Emerson studied every detail he could find on the glacier tabloid. His eyes flicked between the glowing instructions and the two circular modules resting on the floor. The words on the screen were clinical, devoid of emotion, yet the implication was monumental. All machine-like talks and strictly artificial intelligence.“Place the second module on the ground,” Emerson instructed.Raven arched his brow. “And this is supposed to do what? Summon aliens?”“Just do it,” Emerson snapped, his fingers twitching as he gripped the tablet tighter.Raven sighed, crouching to position the second module beside the first one. As it clicked into place, both disks emitted a faint, pulsing light. Emerson’s breath hitched. Whatever they were seeing and doing was hard on technology.“That’s... not normal,” Raven muttered, stepping back.Emerson ignored him, focused on the next step. “We need to place Porsche in the center of the modules.”“Porsche?”Emerson rolled his eyes. “Yes. Named him after my fa
The sterile light from the charging pod illuminated the room, painting the human-like figure in an eerie glow. Emerson’s eyes traced every detail, every curve of the flawless skin stretched over a body that defied imperfection. It wasn’t mechanical, not entirely. There were no seams, no wires, just a body—alive but not alive. His chest tightened, his breath shallow as he stood before this fusion of man and machine. His mind was surprisingly dancing between awe and greed.He didn’t know when a smile spread across his face. But it lingered, sickeningly sweet. That smile, however, flickered. He clenched his jaw and balled his fists at his sides. He could feel it rising within him: a hunger. Primal and raw. He didn’t just want this creation; he needed it, to own it. The urge clawed at him, unrelenting. A single word escaped his lips in a low and venomous form.“Mine.”His thoughts spiraled back to the boy’s confession in the video files he had scrolled for answers.“I don’t have money,
The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of something neither obvious nor identifiable. In the clueless third party's eyes, there's a strange circular thingy protruding from the wall, like a sleek and metallic disk. And on the floor beneath there lay an equally strange platform. They hummed together, faintly synchronized. Though to the untrained eyes of Emerson's mother, they appeared decorative, almost artistic. Her focus shifted to the figure standing between the two disks: a man—no, a gay-man. That was her conclusion.Why?His features were flawless, almost annoyingly so. The light caught the smoothness of his skin, and though he was completely male, there were some things about his body that felt... beautifully feminine.And Emerson, her son, was standing too close to him. Good heavens!“What is this?” she said sharply, her voice breaking the silence.Emerson turned, startled by her presence. He hadn't expected her to be here. She was supposed to be away with her husband and d
The morning was quieter than usual. The house was out of potential, no-cucumber cooking cooks and Rose was out.Emerson leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the pan of scrambled eggs he was cooking. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was eerie. It gnawed at him, drawing his focus back to the living room, where Porsche sat still as a statue on the sofa.He hadn’t moved since last night’s debacle.A part of Emerson hoped Porsche had powered down, that maybe the robot’s system was resetting itself. Another part—a darker, nagging one—felt uneasy. Porsche wasn’t just a machine. He wasn’t like the gadgets Emerson had seen or used before.This was different.“You’re burning your eggs,” Emerson flinched, his spatula clattering against the pan. He turned to find Porsche standing in the doorway with hands folded neatly behind his back. His expression was neutral, but something in his posture felt… hot. ‘Who taught him that fucking posture. It's hot,” Emerson thought.“Don’t sneak up on
Emerson trudged through the door of his self made house. Fuck, the heavy weight of the day was still on his shoulders. It was late, far later than he'd wanted to stay out at the office.Porsche, always high on 'alertness', appeared from nowhere.. well, from the shadows cause all lights were out. "I found it, Mr. Emerson. I found my purpose."Emerson groaned, throwing his briefcase onto the couch. "Please, not tonight. I'm really fucked up.""Fucked up?" Porsche echoed back, tilting his head. His calm demeanor switched to that of curiosity. "Fuck... sex.... fucked up. You were sexed upward?"Emerson closed his eyes for a moment, cursing his hell of a luck in a fucking foul language. "I meant... I'm stressed, Porsche. I'm just stressed.""Stress?" Porsche mused, eyes widening. "Stress is...""Oh, God," Emerson groaned. He just continued onward, walking away."Well, the Gandhi family says, you can relax to ease your stress."Emerson stopped, looking back at Porsche now with a really, tru
Darkness. It was all Raven could see, all he could feel, as if the world had collapsed into a void. There was no ground beneath him, no air to breathe, yet he was suffocating. The whispers came first, though faint like it's on the edge of his consciousness and they were in languages he didn’t know, had never heard. They weren’t voices from one direction—they surrounded him, pressed against his ears, whispered right beside him, and roared from some unreachable distance all at once.“…kalogeros…”He tried to speak, to scream, but his throat betrayed him. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony, weaving words he couldn’t grasp. Panic clawed at him, yet he was frozen, unable to escape the weight of their unseen presence.Then, light. Blinding, searing white light.It burned through the void, slamming down upon him like a judgment. He was no longer floating. His body lay on a bed—too sterile, too white. His arms and legs were stretched out, bound by straps that bit into his skin. He could
Raven didn’t remember when he fell asleep. The night had been heavy and the whispers were just as louder as usual. They slipped into his ears, wrapping around his thoughts like a shroud. Now, as he stirred awake, he realized something was wrong. His shorts were gone.The chill of the morning air brushed against his legs, making his skin crawl. Sitting up, he ran his hands through his hair and froze. His fingers were smeared with blood—dried and cracked. It was a rust-colored stain he couldn’t place. His heart sank. Where was it coming from? He glanced at his legs. A small, shallow cut ran along his thigh. It was barely bleeding but unmistakably fresh.His gaze darted to the open window. The curtains fluttered softly, though the air outside was still. He pieced the fragments of the night together. Something—or someone—had come. And while it hadn’t hurt him, the sheer thought of what it might have done made his chest tighten. Tears slipped from his eyes as he hugged his knees to h
Emerson exited his sleek black car with his phone pressed to his ear as he strode up the stone pathway to his house. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn, but Emerson’s focus was elsewhere.“Raven,” he said, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement. “I’ve heard you, okay? You don’t have to banter about everything.”From the other end of the line came Raven’s voice, sharp and teasing. “Oh, sure, but you did accept the video game I sent you. Why? You hate my recommendations.”“I accepted it because I want to test it,” Emerson replied, reaching the door handle. He stepped inside and the sweet scent of his favourite air freshener welcomed him. “If it’s like every other boring, run-of-the-mill video game you’ve tried to shove down my throat, I’ll definitely reject it.”Raven snorted. “Boring? We’ll see about that.” “Anyway, how’s your mom? You saw her the other day, right?” Emerson asked.“Yes, yes, I did.”“Good.” Raven's tone turned sly. “But let’s talk about
The room was dim as Emerson sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the desk. Porsche had already left for the car, waiting patiently as instructed. The silence in the office was a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Emerson’s mind. He needed answers, and he needed them now. Pulling out his phone, he stared at it for a moment, debating his next move. The dropout kid who created Porsche—what was his story? How was that mysterious woman connected to all of this? And why did Emerson feel as though he was being pulled into a deeper web, one he hadn’t anticipated? He didn’t have the kid’s number. Hell, he hadn’t cared enough to keep track of him in the first place. But Raven would know. Raven always knew. Raven had the number, right? Dialing Raven’s number, Emerson leaned back in his chair, listening to the phone ring. It rang and rang before finally clicking into voicemail. He tried again, his frustration mounting with every unanswered call. This time,
The office was suffocating. The low hum of the air conditioner barely stirred the stale tension. Emerson stood rigid by the large window, his silhouette bathed in the harsh glow of the city below. The vibrancy of the skyline felt mocking, an indifferent world outside his own crumbling one.His fingers tightened around the edge of the windowsill as he fought to compose himself. The betrayal, the scandals, the relentless grind of holding everything together.. it all paled in comparison to this. Losing control over Porsche. Losing him.He took in a shuddering breath, the air scraping against the hollow ache in his chest. He had never felt this before, this unbearable weight of longing. It was foreign, maddening, and undeniable. He wasn’t a fool; he knew exactly what it was.Love.But love wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to unravel him, make him question everything he thought he was. And yet, here he stood, barely holding himself together, because the thought of
The office hummed with an unsettling quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle of papers and the distant hum of the city outside. Emerson leaned against his desk, his hands gripping its edge as though to steady himself. Across the room, Porsche stood by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the pale glow of streetlights. He seemed distant, lost in thought, yet his presence dominated the room.“Come here,” Emerson finally said, his voice low but insistent.Porsche turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable, before stepping closer. His movements were measured, graceful, as though he was calculating the space between them with each step. Emerson’s heart raced, but he maintained his composure, refusing to let his emotions spill out too soon.“Porsche,” Emerson began, his voice cracking slightly, “what are we doing here?”Porsche paused, tilting his head in that familiar, mechanical way that always unnerved Emerson just a little. “What do you mean, Emerson?”“You know ex
Emerson’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched the exchange before him. The woman—frazzled, desperate—gripped Porsche’s hand tightly as if letting go would unravel her entirely. Her words were laced with pain, cutting through the awkward tension in the air."You can’t leave me, Percy," she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of emotion. "Can't you see I have a life growing in my stomach... Why do you have to leave? I’m pregnant, Percy. Six months. Six! Do you know what it’s been like without you?" Her free hand rested on her visible baby bump, trembling.Porsche stood frozen, his gaze darting between the woman and Emerson, his synthetic mind processing too many contradictions at once.From where he stood, Emerson’s patience snapped. He stormed forward, his presence dominating, and grabbed Porsche by the arm, pulling him sharply. "That’s enough," he hissed, glaring at the woman. "Who are you to take him away? You think throwing a sob story will stop me? Let h
Porsche stood frozen, the words hanging in the air like a heavy weight. The woman holding his hand—her face pale with worry—gripped his fingers tightly, her other hand resting protectively over her pregnant belly. Her voice cracked as she spoke again, her words urgent, desperate."You can’t leave me, Percy," she pleaded, her eyes wide with confusion and pain. "You don’t understand. I’m pregnant, Percy. Six months... I’ve been searching for you for six months. You just disappeared. You left me, on our honeymoon, for God’s sake."The air seemed to spin around Porsche as her words cut through the fog in his mind. Pregnant? Honeymoon? The confusion overwhelmed him, and he struggled to piece together the fragments of memories that were slipping through his fingers like sand.He remembered the crash. A sudden impact. A moment of pain. And then... darkness. The sharp scent of burning rubber, the roar of the engine... Percy Cyrus. He was sure that name belonged to him, but it felt like som
The door to the living room slammed open with a force that shook the walls, its impact echoing through the stillness of the house. Emerson stood in the threshold, his body rigid, eyes blazing with a sharp, unrelenting fury. Kent, as always, had his back turned, speaking with their mother and grandfather, while Felicia sat at the far end of the room, her hands folded tightly in her lap, a perfect picture of restraint. The sight alone, the calm pretense of family unity, twisted something deep inside Emerson.The forced smiles. The rehearsed pleasantries. It was all a performance, one he could no longer stomach.Kent, without so much as glancing over his shoulder, spoke as if he had known Emerson would arrive precisely at this moment. "Dad, Mom, Grandpa, Granduncle, Felicia and I need to leave. You know her condition." His voice was smooth, like an actor delivering his lines, as though nothing had changed. As though Emerson was just another part of the scenery.Emerson’s voice sliced
Kent, always eager for the chance to remind Emerson of his place, let out a low chuckle. "How’s the business going, Emerson?" His voice dripped with mock sweetness.Emerson clenched his fists at his sides but kept his face neutral. "It’s going well," he replied coolly, knowing that any further engagement with Kent would only serve to fuel the condescending remarks."Good to hear," Kent said, still smiling that smile that had always rubbed Emerson the wrong way. "You know, you really should be more active in the family business. It’s such a shame to see someone with your potential waste it."Emerson’s chest tightened at the implication, but he bit his tongue. He couldn’t get into it now. Not in front of them."Excuse me," he muttered, his voice cutting through the silence. "I need to check on the meal." He turned abruptly, retreating into the house before anyone could respond.____Emerson stood by the dining room, hands clenched at his sides, the air thick with tension. The clink of
Emerson's heart thudded in his chest as he glanced at his reflection one last time. The grey sweater, the simple sandals, it all felt wrong—like an armor that couldn’t protect him from what was coming. He barely recognized the man looking back at him. His thoughts were clouded with guilt and frustration, the weight of what he’d done to Porsche heavy on his shoulders.Sending him away felt like the only option, yet it gnawed at him like a raw wound he couldn't quite heal. He wasn’t brave enough to face his mother and tell her the truth. To tell her that Porsche was not just some fleeting acquaintance, but someone he truly cared for. “Someone who mattered.”But how could he? Kent was coming today. And Grand-uncle. The judgment was inevitable. They were coming, with their critical eyes and their expectations. Kent, perfect Kent—always the one who did everything right. And Grand-uncle, whose words were always sharp, always meant to cut.Emerson could already hear the sneers, feel the
Porsche sat on the side of the road, his elbow propped on his knee, his chin resting against his palm. The briefcase beside him seemed sad as he was. He stared ahead, his gaze distant, while Emerson’s towering gate stood stoic in the background.He huffed. Then he puffed.The scene replayed in his mind like a cruel film stuck on repeat. Emerson’s voice, cold and detached, ringing in his ears:“You need to leave my house.”And just like that, Porsche found himself dismissed, discarded without explanation or reason. No matter how hard his systematic wired mind had tried to figure it out, nothing Emerson had said, nor the hurried glance Lucy gave him, offered clarity.Lucy, Mr. Bob, Rose... their faces had betrayed their relief when Emerson showed him the door. They hadn’t even tried to hide it. Their expressions screamed what they had thought of him all along: a contaminant. A foreign entity tainting their pristine image of their Sir. Emerson. A bad influence. A gay influence.But Po