The streets of the undercity were a labyrinth of shadows and flickering neon signs, the faint hum of failing power generators filling the air. Kite walked briskly, clutching the cradle tightly to his chest, its weight feeling far heavier than it should. The robotic baby inside, its sleek onyx-black frame glinting faintly under the dim lights, rested in eerie silence.

Kite’s thoughts churned like a storm as he replayed the earlier conversation with Rad. The tension, the fear, and the cryptic words of the baby, it all gnawed at him. "Beware of the devil hiding in human skin." The phrase echoed in his mind, sending chills down his spine every time. "That succubus will be your greatest ally." What did it all mean? Why him? And why had it called him Henry Cooper?

His footsteps echoed against the damp pavement as he turned down another alley, the stench of decay and the hum of neon a constant companion. Glancing down at the baby, Kite couldn’t suppress a shiver. Its small form seemed almost serene, as if mocking his unease. He muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling up. “My name’s Kite, dammit…”

The baby didn’t respond, its soft mechanical whirs the only sign of life. Kite’s grip tightened on the cradle, his knuckles whitening. He tried to push away the creeping unease, forcing his mind to rationalize what had happened.

“It’s probably all just a prank,” Kite thought, the words almost convincing. Maybe some twisted tech-head had programmed the baby to spout nonsense. Maybe Rad was right, and it was just a malfunctioning heap of scrap. But even as he tried to convince himself, the chills wouldn’t stop.

He glanced at the baby again, its smooth, featureless face reflecting the sickly green light of a flickering sign overhead. “Just a sick joke,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

But the words felt hollow. He couldn’t ignore the way the baby’s voice had sounded, soft, almost soothing, yet carrying an unnatural weight. He remembered the way it had looked at him, or at least seemed to, when it had called him by that strange name. Henry Cooper. The name meant nothing to him, and yet… it felt heavy, as though it belonged to someone he should know.

As he rounded another corner, Kite’s unease deepened. The streets grew quieter here, the distant hum of the city above muted by the oppressive weight of the undercity’s decayed infrastructure. He avoided eye contact with the occasional passerby, most of them looked just as broken as the city they lived in. The baby in his arms felt like a secret, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to share.

The robotic warnings continued to echo in his head. "The devil hiding in human skin." Kite frowned, his thoughts spiraling. Who, or what, could that even mean? Was it just a metaphor? A riddle? And then there was the other phrase: "That succubus will be your greatest ally." He’d never even seen a succubus before, let alone thought about working with one. It was absurd.

But what if it’s not? The question stopped him in his tracks, and he let out a shaky breath, leaning against a crumbling wall. His reflection stared back at him from a shattered pane of glass, distorted and jagged. “You’re overthinking it,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

The baby shifted slightly in its cradle, its movements almost imperceptible, but enough to make Kite jump. He froze, staring at it, his heart pounding. For a moment, he half-expected it to wake up, to start speaking again in that haunting voice. But it remained still, its silence somehow more unsettling than any words it could have spoken.

Kite shook his head and pushed off the wall, forcing himself to keep moving. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could put this entire day behind him. But even as he walked, his mind refused to let go. The warnings, the strange name, the fear in Rad’s eyes, all of it felt connected, though he couldn’t see how.

“Just a sick joke,” he repeated under his breath, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of machinery. But deep down, he knew he didn’t believe that.

Kite quickened his pace, his boots splashing through shallow puddles that reflected the dull neon lights overhead. The undercity's cold, damp air clung to him like a second skin, and the faint hiss of steam escaping from a nearby vent added an ominous undertone to the atmosphere. His knuckles were pale against the dark cradle, his grip so tight it hurt. He glanced down again at the robotic baby, half-expecting its smooth, featureless face to turn toward him, its lifeless gaze suddenly coming alive with that haunting voice.

It didn’t move. It didn’t speak. But its presence felt suffocating, like it was silently watching him from somewhere beyond the physical.

Kite shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. “It’s just tech,” he muttered, his voice sharp against the quiet. “Just wires and programming. Nothing more.”

The words echoed hollowly in the empty alley, doing little to convince him. His mind raced back to the classroom, to the moment the baby had looked, or at least seemed to look, directly at him. “Henry Cooper.” The name repeated in his thoughts like a mantra, a melody he couldn’t unhear.

“Who the hell is Henry Cooper?” Kite muttered, his frustration bleeding into his voice. He didn’t know anyone by that name. He didn’t even like the sound of it, too formal, too foreign. It wasn’t him. “I’m Kite. Just Kite.”

But what if it wasn’t a mistake? What if it wasn’t random?

“Beware of the devil hiding in human skin.” Kite clenched his jaw as the phrase surfaced again, as vivid as when the baby had said it. His mind spun in circles, trying to make sense of it. Was it a warning about someone he already knew? Someone he hadn’t met yet? Or was it just a cryptic line of code meant to mess with his head?

“That succubus will be your greatest ally.” He snorted at the absurdity of it. A succubus? In the undercity? Sure, the undercity was filled with all kinds of strange and dangerous people, augmentations, rogue AIs, even rumors of genetic experiments, but a succubus? It sounded like something out of a fantasy book. And yet, he couldn’t shake the unease those words brought, a feeling that something, someone, was lurking just beyond his sight, waiting to cross paths with him.

The cradle shifted slightly in his arms as he turned a corner into another dimly lit street. This one was quieter than the last, with fewer flickering signs and more shadows. Kite’s breath fogged in the cold air as he scanned the surroundings, his unease growing. He was close to home now, but the streets felt unfamiliar, as if the warnings had made the undercity’s usual dangers more pronounced.

He glanced down at the baby again, his chest tightening as he saw its face illuminated by a faint, pale glow from the cradle’s internal systems. Its eyelids, if they could even be called that, were closed, its expression peaceful in a way that unnerved him.

“Why me?” Kite asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you call me that? Why say all those things?”

The baby didn’t respond, of course, but its silence felt deliberate, as if it was withholding something from him. He shook his head again, harder this time, trying to force the thoughts away. It’s a prank, he told himself. Someone hacked it, programmed it to say weird stuff. That’s all.

But the thought felt flimsy, even to him. The baby had known things—personal things. It had called Rad out, too, in a way that had clearly struck a nerve. And the way Rad had reacted… Kite had never seen him like that before. Rad wasn’t the type to get rattled easily, but he’d been terrified.

Kite sighed heavily as he approached a narrow, decrepit stairwell that led to his apartment block. The steel stairs groaned under his weight as he climbed, the sound echoing up the shaft. He kept his head low, avoiding the gazes of the few people loitering in the shadows. The undercity didn’t take kindly to vulnerability, and the last thing he needed was someone asking questions about the cradle in his arms.

As he reached his floor, he paused for a moment outside his door, staring at the peeling paint and rusted hinges. His fingers tightened on the cradle’s edges as the warnings replayed in his head once more.

“Beware of the devil hiding in human skin.” What if the baby wasn’t lying? What if there really was someone, or something, out there, waiting to hurt him? The thought made his skin crawl.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking it quickly behind him. The familiar clutter of his small apartment greeted him, spare parts, wires, and half-finished gadgets strewn across every surface. Normally, the chaos was comforting, a sign of his creativity and resourcefulness. Today, it felt oppressive.

Kite set the cradle down gently on his workbench, stepping back as if it might spring to life at any moment. The baby remained still, its faint glow casting long shadows across the room. Kite ran a hand through his hair, pacing as his thoughts raced.

“It’s just a machine,” he said again, his voice firmer this time, though it still trembled. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

But no matter how many times he said it; the unease wouldn’t leave. The warnings, the strange name, the way Rad had looked at him, all of it felt like the start of something bigger, something he couldn’t yet see.

He glanced at the baby one last time before turning away, muttering to himself as he collapsed onto his worn-out couch. “Just a sick joke,” he said again, closing his eyes. But deep down, Kite knew it wasn’t.

Kite sank deeper into the threadbare couch, its springs creaking under his weight. The faded fabric, once a dull brown, was now mottled with oil stains and patches of grime, the result of countless nights spent tinkering on projects that overflowed from his workshop. His small living room was cluttered, every surface crowded with evidence of his mechanical obsessions. Shelves made from scavenged wood and scrap metal sagged under the weight of disassembled tech, broken drones, outdated neural interfaces, and mangled circuit boards that he had collected from the undercity’s endless junk heaps.

The only light in the room came from the flickering neon sign outside his window, casting faint purple and green hues onto the walls. The sign’s glow barely reached the far corners of the space, leaving them shrouded in shadow, but Kite didn’t mind. Shadows were a constant companion in the undercity, and he found comfort in their familiarity.

A cracked holo-screen leaned against one wall; its surface caked with dust. Next to it, a small table was piled high with empty candy wrappers and mugs streaked with the remnants of thick, bitter coffee made by his mother. The air smelled faintly of solder, ozone, and old grease, the byproducts of his endless experiments.

Kite’s eyes wandered, eventually landing on the cradle sitting on the workbench across the room. The robotic baby was still and silent, its featureless face faintly illuminated by the soft, pulsating light of its internal systems. That light threw shifting patterns onto the walls, like a heartbeat reminding Kite that the thing wasn’t entirely inert.

He rubbed his temples, trying to push the day’s events out of his mind, but the strange warnings kept creeping back in. Beware of the devil hiding in human skin. That succubus will be your greatest ally. He snorted bitterly, shaking his head. “Just a load of garbage,” he muttered, though the knot of unease in his chest said otherwise.

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Kite leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring blankly at the floor. The cold cracked tiles felt as unwelcoming as the rest of the room. “Henry Cooper,” he whispered, the name sounding foreign and unwelcome in his voice. He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. “It’s Kite. Always been Kite. Whoever you think I am... you’re wrong.”

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the baby’s systems. Kite stared at the cradle for what felt like an eternity, his mind oscillating between frustration and fear. Finally, he pushed himself off the couch with a groan, running a hand through his hair. “I need to get out of my own head,” he muttered to himself, his voice cutting through the oppressive quiet.

He crossed the room in quick strides, scooping up the cradle with a practiced ease. The baby’s weight felt heavier than before, though Kite suspected that was just his imagination. He didn’t bother glancing at it this time; he didn’t want to. The weight of its warnings and its eerie accuracy at school already pressed heavily enough on his thoughts.

Leaving the living room, Kite moved through a narrow hallway toward the garage. The corridor was just as cluttered as the rest of the apartment, its walls lined with hanging tools, spare cables, and long-forgotten projects. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim, uneven light that flickered with every step he took.

The garage door screeched loudly as Kite pushed it open, revealing his true sanctuary. Unlike the living room, the garage was meticulously organized, at least by Kite’s standards. Workbenches lined the walls, their surfaces covered with half-built devices and tools neatly arranged in magnetic holders. The centerpiece was his primary workstation, a large metal table equipped with a built-in holographic interface. Above it hung a modular rack crammed with everything from power drills to precision laser cutters.

The air here was different, crisper, sharper, filled with the faint tang of metal and the lingering scent of burnt circuitry. Kite exhaled, feeling a sliver of the day’s tension ease. The garage was where he made sense of the world, where he turned chaos into order with his own two hands.

He set the cradle down on the workbench, carefully sliding it to one side before pulling up a worn stool. “Time to focus,” he said softly, more to himself than to the baby. He reached for the nearest project, a stripped-down drone with its inner components exposed like the guts of a dissected animal.

Kite picked up a small screwdriver, his movements practiced and precise as he began tweaking the drone’s wiring. The rhythmic motion of his hands offered a welcome distraction, a momentary reprieve from the nagging questions that had plagued him all day.

But as the minutes ticked by, Kite found his attention drifting back to the cradle. Even as he worked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching him, its silence more unnerving than any words it might have spoken.

He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, half-expecting to see the baby’s face turned toward him. It wasn’t, of course, but the glowing light seemed brighter now, pulsing faintly in the dim garage. Kite set his tools down, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

“I don’t know what you are,” he said, his voice low and filled with frustration. “But you’re not just a machine, are you?” The baby didn’t respond. Its silence felt like an answer in itself.

Kite’s hand trembled as he set down the screwdriver. The oppressive silence of the garage was broken only by the faint hum of the robotic baby’s systems. He stared at the cradle, the weight of the day’s strange occurrences pressing down on him.

“Earlier today, at school, you mentioned someone by the name of Ray Cooper…” Kite’s voice was unsteady, his words trailing off into the thick, metallic air of the garage. The baby remained motionless, its face an expressionless void, but its cradle shifted slightly.

Kite leaned closer, his chest tightening. “Is… the person who built you my-” Before Kite could finish, the baby stirred, its glowing purple eyes snapping open and staring at the ceiling. “Ray Cooper is irrelevant,” the baby said coldly, its voice mechanical and detached, yet laden with an eerie precision that sent a chill racing down Kite’s spine.

The response startled Kite, but he pressed on, a wave of desperation pushing him forward. “He’s someone related to me, isn’t he?” Kite’s breath hitched, his heart pounding as he leaned even closer, the words tumbling out like a dam breaking.

The baby’s head tilted down, locking its gaze with Kite’s. Its glowing purple eyes bore into him with a terrifying intensity, an ancient and alien weight in its stare. The look was cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of the innocence its small frame might have implied. Kite froze, his throat dry, his thoughts racing but unable to settle.

“You pry into things that are beyond you, father,” the baby said, its voice shifting as it spoke. Two distinct tones, one deep, like the rumble of a collapsing star, and the other sharp, like the crack of breaking glass, merged into a single, dissonant entity.

“F-Father?” Kite stammered, the word slamming into him like a physical blow. His heart thundered in his chest as he shot to his feet, knocking the stool to the ground with a loud clatter. Desperation and fear surged through him as he grabbed a power drill from the workbench and pointed it shakily at the baby.

“What the hell are you?!” Kite screamed, his voice raw and echoing off the cold metal walls of the garage.

The baby didn’t flinch. It simply stared at him, unblinking, its glowing purple eyes piercing into his soul. The faint hum of its systems grew louder, a low, rhythmic thrum that seemed to pulse in time with Kite’s frantic heartbeat.

“What I am is irrelevant,” the baby said, its tone calm and unyielding. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Kite’s grip on the drill tightened, his knuckles white. His mind reeled as he tried to process what he was hearing. The garage, his sanctuary, felt suddenly alien and claustrophobic, its shadows pressing in on him like living things.

“What are you talking about!?” Kite shouted, his voice cracking. “I don’t even know why you’re here! Stop, stop messing with me!”

The baby’s expressionless face tilted slightly, a subtle gesture that felt loaded with condescension. “The sins of the father ripple through the child,” it said cryptically. “What you are, what you will become, and what you seek to deny, these threads are woven together. You cannot sever them.” The baby’s voice booms throughout the ancient garage.

Kite’s breathing grew erratic, his chest heaving as panic clawed at his throat. “You’re lying,” he said, though the conviction in his voice was waning. “You’re just some broken machine. Some prank someone’s playing on me.”

“Do I seem broken to you, Henry?” the baby asked, the dual voices perfectly synchronized. Its tone carried an edge, the faintest hint of something dark and dangerous.

Kite took a shaky step back, the drill trembling in his hands. His eyes darted to the workshop door, the primal instinct to run clawing at the back of his mind. But he couldn’t move, not yet. Something about the baby’s gaze held him rooted in place, as if looking away might be even more dangerous.

“What do you want from me?” Kite whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

The baby didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it slowly closed its glowing eyes, the hum of its systems softening. “What I want,” it said, its voice quieter now but no less unsettling, “is irrelevant. What you choose to do with what I’ve told you… that is all that matters.”

Kite’s grip on the drill loosened slightly as he stared at the cradle, his mind spinning with questions and fears he couldn’t yet articulate. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of an abyss, the ground beneath him crumbling with every passing second.

For the first time in his life, Kite felt truly lost. The baby’s cold, mechanical gaze shifted in an instant. The glowing purple hue of its eyes flickered and faded, replaced by emerald, green, eerily human-like and filled with something that seemed both calculating and malevolent. The change was subtle yet disarming, and Kite felt his breath hitch, a chill racing down his spine.

“Farewell, for now, Henry Cooper,” the baby cooed, its voice laced with mockery and finality. Before Kite could react, the baby’s form blurred, moving so fast it seemed to dissolve into the air. One moment it was lying in the cradle, staring at him with unsettling clarity, and the next, it was gone, vanished as if it had never been there at all.

The silence that followed was deafening. The hum of the baby’s systems, the faint mechanical sounds it had made, all were gone, leaving behind only the oppressive quiet of the garage. Kite’s heart pounded in his chest, the sound of his own frantic breathing the only thing grounding him in the moment.

His eyes darted to the cradle, now empty, its contents a ghost of what had just transpired. The air felt thick, suffocating, and the shadows in the room seemed to stretch and shift, closing in on him.

Kite’s legs felt weak, and he stumbled backward, his trembling hand still clutching the drill. His knuckles were white, the rough metal handle digging into his palm. His whole body shook uncontrollably as tears welled up in his eyes, unbidden and unchecked.

“What the hell was that…” he whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

The emptiness of the room only heightened his fear. The absence of the baby, so sudden, so absolute, left a void that pressed against his chest like a physical weight. He felt his stomach churn, a wave of nausea rising as the realization settled over him: he had no answers, no control, no understanding of what was happening.

Tears blurred his vision as he clutched the drill tighter, the cold metal his only anchor in the chaos. His mind replayed the baby’s last words: “Farewell, for now, Henry Cooper.” The name felt like a dagger, piercing through his confusion and planting seeds of dread.

“My name’s Kite…” he muttered weakly, his voice trembling. “It’s Kite, dammit…”

But even as he said it, the words felt hollow, as if the baby’s statement had shaken the foundation of who he believed himself to be. The shadows in the room seemed to grow longer, darker, and Kite’s paranoia began to spiral. Every creak of the building, every faint sound outside the garage sent jolts of fear coursing through him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as though the baby, wherever it had gone, was still watching him.

Kite wiped at his eyes with his free hand, trying to steady his breathing, but the fear wouldn’t let go. It gripped him like a vice, refusing to loosen its hold. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but there was nowhere to go.

“Why me?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What the hell is happening to me?”

The empty cradle offered no answers, its stillness only amplifying his isolation. Kite sank to his knees, the drill slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground. He buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by a storm of emotions: fear, confusion, anger, and a gnawing sense of despair.

For the first time in his life, Kite felt utterly powerless. And he hated it. Kite knelt on the cold, oil-stained floor, his sobs echoing softly in the dimly lit garage. His body trembled as tears streamed down his cheeks, the overwhelming events of the day crashing over him like a tidal wave. His face was buried in his hands, his mind replaying the haunting image of the robotic baby’s emerald eyes and its cold, mocking voice.

Suddenly, the sharp metallic groan of the garage door opening cut through the oppressive silence. Kite’s sobs stilled for a moment, but he couldn’t muster the energy to look up. Footsteps echoed softly against the concrete floor, tentative at first, and then quicker, more purposeful.

Mira stood in the doorway; her figure silhouetted by the faint light spilling in from the hallway. Her brown, messy hair was tied into a haphazard bun, and her jumpsuit, smeared with grease and dust from a long day’s work, hung loosely on her petite frame. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she froze at the sight before her.

“Kite?” she called softly, her voice tinged with alarm and confusion. Her dark eyes widened as they landed on her son, crumpled on the floor, his shoulders shaking as he wept. Her heart clenched, a mix of worry and heartbreak washing over her.

She stepped closer, her face etched with deep concern, her brows knitting together. The lines of exhaustion on her face were replaced by maternal instinct as she knelt down beside him.

“Kite, honey…what’s wrong?” she asked gently, her voice trembling slightly as she placed a hand on his back.

Kite didn’t respond, his sobs intensifying as he felt her presence. Mira quickly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a firm, protective embrace. She held him close, her cheek resting against the top of his head. Her jumpsuit smelled faintly of oil and machine grease; a comforting scent Kite had known his whole life.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his messy hair with one hand while the other cradled his back. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. You’re safe.”

Kite clung to her like a lifeline, his tears soaking into her shoulder as he tried to speak, but the words came out in broken, incoherent fragments. “Th-there was a b-baby… a-and it…it spoke to me…” he stammered between sobs, his voice muffled against her jumpsuit. “It said things… things…”

Mira pulled back slightly, just enough to look at his tear-streaked face. She cupped his cheeks gently, her thumbs wiping away the tears as they fell. Her expression was soft yet resolute, her eyes searching his for answers she didn’t yet understand.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she soothed, her voice calm but firm. “Whatever it was, it’s not here now. You’re safe with me.” Kite shook his head violently, fresh tears spilling as he gripped her jumpsuit with trembling hands. “No, you don’t understand, Mom! It’s not just… it’s not normal!” he cried, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

Mira didn’t press him further. Instead, she pulled him back into her arms, holding him tightly as if her embrace alone could shield him from the horrors that plagued his mind. “It’s okay to cry, Kite,” she murmured. “Whatever happened, you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Kite sobbed louder into her shoulder, releasing all the fear, confusion, and exhaustion he’d been holding in. Mira rocked him gently, her hands continuing to run soothingly through his hair. The warmth of her presence, her steady heartbeat, and her unwavering comfort began to ease the storm inside him, if only just a little.

For a moment, the garage seemed less dark, less overwhelming. In her arms, Kite felt a glimmer of safety, even as the haunting memory of the baby’s emerald eyes lingered at the edges of his mind.