@humanbeta // Closed plotted starter
Model #11, serial code 7835920-773, Omega Industries Inc, year 2150.
It looked like a human tattoo etched into it's tanned synthetic skin. The mark was placed under the left arm, out of sight but visible if in it's raw form. It was made in a factory, put together by other less-aware robotic structures, screwed and welded into place with wire instead of veins, and metal in place of bones, and packed up in a box.
In the year 2150, technology had advanced to a point where nearly every adult had their own personal android. Each one looked different but was programmed the same with a limited range of emotion. They were built with the intention to serve humankind, a sort of butler, or assistant and emotion wasn't something that was necessary to carry out those tasks. It could even produce problems; free will, thoughts, a need to carry out actions that were not their master's but their own. With emotion, they could even be enticed to kill. Any android that showed signs of emotion was deactivated and had maintenance done to ensure the quality of the product. Once in the care of their owner they would have no memory of the events leading up to their initial activation. Omega Industries had perfected android technology, and the first batch was being shipped to the homes of expecting humans.
Model #11 was delivered at precisely 2:26pm to a 'Stiles Stilinski'. The man signed for the oversized package and began to cut away the box that contained the droid. The box fell open, revealing the state of the art machine that looked so real with its rich brown hair and synthetically sun kissed skin, and even a slightly crooked jaw. He followed the instruction manual, uttered the code written within, and pressed behind the android's right ear where the sensor was implanted.
The android immediately opened it's eyes, chestnut irises flicking toward his new human. It's posture was sharp and straight, shoulders back, chest out. It was almost kind of unsettling how perfect it seemed.
"Hello, I am number eleven, I am pleased to meet you, Stiles." The activation had transferred basic information about the human male to the machine, obviously starling him. Number Eleven returned the quizzical look, analyzing the man's body language before calculating a response, "I'm sorry, I've made you uncomfortable," it apologizes, regret written in it's programmed features.
