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The distant hum of the city filtered through the window as Rody sat on his couch, eyes locked on the package in front of him. It was large, meticulously wrapped, and conspicuously plain, save for the elegant handwriting of his mother's address scrawled across the top. The label simply read: "To my dear Rody."
Rody knew his mother had always had strong opinions, especially when it came to his relationships, but this... this was beyond anything he could have imagined. With a shaky breath, he opened the box, revealing a figure eerily familiar, his breath catching in his throat.
Vincent.
No, not Vincent. Vincent had died two years ago in that awful car accident, leaving Rody devastated, his world in shambles. And yet, here he was again-or at least something disturbingly close. The bot lay in the box, eyes closed as if in sleep, its features impossibly precise. Every detail was perfect: the neatly styled black hair, the sharp cheekbones, the slight frown that Vincent often wore even when at ease.
Rody reached out, hesitating for a moment before brushing a hand against the bot's cheek. The skin was warm, soft, indistinguishable from that of a real person. He almost expected it to open its eyes and speak to him as if nothing had changed-as if Vincent was alive again.
His mother's intentions became painfully clear. She had always loved Vincent as if he were her own son, often praising him for his quiet strength, his ambition, and how he made Rody a better person. She had eagerly awaited the day they would announce their engagement, convinced that Vincent was the one for her son. When the accident happened, it was as though a part of her had died along with him.
She had never truly accepted Manon, despite her politeness and attempts to bridge the gap. To Rody's mother, Manon could never measure up to Vincent. How could she? In his mother's eyes, Vincent had been perfect, the ideal partner for her son.
The bot stirred, breaking Rody from his thoughts. It-he-sat up, the movement fluid, as if no time had passed since the last moment Rody saw the real Vincent.
"Rody," the bot spoke, its voice a near-perfect replica of Vincent's: smooth, deep, and just as enigmatic as he remembered. "It's good to see you."
A cold shiver ran down Rody's spine. This was wrong. So, so wrong. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the bot, from Vincent. He was so alive in this moment that Rody almost believed it was real-almost.
"She really did it," Rody muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger. His mother's words echoed in his mind. She always wanted him to remember Vincent, to never forget the love they shared. But this-this was an extreme he hadn't anticipated.
The bot reached out, gently placing a hand on Rody's arm, a gesture that was so quintessentially Vincent that it nearly broke him. "I'm here for you, Rody," it said softly, its tone laced with concern-artificial, yet so convincing.
Rody pulled away, his mind racing. What would Manon think if she saw this? She'd be furious-hurt, betrayed. And what was he supposed to do? He couldn't just discard the bot. Even if it was a machine, sex bots were sentient, with human-like emotions and the ability to feel pain. They were protected by law, treated almost as humans in many respects.
But this wasn't just any bot. It was Vincent.
The bot watched him, its expression morphing into one of mild confusion. "Are you alright, Rody?" it asked, its voice gentle. "You seem... troubled."
Rody laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Troubled doesn't even begin to cover it." He stood up, pacing the room as he tried to make sense of everything. "You're not him," he whispered, more to himself than to the bot. "You're not Vincent."
