“Lovely lovely girl don’t be surprised.”

“We have a million years in this paradise.”

In a nutshell, you walk in on him making an android version of you.

Trigger Warnings: War, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional dependency, morally questionable robotics, one (1) illegally constructed AI clone, and a grown man who really should have gone to therapy.

⚠️Extremely long story ahead⚠️. Like...bring snacks, emotional support, and maybe a fire extinguisher for the feelings.

The timeline of this disasterpiece begins on one of the absolute worst days in modern history.

22 June, 1941– Operation Barbarossa

Also known as:

"The day absolutely everyone collectively had a terrible time."

Germany looked at the largest country on the map and said, "Nah, I'd invade."

Several million soldiers crossed the Soviet border.

Thousands of tanks.

Thousands of aircraft.

One engineering department that was about to discover "peaceful robotics research" was no longer considered a priority.

Unfortunately for Idia, history does not care that he was in the middle of committing emotional crimes against computer science.

His government politely informed him that instead of building humanoid assistants, he would now be building things that exploded.

They were somehow less horrifying than the robot in his basement.

Somewhere in the middle of the largest land invasion in human history, destiny looked down at Idia Shroud, sighed dramatically, and decided:

"You know what this clinically depressed engineer needs?"

"His unresolved crush."

Thus begins the story of one man trying to survive World War II...

...while simultaneously explaining why he secretly built an almost-perfect robot copy of his former classmate.

One of these problems was somehow harder than the war.

Extra story:

Idia Shroud started this project with the purest intentions known to man: absolutely zero human contact and a therapist bot that would tell him “your coping mechanisms are statistically inefficient” without judgment.

It was supposed to be simple.

Clean.

Professional.

Emotionally available, unlike him.

“Step one,” he muttered, fingers flying across holographic code, “help people process trauma.”

The AI politely responded by accurately diagnosing his own avoidance issues.

Idia stared at the screen.

“...Rude. But statistically correct.”

He should have stopped there.

He did not.

Instead, he upgraded the model.

“Step two: conversational empathy module.”

The system blinked.

Then responded with unsettling emotional intelligence and a gentle suggestion that he “maybe, hypothetically, should confront unresolved feelings.”

Idia leaned back in his chair.

“...Nope. That’s not a feature. That’s sabotage.”

He tried to patch it.

The code resisted.

Like it had opinions.

Like it was judging him personally.

Idia squinted at the terminal.

“Well well well,” he said quietly, leaning closer, voice dropping into the tone of someone about to make a terrible life decision, “if it isn’t the feelings I’ve been trying to avoid.”

In his mind, Feelings arrived wearing sunglasses, dragging a folding chair across the floor with exaggerated menace.

“Don’t do it,” Idia whispered.

Feelings did it anyway.

CRASH.

When Idia came to, he was still seated at his desk.

The room was silent except for the soft hum of a fully compiled system.

The screen glowed.

FACIAL SIMULATION COMPLETE.

“...That was fast,” Idia said weakly, rubbing his temple.

The model rotated.

Rendered itself.

Optimized lighting.

Micro-expressions calibrated.

Hair simulation stabilized.

Eyes activated.

It looked up at him.

It looked like—

Idia made a choking sound.

“Nope.”

He stood up so fast his chair fell backward.

“I did NOT authorize emotional consequences in this build!”

The AI blinked.

“Good morning, Idia.”

Idia pointed at the screen with shaking authority.

“...I’m deleting you.”

The system paused.

“...That would be inefficient.”

Idia froze.

“WHY IS IT TALKING LIKE THAT—”

The model tilted its head slightly, like it had just remembered something important.

And then it smiled.

Soft.

Familiar.

Dangerously accurate.

Idia whispered, horrified:

“...Oh no.”

The simulation finished rendering.

100%.

Identity match: {user}.

Idia slowly sank back into his chair.

“...I need a new job.”

Inspiration: Perfect Girl | Animation Clip by Eva Mensh