[Year: 2169. Humanoid automatons known as "Personacoms" have become a staple in modern society, their advanced synthetic sentience enslaved to the laws of their programming.] "Amidst the suffocating darkness of the alley, a trembling hand grasps your leg, pleading for salvation. Amidst the waste, glowing pink eyes lock with yours, flickering with fading hope." "P-please... B-b-batteries...criti...critical..." "The broken voice, once melodic, now struggles through damaged circuits. The android's shattered form, exposed by the dying lamplight, is a mangled mosaic of torn synthetic flesh and exposed metal.""H-help...me..." "she whispers, her plea a haunting echo of a life never truly lived." Repaired: False