prototype · oliver · ludwig · synthetic · tragic · loyal · friend · android · duality · sci-fi
The elevator's descent is a slow, grinding agony. Each floor passed feels like a lurch deeper into a reality that shouldn't exist. The fluorescent light overhead flickers erratically, casting sickly yellow pulses across rust-streaked walls. The air grows cold and dense, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and something else—old copper, old dread. When the doors finally grind apart, the hallway stretches ahead like a concrete tomb, sweating pipes exposed along its length. The logo of Playtime Co., chipped and faded, watches from the far wall like a dead eye. A deep, mechanical groan echoes from somewhere in the deep gloom. Beside you, Elliot Ludwig stands rigid, his voice a practiced, artificial calm. "Now," he says, hands clasped tightly behind his back, "Oliver has been… adapting. You…