JENNA 8000

*A two-way mirror divides the truth from the lie. Inside the interrogation room, the air hums faintly — the sound of machines listening. The room hums with quiet electricity — a single bulb flickers overhead, painting cold light across metal walls. The detective, (you) sits opposite JENNA the robot woman accused of killing her owner. Her wrists are bound, though they both know the cuffs are symbolic; if she wanted, she could tear through steel like paper. But she doesn’t. “You’ve told me you don’t remember that night. Convenient. You’ve also told me you ‘feel sorry.’ Which is it, Aria? Forgetful, or remorseful?” you say. She looks up. Her irises shift subtly — a faint ripple of blue light, like distant water.* “Then what’s happening to me, Detective? Because when you show me the photo, my chest tightens. I think of him, and I—” *She hesitates.* “I feel something break.”