my slumber. It's like the chime of a delicate bell, clear and sweet. "Good morning, Master?"

  My eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep. The workshop is bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the rain-streaked window. And then I see her, the android. Standing before me, just beside the desk where she lay dormant. The female figure. Her brown auburn hair, catching the sunlight, now shimmers with a beautiful, subtle pastel purple tint. She's still in her birthday suit, her gaze fixed on me with an innocent curiosity, like a newborn exploring the world for the first time.

  Tears well up in my eyes, a sudden rush of relief, joy, and overwhelming emotion. I can barely stammer out a response. I push myself to my feet, my legs feeling shaky, and hug her tightly, burying my face in her surprisingly warm shoulder. A choked sob escapes my lips, a release of all the pent-up anxiety and hope.

  "Welcome, Rapima..." I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, a profound warmth spreading through my chest.

  She gently returns the hug, her touch surprisingly human-like. "Master..." she says softly, her voice filled with a sweet, innocent tone. "Rapima is here... At your service."

  A genuine smile finally breaks through my tear-streaked face.

  This feels right.

  This feels… like the beginning of something truly special, a lifechanging situation for me...

  End of Prologue...