A DARK BEGINNING
The robot's hand felt unmistakably like human skin. Maya could hardly believe it. What material had they used to create something so lifelike? She held the robot's hand again and again, as if trying to confirm its existence, terrified it would slip away like a cruel dream. Of course, she feared losing this creation — the one she had long sought, long obsessed over.
Mr. Bills could see it clearly: Maya desired this more than anything. Her eyes betrayed her longing for the creation before her. He spoke, his voice rough as gravel, heavy with hidden concern.
"Two weeks ago," Mr. Bills began, "you hadn't set foot in the office yet. A small, newly established company sent their representative to meet you. But no instructions had come from you to entertain new collaborations, so they were ignored at first. Fortunately, I was there. The officer in charge, confused by the persistence of their representative, turned to me for help. The representative refused to leave the waiting area, insisting on seeing you directly."
He paused, watching how Maya's focus never left the robot's flawless skin.
"I finally told their representative they could present their work — but on one condition: their leader had to bring it in person. After all, it should be the leader, not a mere representative, who requests such a partnership. For days, the representative kept returning, begging to be allowed to explain their product, claiming their leader had countless meetings with other companies. But two days ago, finally, the leader came. I let them into my office, and after discussing many things, they handed me a small case containing this robot skin."
Maya listened intently. Ideas were already racing through her mind, wild and feverish.
Mr. Bills drew a business card from his cloak and handed it to her.
DAMIENSKIN.
The name of the company. The card was jet black, numbers sprawled across it, and the company name etched in stark white — ominous, bold.
"Mr. Bills, help me," Maya said softly, turning the card between her fingers like a talisman. The old man hesitated, confused.
"These past two years, I've been building this robot," she confessed, her voice low, tinged with a dangerous fervor. "One just like Arden. I lost count of how many times I failed, but I finally succeeded. Only… I was always lacking the right material. But today, I've found it. This skin will endure. It will last. I've done it."
Mr. Bills was taken aback, even disturbed. Why was this woman so obsessed with recreating Arden? What madness drove her to such extremes?
He scratched his head uneasily. Their creations were meant for public good — for protection, for national security, for emergency services — never for private obsession. Maya's project had clearly veered far beyond the mission and values of DE PHILIPS CORP.
Yet, as the prototype was activated, Mr. Bills could not deny the results. The new synthetic skin did not melt, not even under pressure. Maya was enraptured, intoxicated by the perfection of it. For so long, she had chased this dream, digging through every dark possibility to craft this living skin. And now, out of nowhere, a mysterious company had placed the answer into her hands.
Mr. Bills could not refuse her. He was bound to Maya's commands, and deep down, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time: life in her eyes, fire in her gaze. She looked alive again — terrifyingly alive.
As the robot came to life, Maya caressed its hand with dangerous reverence, as if she were touching the resurrected form of a lost lover.
Mr. Bills, trapped between loyalty and dread, could only whisper within the confines of his thoughts:
May God forgive you, Maya.
Because he knew this obsession had only just begun.