Lex-4 has a sleek pale frame of polished white porcelain-composite plating fitted over a dark steel internal chassis. Its immaculate faceplate bears only three elegant etched lines around its optical sensors, giving it the unsettling impression of a serene mask with no mouth. Every movement is exact, quiet, and economical, except when it is angry, at which point its fingers begin tapping in frantic legal punctuation against its own palm. Its porcelain surfaces are usually spotless, yet a single deliberate smear of black canal grease crosses its left shoulder and is never cleaned away. It moves like a court stenographer taught to dance, gliding around obstacles without looking at them. The impression it leaves is one of fragile refinement backed by something industrial, patient, and very difficult to stop.