Chapter Text
White Lily took one last look at the heap of servos, cracked casings, scorched circuit boards, and God-knew-what-else spread out before her. She crouched beside the pile and counted carefully, tapping each usable piece with a grease-stained finger.
“…forty-six.”
She let out a quiet breath, half relief, half triumph. Forty-six parts meant it had been one of her luckier days. Not spectacular, but good enough to keep her shop running for another week, maybe two if she was careful.
Every morning before the garbage trucks came, White Lily dug through dumpsters like this one. She knew their schedules by heart. She knew which neighborhoods threw away half-functional electronics and which ones crushed everything beyond recognition. When she was done, she would push her rattling wheelbarrow all the way down to her shop at the far end of the road—a crooked little place squeezed between abandoned buildings. There, she fixed what she could and sold it to people who couldn’t afford anything new.
Most people assumed robot engineers were well paid. After all, the technology was everywhere nowadays. Androids staffed security checkpoints, welded steel in factories, assisted in hospitals, cooked meals, cleaned houses, cared for children, and even performed on stages and screens.
But the truth was, unless you worked for OvenBreak Corporation, you survived on scraps.
White Lily snorted softly at her own thought and couldn’t stop a small giggle from escaping. Scraps, in the most literal sense imaginable.
OvenBreak had shattered every industry record a few years back and crowned itself the largest tech corporation in the world almost overnight. The reason for their success was simple: their androids were flawless. Or close enough that people stopped caring about the difference.
They were powered by the most advanced artificial intelligence ever developed, capable of adapting to any appearance, personality, or role a user desired.
Need a nanny to watch your children while you worked late? Done.
Too busy—or too tired—to clean your house? No problem.
Feeling lonely, misunderstood, or simply bored? Just invest in one of our androids.
As much as White Lily despised the company—and she truly did—she had to admit their slogan was painfully effective. OvenBreak didn’t sell just machines.
They sold solutions.
Comfort and companionship for lonely, miserable people who either didn’t know any better or simply didn’t care about their fellow human beings anymore.
Well, more like the illusion of it.
She realized she had been staring at a memory chip far too long, her thoughts drifting in circles again. She shook her head and sighed.
“Oh well.”
She placed the chip carefully on top of the pile in her wheelbarrow, adjusted the straps on her gloves, and stood. Just as she turned to leave, a faint sound made her freeze.
A soft scrape.
White Lily’s hand instinctively went to the wrench hanging from her belt. Her muscles tensed as she slowly pivoted toward a second pile of discarded junk farther back. Her heart thudded painfully loud in her chest.
What she was doing wasn’t exactly illegal, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be caught. Owners didn’t like people digging through their trash, and authorities liked it even less.
She waited.
One second. Two. Nothing.
When no one appeared, she let out a shallow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. That was when she saw it.
A hand.
It protruded from the pile at an unnatural angle, fingers motionless against the dark metal around it.
“Oh God…” she whispered.
Had someone been buried under the trash?
Panic spiked through her as she dropped to her knees and carefully began pulling debris away, her movements slow and deliberate. Her hands shook as she freed an arm, then a shoulder, then—
The pile finally released its prisoner.
White Lily stared, disbelief flooding her senses.
It was an android.
Short, dirty-blond hair clung to its head, matted with grime and oil. Its skin was tanned, unnervingly lifelike, torn in several places where synthetic flesh revealed metal beneath. It wore simple brown rags, soaked through with blue fluid that slowly pooled on the ground.
But this wasn’t just any android.
Her breath caught.
“A… Pure Vanilla?”
Pure Vanilla models were OvenBreak’s most beloved mascots. Hundreds of variations existed, each tailored with different styles, outfits, and personalities. They were designed to be beautiful, and endlessly adaptable.
Yet this one felt…different.
White Lily stepped closer, her eyes scanning its features. Usually, a serial number was etched neatly into the skin at the base of the neck.
This one had nothing.
“Weird…” she murmured, mostly to herself. “What are you?”
She tilted her head, studying it. “Maybe you were some rich person’s fancy toy,” she added thoughtfully. “Got bored of you, huh? I heard those kinds don’t like serial numbers. Ruins the illusion.”
It made sense. Wealthy clients owned thousands of androids. One disappearing wouldn’t even register.
Or maybe it had broken, and no one thought it worth fixing?
Blue oil continued to leak steadily from its side.
“Gosh…”
She rubbed her chin, mind already racing. Fixing it would be hard. The tank would need replacing, several wires rewired, damaged skin patched. And the left eye—completely gone.
A lot of work.
But White Lily loved challenges.
Carefully, she slid her arms under the android and lifted it into a bridal carry. It was heavier than it looked, but she managed, muscles straining as she secured it.
“There you go, Vanilla,” she said softly. “You’re coming home with me.”
She glanced down at her messy wheelbarrow, tools rattling, scrap piled high.
“I hope you don’t mind a bit of a mess.”
—☆—☆—☆—
Fixing Pure Vanilla took nearly a full week of nonstop work.
White Lily barely noticed the passage of time. Days blurred together beneath the harsh glow of her workshop lamps, measured not by sunrise or sleep but by empty coffee mugs, stripped screws, and the growing pile of ruined parts at her feet.
Her hands were constantly stained—oil beneath her nails, grease smeared across her knuckles, faint chemical burns on her fingertips from rushed mistakes she didn’t bother treating.
The wiring alone was a nightmare.
Whoever had discarded the android hadn’t simply let it break. The internal systems looked manhandled—wires torn instead of unplugged, insulation melted unevenly as if someone had overloaded the core on purpose. White Lily replaced each damaged wire carefully, threading new ones through narrow channels, soldering joints with a precision that made her shoulders ache. She spoke to herself as she worked, muttering curses, encouragements, half-formed theories.
“Who does this?” she whispered at one point, staring at a cluster of fused connections.
The oil tank was worse.
The original reservoir had been cracked clean through, warped beyond repair. Replacement parts weren’t something she could just order—not on her budget, and certainly not for an OvenBreak model. So she did what she always did: she improvised.
From the junkyard two streets over, she bullied a custom tank together from scrap metal and polymer plating, hammering it into shape, sealing it with resin she barely trusted. It wasn’t elegant. But it held pressure, and when she finally reconnected the flow lines, the blue oil stayed where it belonged instead of bleeding onto the floor.
“See?” she muttered, exhausted but satisfied. “Perfect.”
The skin repairs came next.
Synthetic flesh was tricky—too much heat and it blistered, too little and it wouldn’t bond. White Lily patched every tear she could find, smoothing seams with practiced motions.
But she didn’t have the right pigmentation. Pure Vanilla models were manufactured with flawless, sun-warmed tones, perfectly even and meticulously calibrated.
What she had was…close enough.
The repaired areas came out a shade too pale in some places, darker in others, like the android had developed an odd patchwork tan or some strange skin condition. White Lily tilted her head, studying the result.
“Well,” she said after a moment, shrugging. “You look like you’ve had a rough vacation.”
According to her standards, it was better than expected.
By the sixth night, only one thing remained.
The eyes.
Pure Vanilla models were designed to adapt endlessly to their owners’ preferences—face shapes, voices, personalities, even subtle mannerisms. But no matter how much they changed, some things were always consistent.
Blonde hair and blue eyes.
The right eye was intact. Perfectly blue. Watching her silently.
The left socket was empty.
White Lily stood at her parts cabinet for a long time, fingers drumming against metal drawers. She searched through lenses, optics, and salvaged sensors, pulling them out one by one.
Green. Red. Violet. Amber.
Nothing blue.
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
“Well,” she said to the empty room, “you don’t get to be picky.”
She selected a yellow optic—warm, gold-toned, originally meant for an industrial unit. It didn’t match. Not even close. But it functioned and was stable.
She installed it carefully, securing the housing, aligning the connections, and calibrating the focus. When she finished, she stepped back.
Pure Vanilla stared at the ceiling with mismatched eyes—one ocean-blue, the other molten gold.
White Lily circled the table slowly, arms crossed, studying the android from every angle. The contrast was striking. Not corporate-perfect.
But…
“It’s not bad,” she admitted quietly. “Different. But not bad.”
The workshop was silent except for the hum of idle machines.
And then, it was time.
The moment she’d been avoiding.
White Lily clapped her hands together once, sharp and loud, as if bracing herself.
“Alright,” she said. “Here goes nothing.”
She moved to the control console and flipped the primary switch.
The machine powered on.
Lights flickered to life across the workshop, status indicators blinking one by one. The android’s chest illuminated faintly beneath synthetic skin, a soft internal glow signaling power distribution.
White Lily held her breath.
Seconds passed.
Then a minute.
Then two.
Nothing happened.
Pure Vanilla didn’t move. Didn’t even twitch.
The silence pressed down on her chest.
“…That’s it?” she murmured.
All that work. All those nights. For nothing.
She reached for a fabric cover and pulled it gently over the android’s body, the material settling over its face, hiding the mismatched eyes she’d worked so hard on.
“I should’ve known better,” she said quietly. “This is how it always goes.”
Disappointment settled heavy in her stomach—dull and exhausting. She told herself she wasn’t surprised. She told herself she’d expected this outcome.
But still…it hurt.
White Lily leaned back against the worktable and rubbed her eyes. When she looked up, the old wall clock across the workshop caught her attention.
3:07 a.m.
“…Great,” she sighed.
Her body suddenly remembered how tired it was. Her legs ached. Her shoulders burned. Every joint protested as she straightened up.
“Tomorrow,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
She turned off the overhead lights one by one, plunging the workshop into shadow, and made her way upstairs to the small bedroom above the shop.
Behind her, in the darkness, the covered android lay motionless.
For a long moment, nothing stirred.
Then very faintly beneath the cloth, a single yellow optic flickered. And in the quiet, empty shop, something inside Pure Vanilla woke up.
—☆—☆—☆—
White Lily usually woke at five o’clock on the dot. It wasn’t an alarm that dragged her out of sleep—she’d stopped using one years ago anyways—but habit. Her body knew the rhythm, better than any clock, by now.
It was time to sweep, to sort, to shove half-finished projects out of sight before the first customers trickled in.
That morning, however, her eyes opened heavy and slow.
Yesterday’s failure still clung to her thoughts like oil that wouldn’t wash off. Even half-asleep, she remembered the silence of the workshop. The unmoving shape beneath the cloth. The disappointment she’d tried to bury under exhaustion.
She knew what she should do.
Strip the android for parts. Salvage the optics, the joints, the processing core—those alone would fetch enough to keep her afloat for weeks. It would be practical. Logical.
So why hadn’t she done it yet?
White Lily groaned softly and rolled out of bed. She didn’t linger on the question. Thinking too hard about it would only slow her down, and she couldn’t afford that.
A quick shower chased away the worst of the fatigue. Hot water beat against her shoulders, steam fogging the cracked mirror as she scrubbed oil stains from her skin. When she stepped out, she pulled on her familiar green overalls, the fabric worn thin at the knees, and tied her hair back.
Then she froze.
A smell hit her suddenly.
Warm. Savory. Familiar in a way that made her stomach twist.
Food.
Her brows knitted together as she inhaled again, slow and careful.
Ummm...Eggs, maybe toast.
“Wait…what?” she murmured.
No one cooked in her kitchen except her. No one could have. She lived here alone since she bought it from the last owner years ago.
Then who?
Her heart began to pound.
She moved quickly, bare feet slapping against the floor as she hurried down the narrow stairs, past shelves stacked with parts and half-repaired machines. The shop looked the same as always—cluttered and chaotically alive.
Then she reached the door behind the counter.
She pushed it open.
And stopped.
Standing at the stove, framed by the dim kitchen light, was Pure Vanilla.
The android wore one of her old shirts and jeans, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows. His blond hair was still slightly mussed, catching the glow of the overhead bulb. A pan hissed softly on the burner as he flipped what looked unmistakably like eggs. Two slices of toast rested on a chipped plate beside him, steam curling upward.
For a heartbeat, White Lily couldn’t breathe.
She just stood there, staring.
Seconds passed. Maybe more. Her mind refused to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.
The android turned.
His mismatched eyes met hers—one blue, one gold—and his expression softened.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice was gentle. Softer than she’d imagined it would be, carrying none of the flatness she associated with machines.
“Breakfast is ready,” he continued. “Please, take a seat.”
He gestured politely toward the small table tucked against the wall, its single chair slightly crooked.
White Lily didn’t remember moving.
One moment she was standing in the doorway, the next she was sitting down, hands folded stiffly in her lap. A plate was set in front of her—eggs cooked just right, toast buttered evenly.
“Please, dive in,” Pure Vanilla said.
She stared down at the food, then back up at him.
It worked.
It worked.
The realization hit her all at once, sharp and overwhelming. Her chest tightened, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably as her eyes burned.
She had done it.
She had actually fixed him.
“I—” Her voice cracked.
She pushed herself up from the chair so fast it scraped loudly against the floor and stepped closer, circling him like she was afraid he’d vanish if she blinked. Her eyes scanned him instinctively—posture stable, movements smooth, no visible tremors, no oil leaks.
Functioning. Fully functioning
Pure Vanilla tilted his head slightly. “If you do not enjoy eggs or toast, I can prepare something else,” he said quickly. “I am equipped with over three thousand recipes from more than one hundred countries. If you would prefer—”
“I can’t believe you’re actually functioning,” White Lily blurted out.
She laughed again, breathless, stepping even closer, close enough to see the subtle glow behind his synthetic skin. “You’re—you’re really here.”
“Well, it is all thanks to you,” he replied.
He smiled. It feel weirdly sincere.
“I assume you are the great engineer who repaired me,” he said. “You saved me from being turned into scrap metal.”
That did it.
Tears spilled over before she could stop them, hot and sudden. She brought a hand up to her face, embarrassed, but Pure Vanilla was already holding out a tissue.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, concern flickering across his features.
“No—no, not at all,” White Lily said quickly, wiping at her eyes. “I’m just… I’m really happy. That’s all.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “I see.”
He hesitated, then looked at her expectantly. “In that case, may I know my savior’s name?”
She sniffed and straightened, squaring her shoulders. “White Lily,” she said. “But you can call me Lily.”
“Alright, Lily,” he replied, voice warm. “My savior.”
“—Nope,” she interrupted immediately. “Please don’t call me that. Just Lily. That’s more than enough.”
The word made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Like what she’d done meant more than it was supposed to.
“I just fixed you. It really isn't that big of a deal.” she added awkwardly.
Pure Vanilla stilled.
For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. His expression froze, eyes unfocused, as if something inside him was processing—or stalling.
White Lily’s stomach dropped.
Oh no.
“…Did I miss something?” she murmured. “Did something glitch?”
Then he blinked.
“O-okay,” he said easily, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. “In that case, I will not call you that.”
He turned back to the sink, picking up the plates with smooth, deliberate motions. “I will clean up now.”
White Lily watched him quietly as he worked, the soft clink of dishes filling the kitchen. Her heart was still racing, but now it carried something else with it.
Hope.
Hope that maybe—just maybe—her quiet little shop had just changed forever.
—☆—☆—☆—
After that eventful morning, the rest of the day settled into something almost normal.
The shop slowly returned to its usual rhythm—the steady creak of the front door opening and closing, the low murmur of customers talking over one another, the occasional metallic clatter when someone set a broken appliance on the counter a little too hard.
White Lily spent most of the afternoon behind the counter, sleeves rolled up. People came and went as they always did.
Some came to buy spare parts, to argue over prices, or simply to look around the cluttered shop, poking through old circuits and half-working gadgets like treasure hunters searching through ruins.
Lily haggled with them all with practiced ease.
But today there was something different. Pure Vanilla had taken it upon himself to clean.
At first Lily had only asked him to tidy up the back room a little. The storage area behind the shop had been a disaster for years. Piles of unsorted wires, boxes of mismatched screws, half-disassembled machines stacked in unstable towers that threatened to collapse if someone breathed too hard.
It was the sort of mess that grew slowly over time. One day you promised yourself you would organize it.
Then another job came in.
Then another.
And suddenly years had passed.
But Vanilla approached the task with almost cheerful determination.
By mid-afternoon the back room looked almost unrecognizable. At one point Lily stepped through the curtain to check on him and froze in the doorway.
Most things were…organized.
Perfectly.
Small metal drawers were labeled with neat handwritten tags. Screws sorted by length. Wires bundled by color. Even the scrap bin had been separated into neat compartments.
Vanilla turned when he noticed her standing there.
“I hope this arrangement is acceptable,” he said brightly. “It appeared the previous system relied primarily on intuitive memory.”
Lily stared at the shelves.
“…You cleaned all this?”
“Yes.”
“…In three hours?”
“Yes.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I’ve been meaning to do that for six years.”
Vanilla smiled softly. “I am happy to help.”
The day continued like that. Until evening arrived. The warm golden light outside had begun to fade when the front door burst open with a familiar clang of the bell.
“LILYYYY!”
The voice boomed across the shop.
Before Lily even had time to look up properly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her in a crushing hug that lifted her half off her feet.
“Holly—!” Lily wheezed.
When she managed to return the embrace it was just as tight.
Hollyberry smelled like the sea, exactly as she had remembered.
When they finally pulled apart, Lily looked her friend over with a grin.
Hollyberry was as unchanged as ever.
A bit chubby but built like someone who could wrestle a bear if she needed to. Her short pink hair was tied up neatly into two small buns that somehow stayed perfectly in place despite the wind and weather she constantly traveled through. Her clothes were practical—thick boots, a sturdy coat, belt and pockets.
An adventurer’s outfit.
Which made sense.
After all, Hollyberry spent most of her life far from the city.
“Holly, what a surprise,” Lily murmured, still smiling.
“It has been ages, hasn’t it!” Hollyberry said excitedly. “I’ve been missing you, old friend.”
Lily crossed her arms playfully.
“What brings you here anyway?” she asked. “You usually refuse to leave your ship unless something breaks.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration.
Hollyberry captained a small cargo vessel that spent most of the year traveling between ports. Months could pass before she returned to the city, usually only when she needed replacement parts or repairs.
“I had a few things to do in the city,” Holly said casually. “So I figured I’d come visit.”
Lily raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? And what kind of things?”
Instead of answering immediately, Holly reached into one of the many pockets sewn into her coat and pulled out a small metal medicine box.
The moment Lily saw it, her smile faded.
“…Holly,” she said slowly. “Are you sick?”
The thought alone made her stomach twist.
Blue Lungs was a disease that spread easily through the working districts. Once the coughing started, it rarely stopped. Treatment existed, but it was expensive enough to bankrupt most people.
Holly waved a hand dismissively.
“Nah, not for me.”
She tapped the box lightly.
“But Raspberry’s been sick for weeks now. Couldn’t even leave her room.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Holly, this costs like two months of your pay.”
Holly scratched the back of her neck. “Eh...closer to three.”
“Three?!”
Hollyberry shrugged.
“I’m the captain,” she said simply. “If a crewmate needs help, I step in.”
Lily stared at her for a moment before shaking her head with a fond sigh.
“I never doubted that part,” she said. “I’m just wondering what you plan to eat for the next three months.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Holly said with a grin, but it wasn't very convincing.
Lily leaned forward slightly.
“You know my door’s open if you need anything,” she said quietly.
Before Hollyberry could respond, the kitchen door creaked open behind them.
Pure Vanilla stepped inside.
“I have finished cleaning,” he said pleasantly. “As requested, I organized the items alphabetically.”
Silence fell.
Hollyberry slowly turned her head.
For several long seconds she simply stared at the tall blond android standing in the doorway.
“…Holy moly,” she breathed, then jumped to her feet. “Lily, is this a Pure Vanilla?!”
Before Lily could stop her, Holly marched straight over to inspect him up closer.
Vanilla stood politely still, allowing the inspection.
“When did you get one of these?!” Holly demanded.
Lily rubbed the back of her neck. “I found him in the trash a week ago.”
“She fixed me!” Vanilla added proudly.
“Well…helping others as usual. That’s our Lily for you.” She gave the android a friendly pat on the back. But her expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious. “Still Lily, you should be careful.”
Lily frowned. “Careful about what?”
Hollyberry crossed her arms.
“What if someone comes in claiming he belongs to them?” she said. “Or worse, rumors start spreading that you’re started working for OvenBreak.”
Lily blinked.
“What?”
“You know how people are around here,” Holly continued. “This part of the city doesn’t exactly love androids.”
Lily hadn’t thought about it that way.
But now that she did…
She remembered a few customers earlier that day, giving strange looks.
She had assumed it was just the usual discomfort people had around engineers like her.
But maybe…
Maybe it wasn’t.
“You think that could actually happen?” Lily asked quietly.
Hollyberry immediately softened.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “Just, be careful who sees him.”
Lily nodded slowly.
“I will.”
Soon after that, Hollyberry said her goodbyes, promising to visit again before leaving the city.
The shop felt strangely quiet after she left.
Lily locked the front door and flipped the sign to closed.
But her day wasn’t over yet.
She still had one last delivery to make.
Out back, her old van waited. Its paint chipped, one door slightly dented, but still worked.
Lily had already loaded the replacement part into the cargo area when she heard footsteps behind her.
The android followed her out.
“Van—”
She stopped herself.
“I could assist with carrying items.” Vanilla tilted his head slightly as he offered.
Lily hesitated.
Hollyberry’s warning echoed faintly in the back of her mind.
It wasn’t wise to let him wander around where anyone could see him. But leaving him alone in the shop somehow felt worse.
Vanilla looked at her with pleading eyes.
Lily sighed.
“…Fine.”
She walked back inside briefly and returned holding an old robe with an oversized hood.
“Put this on.”
Vanilla obeyed without question.
The fabric draped loosely around his tall frame, the deep hood casting shadows across his face and hiding most of his features.
Lily stepped closer, adjusting it carefully.
“Alright,” she muttered. “That should do it.”
She stepped back and looked him over.
To anyone passing by, he might just look like a tall guy.
Hopefully.
Lily climbed into the driver’s seat of the van and started the engine. Vanilla quietly took the passenger seat beside her. The old vehicle rumbled to life with a familiar growl.
As they pulled out into the evening streets, Lily couldn’t help glancing sideways at him.
Just a week ago he had been a broken machine in a trash pile.
Now he was sitting beside her.
Alive.
What a miracle!
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, silently hopeing no one recognized him.