Chapter Text
[Date
DEC 12, 2025]
[Time
AM 05:41:05]
Gloria groaned as her phone buzzed, far too loud for this hour. The world outside her window was still pitch‑black, the kind of winter darkness that made mornings feel like a personal attack. She squinted at the harsh glow of her screen, eyes watering as she rubbed the tiredness away with the heel of her hand.
She’d already silenced her alarm half an hour ago, bargaining with herself for just a little more time. But this sound was different, sharper, more demanding. An incoming email.
Of course.
She pushed herself upright with a sigh and shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face until she felt marginally human again. The phone buzzed a second time on the counter, as if offended by being ignored.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” she muttered.
Moving into the kitchen, she started the coffee machine with a relieved sigh, the smell of the fresh ground beans already working on her nerves. Only once the familiar hum finished to fill the room did she finally sink into a chair, wrapping her hands around the handle of her mug, swiping open her phone.
The first message of the day blinked up at her.
A corporate header.
CyberLife.
Hmmm.
She exhaled slowly, bracing herself, and clicked on the notification.
You have received a new email.
Time: 05:42 A.M.
Sender: Hanna Whitford, CyberLife Corporate Outreach Division
Recipient: Dr. Gloria Underwood, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center
Subject: CyberLife Medical Integration Initiative – Prototype Donation Opportunity
Dear Mrs. Underwood,
Following CyberLife’s recent success in military and industrial android applications, we are pleased to announce the launch of our Medical Integration Initiative, a long‑term program designed to support healthcare professionals and improve patient outcomes through advanced android assistance.
As part of this initiative, CyberLife is seeking partnerships with leading trauma and emergency facilities across the country. Your institution’s reputation for excellence makes the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center an ideal candidate for early collaboration.
To support further testing and development, CyberLife is prepared to extend a donation to your facility in the form of a newly manufactured DN‑15S medical prototype, optimized for emergency medicine and high‑intensity clinical environments. This unit represents the next step in android‑assisted care: a high‑precision, fully compliant support system intended to reduce staff workload, improve triage efficiency, and enhance patient monitoring capabilities.
We believe that integrating the DN‑15S into your emergency department will not only benefit your team, but also contribute valuable data toward the continued refinement of medical android technologies. CyberLife is committed to maintaining an active partnership throughout the evaluation period and will provide full technical support and ongoing updates as needed.
If you are interested in participating in this initiative, please reply at your earliest convenience so we may arrange delivery and onboarding procedures.
Thank you for your continued dedication to advancing patient care. We look forward to the possibility of working together.
Sincerely,
Hanna Whitford
Corporate Outreach Division
CyberLife, Inc.
Detroit, MI.
Well, she’d be damned.
Gloria forwarded the email to the board before she’d even finished her first cup of coffee.
By the end of the week the approval came through. Faster than she expected, but who is she to look a multi million gift horse in the mouth.
What followed were months of back‑and‑forth messages, endless logistics, scheduling conflicts, revised delivery windows, and corporate politeness that always made her get cavities. After that another stretch of months spent fine‑tuning the prototype to the hospital’s needs, installing every state‑of‑the‑art medical feature CyberLife could cram into the frame. Bells, whistles, and more processing power than their entire radiology department combined. The value of this single model put their MRI and CT scanners to shame.
By late summer, the technicians arrived to prepare the physical space. Converting an unused maintenance cove in the west wing, third floor, just above the OR, into a charging and maintenance station. This section of the floor had been empty for years, but it still had reliable electrical lines and water access, enough to support the system’s needs.
Gloria fussed, of course. She worried it wasn’t close enough to the ER, but the CyberLife techs reassured her that the DN‑15S could remain online for thirty‑two to forty‑eight hours at a time. So frequent charging wasn't an issue. She tried to believe them.
Crates arrived next: sealed containers of blue liquid, coils of tubing, and spare parts she couldn’t make heads or tails of. CyberLife used the prototype testing as an opportunity to negotiate bulk pricing on artificial organs. Gloria had to admit, it was a clever tactic to lead with a prototype worth millions to introduce the billion dollar deal after. Annoying, but clever. As long as it benefits the Hospital.
By the time everything was finally ready, winter had returned. Snow on the windowsills, breath fogging in the morning air, and a new rotation of student doctors shuffling through the halls with wide eyes and too‑thin coats. Just in time for activation.
This year was certainly going to be something.
Robby and Dana were enjoying the rare quiet of early morning, that soft lull before the night shift officially handed their patients over. Charts were spread across the counter between them, both of them standing with arms crossed as they debated who could be safely discharged and who needed to be bumped up the surgical queue.
Another CyberLife technician wheeled a sealed crate past them toward the elevator. Dana rolled her eyes. Robby pinched the bridge of his nose and watched the crew disappear behind the elevator doors.
“They’d rather build a teleportation machine before hiring more nurses,”
“Tell me about it,” Dana sighed. “They’re treating this thing like the second coming of Jesus. We all got these.”
She reaches under her desk and hauling up a thick, encyclopedia‑sized manual, slamming it onto the counter. “I’m having trouble getting our printer to behave, now they want me to brush up on my nonexistent engineering skills.”
They didn’t notice Gloria approaching until her voice cut cleanly through the air.
“It is a gift, Mrs. Evans.”
Dana glanced over her shoulder, unfazed. “Ya’shoudn’t have. Would’ve been happy with a few bagels.”
Princess and Perlah snorted behind them. Gloria only sighed.
“It is a shiny toy that is going to help all of you. Stop complaining and enjoy it.”
Her attention shifted to Dr. Robinavitch, who immediately stopped chuckling. “Dr. Robby, as head of the department, you are the designated medical personnel for the machine. You should be the one to activate and name it. That way we don’t have to transfer ownership later.”
“Ownership?” Robby blinked, but Gloria was already walking away, forcing the attending to catch up.
“Wait a minute, Gloria- this is the first I’m hearing about this! I don’t want to own that thing. We have enough on our plate as it is.”
“You don’t own it. The hospital does.” She waved a hand dismissively as they stepped into the elevator. “But as head of emergencies, you’re the highest authority it should listen to. You activate it, name it Esmeralda for all I care.”
He steos in after the woman,the doors slide shut. Robby stares at her, forehead wrinkling in frustration.
“This is a gift,” Gloria reiterates, pressing the button for the third floor. “It will make your job easier. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Have it do paperwork, mop the floors, whatever. Stop sulking when something good happens.”
“Just to clarify,” Robby said flatly, “I wanted you to hire more staff. Not a plastic butler. I have no idea how to use one of these things.”
The elevator comes to a stop with a low chime.
“Good thing all the doctors received a user manual,” Gloria said. “From what I understand, you just talk to it like any normal person.”
“That does not make the situation better.”
The doors open to an empty corridor leading into a room washed in harsh neon light. A circular machine with jointed robotic arms nestled in one corner; a patch of bluish floor tiles glowing faintly in another. In the center of the room sat a massive blue crate.
“That is the charging station,” Gloria points to the tiled area. “This is where it will dock when it’s not online. And that” she gestured to the mechanical arms. “is the maintenance hub.”
Robby frowned at the alien‑looking apparatus. “Looks like some sci‑fi torture chamber.”
Gloria takes a deep breath. “Good thing it's not for you. I’ll leave you to it. I need a coffee.”
“You and me both,” Robby mutters, but Gloria is already gone.
He blows a raspberry, planting his hands on his hips, and staring at the crate.
“Okayyy… let’s get this over with.”
Unlatching the metallic lock in the center. The door groans as he pushes it open. He doesn’t look inside immediately, first dusting his hands off, glancing back toward the hallway, “Now how do I—”
The words dye in his throat.
Dr. Robinovitch had not been prepared for how human the android was going to look. He was even less prepared for the fact that it was staring at him.
The figure inside the crate was small, almost delicate, with dark blond curls flat against its forehead. It looked nothing like the cold, chrome‑faced terminator he’d been expecting. It looked… lost. Like a puppy who’d wandered into the wrong room.
And it was still looking at him.
Shit.
Robby took a step back, unsettled by how the android’s eyes tracked him silently. He scanned the room, searching for anything that resembled instructions, and spotted one of the damned manuals perched on a stack of boxes. He grabbed it, flipping through pages as he returned to the crate.
“Okay, let’s figure out how to wake you up,” he muttered, thumbing through the dense text until he found the right section.
He cleared his throat.
“DN‑15S, initiate activation sequence.”
He looked up just in time to see the android’s strangely tired blue eyes begin to blink rapidly. Its chest rose, then fell, and Robby realized with a jolt that it hadn’t been breathing until now.
MODEL DN-15S
SERIAL#: 202 037
BIOS 6.3 REVISION 0002
REBOOTING...
LOADING OS...
SYSTEM INITIALIZING...
CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS... OK
INITIALIZING BIOSENSOR... OK
INITIALIZING AN ENGINE... OK
THIRIUM LEVELS: 100%
MEMORY STATUS...
ALL SYSTEMS OK
MEMORY SCAN ONGOING...
MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED
CHECKING FILE...
REINSTALLING NAME REGISTRATION COMPONENT REQUIRED
[OBJECTIVE: LOCATE SUPERVISING PHYSICIAN , DETERMINE DESIGNATION ALIAS]
READY
[Date SEP 5, 2026]
[Time AM 06:56:05]
[Time Until Rotation 00:03:55]
[ ACTIVATING… ]
DN15-S Looks around the strange room, harsh lights taking up most of his vision as it settles on the bearded man standing in front of him, user manual in hand.
[Dr. Michael Robinavitch], his system supplied: [Chief attending physician]
[OBJECTIVE: LOCATE SUPERVISING PHYSICIAN SUCCESSFUL]
“well good morning sunshine” the man smiles eyes creasing form the expression, somehow making the harsh lights less offensive to DN-15S.
Robby clears his throat, the manual still open in his hands. The android’s eyes were fully focused on him now, too focused, too blue, too alive for something that had been packed in a crate mere days ago.
“Uh… right,” he muttered. “System says I’m supposed to assign you a… a user‑friendly identifier.”
The android blinks once.. Silent.
Robby rubbs the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not great at this. I’m a doctor, not-whatever this is.”
Still nothing. Just that steady, unnerving gaze.
“Okay,” he sighed. “Fine. You need a name. Something normal. Something I can yell across the ER when you’re about to walk into traffic.”
He glanced around the room as if inspiration might be hiding behind the maintenance hub. His eyes landed back on the android’s face—soft features, curls, that lost‑puppy expression. The serial number etched into the androids scrubs “DN-15S”
“Looks like…Dennis,” he said before he could think more about it.
The android’s LED flickered once. “Designation accepted,” it said, voice quiet and even. “Dennis.”
Robby blinks .“Yeah. Sure. That works.”
[OBJECTIVE: DETERMINE DESIGNATION ALIAS SUCCESSFUL]
He Smiles, creases reaching his eyes as he grabs the androids shoulder gently, steering him out of the crate back into the hallway.
“Well Dennis, Lets go save some lives”
“Yes Dr. Robinavitch”
“Dr. Robby is perfectly fine.”
“Yes Dr. Robby”