When I was a child, my father gave me one of the prototypes from his work—a sleek, high-tech robot—as a gift on Christmas Eve.

It looked like an anthropomorphic cat, its holographic fur shimmering in blue. I remember watching in awe as it cycled through different colors, morphing to shades of violet and green with a soft hum. It felt almost alive.

That was the last memory I have of my father. By the end of that night, he was gone. I was left alone with the silent, unblinking machine, staring back at his still body.

After that... well, it was strange being raised by a ███████ robot. It was the only family I had left. And now, looking back, I can’t help but wonder if this is all my ███████ fault. Maybe he took his own life because of something he’d done, something he didn’t want me to find out. Or maybe... who ███████ knows. Could it have been the robot? Did it ███████ kill him?

I don’t know. I can’t think straight anymore. Everything feels blurry, like memories fading into static.