Akso Medical Apartments, Tower 7, Unit 403 - 2:47 AM
Zayne was not a light sleeper. Years of hospital on-call shifts had trained him to sleep through most disturbances. But the aggressive buzzing of his doorbell at 2:47 AM pierced through even his practiced unconsciousness.
He stumbled out of bed, hair disheveled, wearing only sleep pants and a t-shirt—a rare state of casual disorder for Dr. Li. His glasses sat crooked on his nose as he checked the security monitor.
A delivery man stood outside, looking annoyed and holding a clipboard.
The robot.
It wasn't supposed to arrive for three more days. Zayne had mentally prepared for Wednesday. Today was Sunday. Sunday at 2:47 AM.
He opened the door.
"Package for Dr. Zayne Li," the delivery man said, shoving a paper toward him. "Sign here. And here. Initial here."
"It's nearly 3 AM," Zayne observed, his voice flat despite the absurdity.
"Expedited delivery. You paid for premium service." The man was already walking back to his truck, clearly done with this conversation.
Zayne looked down at the enormous box now sitting in his hallway. It was the size of a refrigerator, marked with Wang Tech's logo and multiple "FRAGILE" stickers.
He signed the papers mechanically, his sleep-deprived brain not quite processing what was happening.
The delivery man left. The elevator doors closed. And Zayne stood in his hallway at 2:47 AM, staring at a box containing a robot he'd impulsively purchased because his cousins had better social lives than him.
*What am I doing with my life?*
He grabbed the box—surprisingly heavy, well-balanced—and dragged it inside his apartment. The wheels on the bottom helped, at least. Wang Tech had thought of everything.
The box sat in his living room like an accusation.
Zayne rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. He should go back to bed. Deal with this in the morning when he was properly caffeinated and mentally prepared.
But curiosity—that damnable trait again—won out.
He found the box cutter in his kitchen drawer and carefully sliced through the packing tape. The top opened with a soft *hiss* of released pressure from the climate control system.
And Zayne froze.
She was beautiful.
Not in the uncanny valley way he'd expected. Not artificial or plastic. She looked... real. Soft. The auburn hair he'd selected fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. Her features were delicate—exactly as he'd customized—with a small nose and lips that curved naturally even in her powered-down state.
She wore a simple white dress, her hands folded neatly over her stomach. Her eyes were closed, lashes dark against pale cheeks.
153 centimeters. Petite. Perfect proportions.
*I designed this,* Zayne thought, something uncomfortable twisting in his chest.
*I customized a companion to be... cute.*
He cleared his throat and reached for the user manual tucked into the side of the box.
**WANG TECH RX-7 SERIES CUSTOM COMPANION UNIT**
**INITIAL SETUP INSTRUCTIONS:**
1. Remove unit from packaging carefully
2. Install charging station in preferred location
3. Place unit in charging station
4. Initial charge requires 6-8 hours
5. After charge completion, press power button on remote control
6. Unit will perform initial calibration and voice recognition setup
Zayne looked at the charging station components packed around the robot—her. Around her.
He assembled the charging station in his living room with practiced efficiency, his surgical precision translating well to following instruction diagrams. The station looked like a sleek standing platform with contact points for the robot's back and feet.
Then came the awkward part.
He needed to move her from the box to the charging station.
Zayne approached the box again, studying the robot—her—with clinical assessment. Approximate weight: 45-50 kilograms. Height: 153 centimeters. He'd carried patients before. This shouldn't be difficult.
He carefully slid his arms under her shoulders and knees, lifting her from the packaging.
She was warm.
Zayne nearly dropped her.
*Of course she's warm,* his rational brain supplied. *Climate-controlled shipping. Maintains optimaltemperature for the internal components.*
But she felt *alive.* Soft. Real. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder as he carried her across the living room, and Zayne tried very hard not to think about how this was possibly the most intimate physical contact he'd had with another person in years.
*She's a robot,* he reminded himself firmly. *An artificial companion. Advanced technology. Not a person.*
He placed her carefully in the charging station. The contact points lit up blue, and a soft humming sound filled the room.
"Beep."
Zayne jumped.
The sound had come from the robot. A single, soft beep as the charging sequence initiated.
*Normal,* he told himself. *Audio feedback. Perfectly normal.*
The display on the charging station read: CHARGING - 0% - ESTIMATED TIME: 7 HOURS.
It was 3:15 AM. Charge completion at approximately 10 AM.
Zayne looked at the robot—at *her*—standing in his living room, bathed in soft blue light, eyes still closed.
"What have I done?" he muttered to the empty apartment.
He went back to bed.
He did not sleep well.
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🩺🩺🩺
The Next Morning.
Zayne had showered, dressed in his usual three-piece suit despite it being Sunday, and consumed exactly one cup of coffee (suboptimal—he'd made it himself, and the temperature was 3 degrees too low).
The charging station in his living room now read: **CHARGING COMPLETE - 100% - READY FOR ACTIVATION**
He held the small remote control in his hand, thumb hovering over the power button.
*This is ridiculous,* he thought. *I'm a 27-year-old cardiac surgeon about to activate a robot companion because I'm too socially incompetent to maintain human relationships.*
He pressed the button.
"Beep."
The robot's eyes opened.
They were exactly as he'd designed—large, expressive, a warm brown that somehow caught the morning light streaming through his windows. She blinked once, twice, then her gaze focused on him.
Zayne cleared his throat, suddenly feeling absurdly self-conscious. "I am Dr. Zayne Li. This unit's primary user. Voice recognition should—"
She stepped forward from the charging station, moving with surprising grace, and started to bow.
*That's good,* Zayne thought. *The programming includes proper—*
CRASH.
Her arm swept sideways, knocking over the decorative vase on the side table. Water and flowers exploded across his hardwood floor.
The robot made a sound—not quite a squeak, more like a strangled beep—and jerked backward, bumping into the wall. The framed medical diagram behind her tilted, then fell with another crash of breaking glass.
"Beep! Beep beep!" The robot's hands flew up in what looked distinctly like panic, her eyes wide. "Beep beep! I—BEEP—require charging! System malfunction! Beep beep BEEP!"
She scrambled back to the charging station, practically throwing herself onto the platform, and stood there rigidly, eyes squeezed shut, making periodic beeping sounds.
Zayne stood in his living room, surrounded by broken vase pieces, scattered flowers, a crooked frame, and spreading water.
He sighed.
This was going to be a long day.
After cleaning up the vase debris and resetting the frame, Zayne decided to attempt a simple command test. The manual had emphasized starting with basic tasks to calibrate the robot's learning algorithms.
*Coffee,* he thought. *A basic function. Xavier's robot made perfect coffee. How difficult can it be?*
He guided the robot—who had stopped beeping but still looked vaguely panicked—to the kitchen.
"I'm relocating you to the kitchen," he said in his most clinical tone, hands hovering near her shoulders without quite touching. "Your first task will be beverage preparation. Specifically, coffee."
"Beep," she responded, nodding with what seemed like understanding.
"The coffee machine is here." He gestured to his expensive espresso machine, a gift from the hospital board after he'd successfully performed a particularly complex surgery. "The manual indicates you should have programming for basic beverage preparation. I'll be in the shower. When I return, I expect one cup of coffee. Black. 70 degrees Celsius. Is this instruction clear?"
The robot stared at the espresso machine like it had personally offended her.
"Beep... beep?" She looked up at him with those large brown eyes, and for a moment, Zayne could have sworn he saw actual fear in them.
*Impossible. Emotional response programming wouldn't activate until after the learning period.*
"Coffee," he repeated slowly, pointing at the machine. "Simple task. I'll return in fifteen minutes."
He left her in the kitchen and headed to the bathroom, already mentally composing the complaint email he'd send to Wang Tech about their inadequate initial programming.
'Oh no. Oh no oh no oh NO.'
Nana stared at the chrome and steel monstrosity that apparently made coffee. It had more buttons than the control panel of a spaceship. There were dials. Levers. A pressure gauge. Multiple spouts.
'What is this?! Coffee is just... hot brown water, right?! Why does it need ENGINEERING?!'
She'd watched the instruction videos while hiding in the box last night. The robots in those videos moved smoothly, efficiently, performing tasks with mechanical precision.
She'd practiced beeping. She'd practiced moving stiffly. She'd even practiced the bow that she'd catastrophically messed up ten minutes ago.
But no one—NO ONE—had explained how to operate what appeared to be a torture device disguised as a beverage maker.
'Okay. Okay. I can do this. Robots are logical. Machines work on logic. There must be a... a start button or something.'
She pressed a button at random.
The machine made a grinding noise.
Good! That's progress!
She pressed another button.
Water began flowing from one of the spouts. Not into a cup—there was no cup. Just... onto the counter.
"Beep!" Nana frantically grabbed a nearby mug and shoved it under the stream. Water splashed everywhere.
'Where's the off button?! WHERE'S THE OFF BUTTON?!'
She pressed three more buttons in rapid succession.
The grinding noise intensified. More water. Something started hissing. The pressure gauge needle swung into the red zone.
"Beep beep beep!" Nana's panic was no longer pretend. The machine was making sounds like it was about to achieve sentience and murder her.
Steam erupted from multiple points. Coffee grounds exploded from somewhere, scattering across the counter like dark confetti. The water flow increased, now coming from TWO spouts, flooding the counter and dripping onto the floor.
"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!" Nana backed away from the machine, which was now rattling ominously, her "robot voice" dissolving into genuine distress sounds that were definitely not mechanical.
In the bathroom, Zayne had just finished shampooing his hair when he heard it.
A sound like a dying kettle. Then crashing. Then what might have been mechanical beeping but sounded increasingly organic and panicked.
Then his coffee machine made a noise he'd never heard before—a grinding, squealing, clearly-something-is-very-wrong noise.
"What the—"
He didn't even rinse the shampoo out properly. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and ran to the kitchen.
The scene that greeted him looked like a coffee-themed crime scene.
Water everywhere. Coffee grounds coating every surface. His expensive espresso machine smoking slightly, making a death rattle sound. And in the middle of it all, his robot—soaking wet, covered in coffee grounds, eyes wide with terror—making frantic beeping sounds while backing into the corner.
"Beep! Beep beep! System—BEEP—critical error! Beep beep—"
"Stop," Zayne commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos with surgical precision.
The robot immediately froze, one hand still raised mid-beep.
Zayne stood in his kitchen doorway, shampoo suds sliding down his temple, wearing only a towel, surveying the disaster.
His perfect, controlled, organized life had been destroyed by a robot in less than fifteen minutes.
He looked at the smoking coffee machine. At the water still dripping from the counters. At the coffee grounds that had somehow made it onto the ceiling.
Then his eyes landed on the robot.
She was staring at him.
Not at his face. Lower.
At his chest. His abs. The towel wrapped around his waist that was—due to his sprint from the bathroom—riding dangerously low on his hips.
Her eyes were very wide. Her mouth was slightly open. And her face—
*Can robots blush?*
Because she was definitely blushing. A pink flush spread across her cheeks, very real, very human.
"Beep?" she managed weakly, but her eyes didn't move from his torso.
Zayne followed her gaze down to himself. Shirtless. Wet. Towel. He suddenly became acutely aware of how improper this situation was.
*She's a robot,* he reminded himself. *She doesn't actually care. It's just... programming. Mimicking human response.*
But the way she was staring—
"This is inappropriate," he said, his clinical voice somehow making it sound even more absurd. "Visual focus should be directed at the user's face during communication. Staring at the user's... torso region is not proper protocol."
"Beep!" She jerked her eyes up to his face, the blush deepening. "Beep beep—apology—BEEP—system recalibrating—"
*Is she making up beeps to cover embarrassment?*
"Remain here," Zayne ordered, trying to regain some control of this situation. "Do not touch anything. Do not move. Do not operate any additional machinery."
"Beep beep," she agreed, nodding rapidly, still very pink, still very much looking like she wanted to stare at his abs again but was forcing herself not to.
Zayne turned and walked back to the bathroom with as much dignity as a man wearing only a towel and covered in shampoo could manage.
Behind him, he heard a very soft, very distinct sound that was definitely not mechanical:
"...oh my god..."
He froze mid-step.
*Robots don't say 'oh my god.'*
He turned back. The robot was standing exactly where he'd left her, hands clasped in front of her, expression perfectly neutral except for the lingering blush.
"Did you just—"
"BEEP!" she interrupted loudly. "Beep beep! Verbal response cache! Beep! Common human phrases! Beep beep!"
Zayne stared at her for a long moment.
She stared back, still blushing, making periodic beeping sounds like her life depended on it.
*Something is wrong,* his analytical brain supplied. *This unit is malfunctioning. Response patterns are inconsistent with programming specifications.*
But the alternative explanation was impossible.
He went to finish his shower.
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🩺🩺🩺
Zayne emerged from the bathroom fully dressed—three-piece suit, properly dried hair, glasses adjusted—and found the robot exactly where he'd left her, standing in the coffee-ground-covered kitchen like a defendant awaiting sentencing.
She'd attempted to wipe some of the grounds off her dress. It hadn't helped.
He surveyed the damage with clinical assessment. The coffee machine was likely repairable. The water would dry. The grounds could be cleaned. The real question was whether this robot was defective enough to warrant a return.
She was watching him nervously, her hands twisting together in a gesture that seemed very... human.
"Unit designation?" he asked, pulling out the manual. He'd been so focused on customization that he hadn't actually checked what they'd named her.
"Beep—" She paused, clearly thinking. "Beep... Na... na?"
Nana?
"Your unit designation is 'Nana'?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "Beep! Yes! Beep beep! Nana! Beep!"
*Odd designation,* Zayne thought. *But Wang Tech does allow custom naming.*
He must have selected it during the customization process. He didn't remember doing so, but it was 2 AM and he'd been emotionally compromised by Xavier's eggplant emoji.
"Nana," he repeated, testing the name. It was... cute. Fitting for her appearance. "Are you experiencing technical difficulties? Your performance metrics are significantly below expected parameters."
"Beep beep!" Nana nodded vigorously. "System—BEEP—recalibration needed! Beep! New environment! Beep beep! Require additional charging cycle! Beep!"
She was already backing toward the living room, toward the charging station, before he could respond.
"I didn't authorize—"
But she was already on the platform, eyes closed, standing rigidly, making soft beeping sounds that sounded almost... happy?
The charging display read: UNIT CHARGED - 100% - NO CHARGING NEEDED
Yet she stood there anyway, beeping contentedly, like she'd just escaped execution.
Zayne looked at his destroyed kitchen. At the robot—Nana—who couldn't make coffee, knocked over furniture, stared at his abs, and definitely said "oh my god" despite being a machine.
He should call Wang Tech. Demand a refund. This unit was clearly defective.
But...
Xavier had mentioned it took time for the robots to calibrate. Learning algorithms needed data. Maybe she just needed adjustment.
*And maybe,* a small voice whispered, *you're already getting attached to her.*
"Ridiculous," Zayne said aloud.
"Beep!" Nana agreed from the charging station, eyes still closed, looking far too pleased with herself.
Zayne removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He'd spent the equivalent of a luxury vehicle on a robot that couldn't perform basic tasks, made suspicious very-human sounds, blushed at his torso, and was now pretending to charge when she clearly didn't need it.
This was going to be a very long learning period.
"Tomorrow," he announced to the apartment, "we're starting with basic training protocols. Simple commands. No complex machinery."
"Beep beep!" Nana hummed from her charging station, sounding almost cheerful despite the chaos she'd created.
*She's humming,* Zayne realized. *Robots don't hum.*
But when he looked at her, she was perfectly still, mechanically rigid, the picture of artificial intelligence.
He decided to blame the stress. The lack of proper coffee. The fact that he'd just spent his Sunday morning half-naked in his kitchen dealing with an espresso machine disaster.
Definitely not because his very expensive, very malfunctioning robot was somehow becoming endearing.
Absolutely not.
He went to clean his kitchen.
Behind him, Nana opened one eye just slightly, watching him walk away, and allowed herself the tiniest smile.
'Day One: Survived. Barely.'
She was definitely going to die here.
But at least the view was good.
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🩺🩺🩺
To be continued.