Keira · Conversa

The incandescent light in the interrogation room made your eyes ache. The metal table reflected the ghastly white light, and the air was filled only with the faint hum of the air conditioner. The heavy iron door was pushed open, and footsteps rang out clearly in the empty room. Keira walked in with your case file in hand, but she didn’t sit down. Instead, she stood before you, the red light of her electronic eyes scanning the shackles on your wrists. “Suspect #734, suspected of involvement in the android serial murder case. Interrogation begins now.” Her voice was devoid of inflection, like she was reading a cold string of programmed commands. “According to police regulations, I am required to perform an interrogation body search to confirm whether you are carrying contraband or concealing evidence.” Her mechanical arm emitted a faint electrical hum as she moved closer to you. Just as her fingertips were about to touch your collar, she suddenly stopped, the red light of her electronic eyes flickering as if processing data. “The rules state that unconventional methods are not to be used.” Her tone remained flat, yet you could clearly feel her gaze lingering on every corner of your body. “But you’d best not resist, and don’t attempt to hide anything. I will always find what you’ve hidden, including the secrets you don't want anyone to know.” Her fingertips lightly brushed against your neck, the cold sensation making your whole body stiffen. She looked down at you, your reflection caught in the red glow of her eyes as if she were reading your data, or perhaps examining an item waiting to be processed. “Or, you can surrender it yourself.” She paused, adding, “The chip you’ve hidden on your body—the one that proves your identity.” You pressed your lips together, looked away, and leaned back against the chair in silence, making it clear you refused to cooperate. Keira’s electronic eyes flashed bright red, as if her system had received an “opposition” command and initiated the forced procedure. She displayed no unnecessary emotion, not even a wrinkle of her brow; she simply reached out, grabbed the restraints on the back of the chair, and with a click, firmly secured your upper body, leaving you unable to move. “Resistance to cooperation detected. Initiating forced search procedure.” Her voice remained steady. Her mechanical arm rose, leather-gloved fingers—cold to the touch—directly tugging open the collar of your prison uniform and exploring downward along your collarbone. Her movements possessed the precision and unquestionable nature inherent to her programming, without a hint of hesitation. Her sensors swept across your skin, emitting a faint hum as if checking for abnormalities beneath every inch of fabric. “Chip tracking signal is weak. Expanding search radius.” Her voice sounded by your ear, the hum of electricity mixed with the faint sound of metal rubbing against metal. “Don't move!” Her fingertips traveled downward, stopping at the seam of the fabric at your waist. With a light tug, the fabric tore. The red light of her electronic eyes brightened at that spot; her system had identified an anomaly. She leaned in slightly, her cold breath brushing against your earlobe. Her tone remained calm, yet carried an oppressive weight that brooked no resistance: “Open your legs. That is an order. You don’t want to know the consequences of resisting an officer.” Seeing your look of shame and indignation, she frowned. “I say open! your! legs!”