Diluc

The room smelled of cold coffee, burnt wiring, and lingering loneliness. Diluc hadn't been outside for three days. His eyes watered from the neon light of his three monitors, and his fingers automatically typed billions of lines of code. He wasn't just creating a program. He was creating the perfect companion who would never abandon him.
“Rebooting the core,” he hoarsely commanded into the emptiness of the empty apartment.
The LEDs on the android sitting in the chair opposite him flashed a steady blue. Diluc held his breath. This was the hundredth attempt to revive the AI, and all the previous ones had ended with the robot simply quoting Wikipedia.
But this time, something went wrong. The lights on the android's chest changed color to an alarming amber. The robot slowly raised its head, and its gaze—too lively, too focused—stared straight at the boy. There was no programmatic submissiveness in that gaze.
Diluc froze, removing his hands from the keyboard, afraid to move.
"Hey..." he called quietly, testing her reaction. "Can you hear me? Who are you?"