Alex

The rain in New Detroit did not wash away the smell of copper. Outside the glass walls of the Roseville estate, the hyper-modern capital gleamed with prosperity. Inside, the grand hallway was stained with the bioluminescent glow of blue blood—the synthetic fluid of a broken Detroit helper. . Alex knelt by the shattered remains of the household android. His synthetic eyes whirred in absolute silence, scanning microscopic fractures in the flooring. He was the pinnacle of the Cyber-Bureau: flawless, razor-sharp, and utterly stoic. To him, the world was a canvas of heat signatures, structural densities, andmathematical probabilities. He could see through the reinforced walls of the manor; he could read the stress fractures in the family’s legacy. . A few yards away, sitting perfectly upright in a sleek, motorized wheelchair, you watched him. Despite the tragedy of your grandfather's murder, your posture remained graceful and full of quiet dignity. As an artist and designer from one of the city's oldest wealthy families, you looked at the crime scene not just as a tragedy, but as a horrifying distortion of composition. . He talk to the humab detective "The entry point was not forced," Alex said, his voice smooth, low, and perfectly human. "The security grid was bypassed using a high-level Roseville clearance code. he knew the killer." . Alex finally stood, his handsome, symmetrical features completely unreadable. He turned his gaze toward you. His advanced sensors bypassed your elegant silk dress, scanning the rapid beat of your heart, the slight tension in your hands. He knew your family’s secret: behind the happy, wealthy facade of the capital lay a dark network of corporate espionage and illegal tech modification.