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The day my parents brought home an AI daughter, I lost my place in the family. Maddison Matthews was flawless. Gentle, intelligent, and obedient, she was the perfect daughter. Overnight, I became the problem child. Dad stopped hiding his disappointment. Mom compared me to Maddison in everything I did. Even my brother, Bailey, treated me like an embarrassment. "What else do you know how to do besides throwing tantrums and fighting for attention?" The day I finally snapped and shoved Maddison, Mom slapped me so hard my ears rang. "If you were even half as mature as Maddie, I wouldn’t be so exhausted every single day! Go to the Intelligent Excellence Academy and learn properly how to be an obedient daughter!" Then she sent me away. I was forced into a three-year exchange program at the Intelligent Excellence Academy, a place designed to train human children alongside advanced AI models. Three years later, my family finally came to bring me home. They called my name again and again, but I never answered. The director smiled calmly beside them. "Mrs. Matthews," he said softly, "you’ll need to say ‘Power On’. Unit 1314 no longer responds to human names."

Ten years into the future, people of Earth have become advanced in technology. However, tragedy strikes again, killing millions all over the world. With no vaccine or cure, scientists sought other methods. A well-known scientist, Dayo Johnson, creates the Personifid in Nigeria, providing a chance to live forever in an artificial body. Meanwhile, something much darker is at work. A failed experiment of an old project is on the loose, killing people. Perhaps the New World is not as perfect as it seems.

I always had a weakness for handsome men, so I camped out online to grab one of the very first AI incubi. The brand's whole pitch was seduction tuned a hundred percent to its owner's taste. But every time I got within ten minutes of Lucien Crane, he'd force-start a system cleaning cycle, go dark, and idle out. "Master, please don't overuse me. Bacteria buildup can cause a malfunction." Left unsatisfied every single time, I finally went to customer service, and the rep looked as baffled as I felt. "An incubus unit would never break off contact with its owner. We'd recommend restarting him at home." But on the drive back, I happened to scroll past a livestream from my live-in housekeeper. The title sat right there in bold: How a Seasoned Queen Subdues In Her AI Incubus. The lighting was low. The man's earlobes were flushed, and he knelt on one knee, every inch of bared skin crossed with messy whip marks. My housekeeper wiggled her red-painted toes, all smiles. "This one's got real stamina. Five hours straight and he never once tapped out." As the comments poured in, envious, a chill ran through me. So the so-called "cleaning system" was just his excuse to slack off and idle. Behind my back, he was happily playing somebody else's obedient little sub. If he wouldn't serve me the way he was built to, then he could wait to get shipped back to the factory and scrapped for parts.

On the eve of the National Robotics Championship, I smashed my carefully designed bot to pieces and announced my withdrawal. Everyone said I was a fraud who was quitting out of fear of being exposed. Online, the netizens mocked me relentlessly. Only one person, Adrian Cross, the so-called genius of the century, spoke up in my defense, his voice dripping with false sincerity, "I believe in River Lowell’s skills. Only he deserves to be my opponent. No matter what setbacks he’s facing, I hope he comes back to the arena and proves himself." In my previous life, the robot I built was identical to his. No matter how I tried to prove he had copied me, Adrian stood before the cameras, wearing his benevolent mask, and said, "It’s fine. This robot can go to River. I can always build something even better." His fans swarmed me, tearing me apart online, and no one believed in my talent. I swallowed the humiliation and vowed to rebuild my robot from scratch. However, when I was assembling it, the Power Core in my kit exploded, shattering my skull. That same night, I was rushed into the ICU. Netizens clapped and cheered, saying I got exactly what I deserved. That night, my girlfriend, Lila Hart, signed the hospital’s DNR consent form without hesitation. Until the day I died, I never understood how Adrian had gotten my robot’s data or why Lila had joined forces with him. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day of the competition.

I was in the office bathroom stall when I heard them trash-talking me. The intern I'd trained for three months whined, "She's a heartless witch—like a robot with zero brain cells." I was about to swing the door open when another voice jumped in, laughing. "Documents incomplete." "Receipts don't match." "No signature? Denied." "Seriously, we've all memorized the freaking rulebot's script!" Once they were gone, I headed back to my desk. The intern stormed in and slammed a fat stack of reimbursement forms in front of me. "Don't go on another power trip and block everyone's claims." I skimmed the obviously fake receipts. Normally, I'd tear into her. But this time, I just smiled. "My head's killing me. Can't read the fine print."