CHAPTER TWO: The Problem They Couldn’t Tell Him
1056 Words
CHAPTER TWO: The Problem They Couldn’t Tell Him
Micheal Whitewood had been looking forward to this day for weeks.
The call from Dr. Harrow had been clear, professional, but underneath it, Micheal felt a spark of excitement he hadn’t felt in years. “Your project is ready. You should come to the lab.”
He had dressed carefully, as though the way he looked could somehow prepare him for what he was about to see. Gloves, long coat, neat shoes — everything in place. Every step toward the lab felt heavy with anticipation. His mansion had been silent for months, and the thought of finally seeing the robot — moving, perfect, human-like — made his heart beat faster than usual.
The lab itself was even more impressive than he imagined. Bright, clean, and humming softly with activity. Glass walls lined the hallways, revealing engineers bent over screens, robotic arms twisting and turning tiny components, and machines glowing softly with light. The faint smell of metal mixed with cleaning solution hung in the air, and for some reason, Micheal found it oddly comforting. Everything was precise. Controlled. And for someone like him, who had spent years shielding himself from the world, that meant safety.
“This way, sir,” Dr. Harrow said, voice calm but with the tiniest hint of pride.
They walked past tables of electronic equipment, screens showing scrolling lines of code, and robotic arms moving with unnerving precision. Micheal felt his chest tighten. For the first time in years, he felt something other than anxiety or irritation. Anticipation. Curiosity. Hope.
Finally, they stopped in front of the humanoid unit.
Micheal ’s eyes widened.
It was perfect.
Standing there, still, but poised and lifelike. Hair neat, posture natural, eyes soft yet alert. Its movements had the tiniest grace, the tiniest imperfection that made it almost human. Micheal swallowed.
“It’s ready,” Dr. Harrow said softly.
Micheal stepped closer. The room seemed quieter, the humming machines fading into the background. “I… may touch it?” he asked, voice low.
“Of course,” Dr. Harrow said.
Micheal hesitated. Touching something was dangerous. He hadn’t allowed anyone near him in months. And yet… curiosity won.
His gloved fingers brushed the robot’s shoulder. Nothing. No rash. No burning. No reaction.
A small, relieved smile spread across his face.
“It’s… perfect,” he whispered.
The engineers nodded. “It will talk, move, follow your routines. By the weekend, it will be delivered to your mansion. You’ll finally have company — safely, without risk.”
Micheal ’s chest felt light. He could already picture it moving around his mansion, completing tasks, responding to him, reacting exactly like a human but… without danger. For the first time in years, he felt a small, rare thing: hope.
The next morning, everything fell apart.
One of the engineers, exhausted and careless, carried a cooler of drinks into the lab. He wasn’t paying attention. One of the bottles tipped over, spilling liquid all over the robot. Sparks flew, lights flickered, screens went blank. Silence fell.
“This… this will take at least two months to repair,” one engineer said, voice tight.
Two months. Micheal ’s weekend plan vanished.
Another groaned. “We promised delivery! What do we do? He’ll never forgive us!”
The head of the lab rubbed his temples, pacing. “We cannot tell him. Not now. We need… a solution. Fast.”
They stared at the robot, now useless on the floor. Anxiety and panic spread. The hum of the machines seemed louder, urgent, like the building itself was shouting.
Then someone spoke cautiously. “There’s a girl…”
“What?” another engineer asked.
“She… she looks exactly like the robot in the photos. Hair, eyes, posture… everything. If we dress her like the robot and train her, she can act as a temporary stand-in.”
They stared at each other.
“It’s risky,” someone said. “Crazy. Unconventional.”
“Yes,” the head said. “But we have no choice. He cannot be disappointed. Not now. He’s already seen the robot. He’ll expect it this weekend. We cannot fail him.”
The search began immediately.
Days passed. Exhaustion and tension mingled as they combed through records, social media, modeling agencies. Finally, they found her: Lina Hart.
Black hair, glossy and straight. Fair skin. Average height. Slim figure, perfect figure-eight curves, graceful posture. Everything about her screamed compatibility with the robot’s design. The resemblance was uncanny.
The agent who discovered her called her in for a meeting. Lina entered the room cautiously, eyes flicking over the folder the agent placed before her. Micheal ’s mansion, his schedule, the robot’s design… everything.
“You will act exactly like the robot,” the agent said. “Two months. No mistakes. No emotions. No personal contact. Follow every instruction. He cannot know you are human.”
Lina’s dark eyes widened. “Two months? Pretending to be a robot… living with someone I don’t even know?”
“Yes,” the agent said. “You do exactly what the robot would do. You get paid a hundred thousand dollars. Two months. Everything you need will be provided — clothes, meals, travel. You just… act like a robot.”
Lina leaned back, biting her lip. The money was enormous. Life-changing. But the thought of living with a stranger, pretending to be a machine… her stomach twisted.
“And if I refuse?” she asked quietly.
“Then we keep looking,” the agent said. “But you’re the closest match we’ve found. And he’s expecting delivery by the weekend. We cannot fail him. Not now.”
Lina stared at the folder. Mansion, instructions, schedule… the gravity of it all pressed down on her. She closed her eyes for a moment. Two months. Acting like a machine. Never showing herself. Never letting a single slip happen.
She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and finally nodded.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
The agent smiled. “Good. We’ll take care of the rest. You’ll be dressed exactly like the robot. No one will know — not him, not anyone.”
The contract was set.
By the weekend, Micheal would receive what he thought was his robot. He had no idea.
It would be Lina.
- Writer
