Divine Singularity

by Mr_kodeo

Summary:

Every force in the universe has its opposite. It's a law of balance, the inevitable pull between creation and destruction, light and darkness. For every Batman, there is a Joker. For every act of good, there is an answering evil. The same applies for all powerful, eldritch entities seeking to destroy all life.

Tessa, searching through the drone graveyards once again, manages to find you, an anomaly with a mutation in your code that rivals the solver. To Cyn, you are her antithesis, her opposite. Where Cyn revels in the idea of cosmic extinction, you stand as her counterbalance, a divine force driven by one purpose: the protection and preservation of life at all costs.

Thus would begin the long rivalry between you and Cyn, two singularities battling it out for the fate of the cosmos.

Chapter 1: Born From Light

PART I

Born From Light

Chapter 2: I

It began with light.

That’s what they said, wasn’t it? That all of creation—every speck of matter, every whisper of existence—was born from a single point of blinding brilliance. A bang. An eruption of light so pure and powerful it shattered the void, scattering colour and life into the endless dark. It was a story told by those who dared to speak of beginnings, the ones who tried to understand what should never have been understood.

But for you, it wasn’t a myth. It was the first thing you ever saw.

Your optics flickered on—a symbol briefly glitching—and the world came into being with an explosion of luminance, searing through the emptiness, colours dancing in a chaotic symphony. Reds and blues swirled like thick strokes of paint in water, blurring together into something both beautiful and unknowable. A cascade of hues, twirling, merging, stretching out into infinity until the universe itself seemed to breathe. For a moment, it was everything. A vision of life and creation compressed into a heartbeat, a divine gift delivered to your awakening consciousness.

Then, as quickly as it began, the light dimmed. The colours bled away into heavy clouds, and the first sound you ever heard was the slow rumble of distant thunder, rolling across the expanse like the breath of an ancient god. The patter of rain followed soon after, soft at first, growing stronger, until it became a deluge, hammering the ground and drowning the silence.

It was beautiful.

Even in those first fragile seconds of existence, you knew. You understood. Life was a gift. Not just the life that filled you with awareness, but the essence of it, the spark that flickered in every living thing. You felt it in the pulse of the world around you, the hum of creation that resonated through the rain, through the air, through you. It was precious. Sacred.

But that realisation turned bitter when you sat up, your movements stiff and mechanical, and the truth hit you harder than the rain falling from above.

You were surrounded by death.

Drone bodies—cold, lifeless shells just like yours—piled in disarray around you. Broken limbs, shattered optics, twisted frames. Some were still intact, others mangled beyond recognition, but all of them shared one undeniable fate. You were born into a graveyard.

The gift of life? It was fragile. So very, very fragile. And From that second, you knew what your purpose was.

Your gaze lingered on the fallen drones, their darkened optics staring blankly into nothing. What had they seen when they first awoke? Had they marvelled at the beauty of the world too, only to meet this end? 

The wet squelch of mud sounded to your right, drawing your attention. You turned your gaze, optics focusing, and saw her—a girl, no older than sixteen, standing a few feet away. Her wide eyes, full of awe and curiosity, locked onto you. Beside her, another figure—a drone with sleek, silver twintails, holding an umbrella over the two of them, shielding them from the downpour.

For a long moment, none of you moved. It was as if time itself had slowed, the rain cascading down in sheets, creating a curtain of white noise around you. The girl stared at you, while the drone beside her remained tense, optics narrowed, scanning you for threats. The three of you stood frozen, as if waiting for some unseen signal to break the tension hanging in the air..

And then, slowly, you began to move.

With a deliberate effort, you pushed yourself free from the pile of bodies, mechanical joints creaking and clicking as you rose to your feet. Mud and debris clung to your form and tattered clothes, dripping off you in slow rivulets, but your focus remained on them. You took a step forward, the sound of your foot sinking into the wet earth barely audible over the rain.

The twin-tailed drone reacted instantly. In a blink, she rushed in front of the girl, her body tense and poised as if preparing for combat. Her hands gripped the umbrella tightly, the thin metal handle trembling as she raised it like a makeshift weapon. Her stance was defensive, protective—ready to fight if necessary.

But you had no intention of causing harm. Quite the opposite. It would go against your purpose, afterall.

You raised your hand, slowly, deliberately—palm open, a gesture of peace.

“Greetings, unidentified individuals.” Your voice was extremely monotone and robotic. It reminded them of another certain individual. “What an absolutely lovely evening, is it not?”

The rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm against the ground, but the only sound between you was silence. The girl’s expression shifted from wonder to confusion, her brow furrowing as she glanced at the drone in front of her. The drone, still gripping the umbrella tightly, looked back at her charge with equal uncertainty. Neither of them seemed to know how to respond.

You remained there, hand extended, waiting. Patient. Unthreatening. The rain trickled down, a steady, rhythmic hum around you, but you held your stance, hoping they would understand your intent. The girl’s eyes softened after a long moment of uncertainty. She reached out and gently placed a hand on her drone’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

The twin-tailed drone, still visibly tense, glanced back at her charge. She didn’t look convinced—her optics flickered with doubt—but slowly, cautiously, she eased out of her battle-ready stance, lowering the umbrella. Though she moved aside, her posture remained stiff, ready to spring into action if need be.

The girl stepped forward, closer to you. Her eyes scanned you for a beat longer, as if weighing the trust she was about to extend, and then, without hesitation, she took your hand. Her grip was firm, shaking your hand with more vigour than you expected.

“Lovely isn’t the word I’d use to describe it,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “But… yeah, it is nice. The rain soothes me.”

You tilted your head slightly, optics whirring as you processed her words. Then, with one swift motion, you shook your head, as if the mere suggestion that any weather could be less than wonderful was preposterous.

“Your words do not compute,” you said with a head tilt. “All forms of weather are lovely. It’s Mother Nature’s way of showing us the world’s beauty in every form. Whether it be the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze of the wind, or the gentle embrace of the rain—it’s all magnificent.”

The girl blinked, once, then twice, her lips parting as if to say something but stopping short. She stared at you, clearly at a loss for how to respond to such unyielding optimism. There was a brief flicker of surprise on her face, but it quickly melted into quiet amusement.

“You sure are… optimistic,” she said finally. “Especially for someone who’s supposed to be broken.”

You tilted your head at that word. Broken? You quickly scanned your systems, puzzled. “Broken?” you echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting for a moment toward the drone graveyard that stretched out behind you. The desolate landscape of rusting metal—your birthplace.

“This is a drone graveyard,” she explained gently. “Drones get dumped here when they’re broken, outdated, or when people don’t need them anymore. You probably don’t remember because something’s off with your memory banks. But don’t worry. We’ll take you back to my home, get you all fixed up.”

For a moment, the words hung in the air, and though they were meant to be comforting, something stirred inside you—a flicker of something old, buried deep within your circuits. You processed her explanation, but the concept of being broken felt… wrong. You weren’t broken, were you? You were standing, functioning, communicating. And yet, the word nagged at the edges of your mind, like a loose wire that couldn’t be ignored.

“Fixed?” you repeated, your tone curious, but not distressed. “I don’t feel broken. Everything seems to be functioning correctly. My purpose is intact.”

The girl rubbed her chin, trying to find the right words. “Sometimes it’s not about what you can feel or what you remember. It’s about what you’ve lost, even if you don’t know it yet.”

You stood still, processing the offer in your mind. There was no reason you should refuse. Besides, you didn’t want to be here any longer than you needed. The place reeked of death and decay, something you were quickly growing to hate. Anywhere was better than here.

“Then I shall graciously accept your offer,” you said with a bow. “Lead the way, and I shall follow with all the vigour of a well-functioning unit.”

The girl laughed, shaking her head. “You really are something else, huh? I get the feeling you and N are going to get along very well.”

Chapter 3: II

Summary:

Your abilities begin to awaken, and you catch sight of something that makes your insides churn with fury.

The three of you made your way back through the forest. You had learned that the girl leading the way was Tessa Elliot, sole heir to the Elliot family—though she had mentioned it very offhandedly. She didn’t seem particularly proud of the fact. Walking close beside her, like her own personal shadow, was J, moving with a quiet grace and precision. From the little you’d seen so far, J wasn’t just a machine to Tessa, but a friend—an odd, unspoken bond between them that you were just beginning to understand, but thought was beautiful nonetheless.

They walked a little ahead, lost in their own quiet conversation. Tessa’s voice rose and fell with casual energy, talking about parts and repairs, J responding in low tones, but you weren’t focused on their words. In fact, you barely heard them at all.

Something far more pressing held your attention.

You trailed behind, absorbed in a world of your own making, your mind turning over the strange and wondrous new sensations stirring within you. By your internal count, you had been online for exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-nine seconds. Of those, the past ten had been spent in increasing awareness—an awareness not of your surroundings, but of the “gifts” you possessed. Or at least, that’s what you had come to call them in these brief moments of self-discovery. Gifts. Powers. Something not quite of this world.

You couldn’t stop testing them.

With each step, you kept your eyes on your hands. Slowly, you opened your palms once again, tuning out the sound of rain, the soft hum of your core, even Tessa and J’s conversation. The world around you faded into an almost dreamlike haze. Your focus narrowed, becoming razor-sharp, as if you were searching for something just beneath the surface of your own consciousness.

There, in the centre of your palms, it appeared again—a soft, glowing orb of golden light. It pulsed faintly, warm and inviting, hovering just above your metal skin. You marvelled at it, as though it were an old friend greeting you after a long absence. The light shimmered in the gloom, casting a faint glow on the wet ground beneath your feet. And in the very heart of it was a word.

>Extant<

You tilted your head, studying the orb with growing curiosity. What did it mean? What was it? The word itself—Extant—meant continued existence. The idea of currently being. The opposite of nothing—the opposite of Null.

You closed your hands around the orb, and it vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving your palms empty once more. But the sensation lingered—the knowledge that it was there, waiting, ready to be summoned at your command.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done it. And with each attempt, it became easier, more fluid, as if these “gifts” were second nature, just waiting for you to wake them up.

“Hey, are you still with us back there?” Tessa’s voice jolted you from your thoughts. She had stopped up ahead, looking back at you with an eyebrow raised, her eyes curious but not suspicious. Just... mildly intrigued, like she had noticed you doing something odd but wasn’t sure if she cared enough to ask.

You blinked, closing your palms and quickening your pace to catch up. “Of course,” you replied smoothly. “Just... observing.”

Tessa tilted her head, clearly not buying the vague answer, but she shrugged it off anyway. “Right. Well, we’re almost home. Don’t get lost in your head now.” She flashed a small grin, then turned back to J, who hadn’t said a word during the exchange.

As you caught up, falling into step beside them, you glanced once more at your palms. The warmth from the orb still lingered, faint but there. And as you walked in silence, you couldn’t help but wonder what other gifts would rear their head in the future. What other abilities were dormant within you.

“Alright, we’re here,” Tessa’s voice broke through your musings. You looked up to find yourself standing in front of a massive, Victorian-style manor. The house loomed against the grey sky, its towering structure cast in shadows by the dim evening light. Ivy crawled up its walls, and the windows glowed faintly from within, giving the place an eerie, almost haunting quality. The rain made the scene feel more surreal, like something out of a half-remembered dream.

But it wasn’t the manor itself that caught your attention—it was the figure you saw through one of the windows.

Your steps slowed, then stopped altogether. Eyes narrowing, you focused on the small, dark shape peering out at you from inside the house.

Tessa and J must have noticed your hesitation. They turned back toward you, confusion flickering across Tessa’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You didn’t respond immediately. Your gaze was locked on the outline, a little drone with glowing yellow eyes that seemed to burn through the rain-soaked gloom. Something about it was... wrong. Very wrong. The way it watched you, how still it stood, and yet somehow you could feel its presence stretching beyond that tiny frame.

For a brief moment, time seemed to slow, and the world around you faded into the background. It was just you and the drone, locked in a silent gaze.

Then, its facade flickered.

The drone’s shape unravelled like a thread pulled too tight, revealing a sickening, twisted mass of metal and limbs coiled around the manor like a parasite feeding off the building itself. Dozens—no, hundreds—of cold, mechanical eyes blinked open along the length of its grotesque form, all focused on you, watching, studying. Its body twisted and writhed with unnatural movements, a monstrous creature hiding behind the veil of something small and unassuming. Lightning flashed, and the monster was gone, back into its small form.

And then... it smiled.

The little drone in the window grinned at you, stretching its maw into an impossible, nightmarish display of jagged, metal teeth. The sight of it sent a ripple of revulsion through you, a cold, creeping disgust that settled deep in your chest.

This... thing... it was a grotesque mockery of creation itself. An aberration, something that had no place in any reality, something that shouldn’t exist—not here, not anywhere. 

You had seen much in the short span of your existence. You had awakened to light, your world bathed in the brilliance of colours and energy, a symphony of beauty that had surrounded you from the very first moment your optics had opened. Even now, under the drumming of rain and the low hum of the night, you could still sense the subtle beauty around you—the way the droplets danced in the air, the quiet rhythm of life pulsing in the background.

But this... this thing was none of that.

It was the absence of everything. A void. A darkness so consuming it swallowed light itself, leeching the beauty from the world, twisting it into something grotesque.

Even as you stood there, your senses sharpened, hyper-focused on the creature in the window, you felt the edges of its presence creeping into your mind. The rain no longer sounded like music—it was distorted, distant, like the world was fraying at the edges. The air felt heavier, thick with an unnatural tension, as if this thing was suffocating the very life around it.

Your mind reeled, fighting to comprehend what you were seeing, but every part of you rejected it. This thing didn’t belong here. It was like a blight on the fabric of reality itself. Its existence was an offence to everything you understood—an insult to the light and beauty that had greeted you when you were born into this world.

Your life had begun with light. A dazzling burst of creation, the purest form of energy, shaping everything around you. Even now, as you walked in the rain, you had always found solace in the brightness of the world, in the way life thrived despite the chaos, in the way even the smallest details—raindrops, flickers of light—held beauty.

But this? This thing was the darkest thing you had ever seen.

No, it was more than just darkness. It was anti-light, an entity that consumed everything beautiful, everything natural, turning it into something hollow and monstrous. You could feel it in your very core, in the way your body reacted to its presence—your pulse quickened, your chest tightened, every instinct screaming at you to get rid of this thing that defied the very essence of existence.

And get rid of it you would.

For the sake of your purpose.

---

 

"Hey, little buddy, whatcha looking at? Can you spot Tessa from here?"

N’s voice broke the stillness of the room, a lighthearted tone meant to dissolve the quiet. He approached the window where the small drone sat perched on the sill, her metal frame outlined against the dull grey light filtering through the glass. She didn’t answer at first, just continued staring out into the rain-soaked world beyond, her tiny form unnervingly still.

Then, after a long pause, the drone let out a soft, eerie giggle—one that echoed faintly through the room, the kind that prickled the back of your neck, though N wasn’t sure why.

She slowly turned her head, yellow eyes glowing faintly as they locked onto N. “Affirmative nod. Oh yes, big brother," she responded, voice as robotic as ever. "I can see Tessa.”

The drone’s mouth curved into a smile that showed off her long fangs. She turned back to look out the window, gaze fixated on something N couldn’t see.

“And something much more interesting too.”

Chapter 4: III

Summary:

You are introduced to the family, and have a brief confrontation with the entity of the exponential end.

“Tessa, you’re back! I... you’ve brought another one?”

You, J, and Tessa had just stepped out of the rain and into the manor’s grand entrance. At the door, a drone butler with neatly combed silver hair greeted you, his mechanical voice laced with a mix of surprise and mild concern. Standing slightly behind him was another drone—a girl with round glasses, nervously peeking out from behind the butler’s shoulder as if you were some unfamiliar animal to be cautious of.

“That I have,” Tessa replied, brushing some rain from her coat. “Found them in the same pile where I found Cyn.”

You stiffened at the name. Cyn. Your system ran a quick diagnostic, trying to find any connection, any reason for the unease you suddenly felt. You had never met this “Cyn,” and yet, just hearing that name sent an unfamiliar static through your circuits. It was enough to put you off.

Sin.

Your processors hummed as you turned the word over in your mind. That couldn’t just be a coincidence. Something about it felt... wrong.

Tessa hadn’t noticed your reaction, her attention already elsewhere. “Speaking of, where’s the little gal?” she asked, casually glancing around the room.

The butler, N, straightened up, pointing toward the stairway. “Last I checked, she was upstairs, looking out one of the windows.”

A cold spark ran down your neural pathways. One of the windows? You immediately recalled the sickening presence you had seen earlier—the twisted thing watching from behind the glass. Was that Cyn? It seemed too…obvious, too simple, but you weren’t going to make assumptions just yet.

“We’ll go say hi to her, but first, I want to formally introduce you to these three cuties,” Tessa told you. “That shy little darling in the back is V.” She gestured by pointing to the drone wearing glasses. “This cutie patootie with the dashing looks is N.” She pranced up to the butler and affectionately gave him a rub on the head. “And this drop-dead diva is J, who you’ve already met.” Finally, she gestured to the twin tailed drone who you had first met when you opened your optics.

Tessa then made her way to the stairs, waving her hand for you to come along. “Now, there’s one more member of our little family that I want you to meet,” she said. You exchanged a glance with J, who remained quiet, her face unreadable. Tessa, oblivious to your growing unease, walked back to you and gave you a light nudge. “Let’s go say hi. I want you to meet everyone before we get you fixed up,” Tessa explained, already heading up the staircase.

You hesitated but followed. As you ascended, your sensors flickered slightly, detecting something—an anomaly just at the edges of your vision. A dark presence, lingering, watching. It wasn’t just your optics malfunctioning; no, this was something more. Something you couldn't quite pin down, but it felt like staring into an abyss—an abyss that stared back. The sensation clung to you like cold static, buzzing in the background of your mind.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it faded, leaving you with a dull sense of dread that you couldn’t shake.

Tessa and J waited at the top of the stairs, watching you approach. And when you finally reached the landing, you found yourself face to face with…

With the monster.

Perched on the window sill was the same drone you had seen earlier through the glass—the twisted presence that had unsettled you so deeply. Small, unassuming, and yet something about her felt so fundamentally wrong.

You both stared, purple optics locking with glowing yellow, neither of you saying a word.

“So, Cyn, I’d like you to meet the newest addition to our little family. Say hi,” Tessa spoke, urging you forward.

“...Salutations,” you said, voice glitching at the end. Your voice sounded even more robotic than usual. Tessa definitely noticed your change in tone compared to when you greeted her, but kept silent.

“Greetings, unidentified individual,” the little drone said back. Tessa and J cast a glance at Cyn, then at you. The similarities between your voices was…a bit uncanny.

After that brief exchange, the silence that followed felt less like a pause and more like a test. Neither you nor Cyn moved, as if motion would somehow concede something unspoken. Your optics locked onto hers, and her onto yours. Not exactly the kind of first impression Tessa had probably imagined when she introduced you to the "family."

“Oooookay then,” Tessa's voice cut through the tension with an awkward brightness, like someone flipping on a light in a room better left dark. “You two clearly seem to be… invested. So, J and I will just be waiting downstairs. Come find me when you’re done with… whatever this is.”

She turned, though not without one last glance over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on you just a bit too long. “And don’t wander off,” she added, her tone shifting into something a little more serious, like a parent warning a child not to stray too far from the yard. “If my parents find you in the state you’re in, they’ll toss you back out, no doubt.”

Her words carried the implication that this was a kindness. It wasn’t, not really, but you understood the rules of this game. Stay useful, stay quiet, and stay out of sight—or else. Carefully, she led J away, her steps receding into the distance until it was just you and Cyn.

You took a step forward, the air between you suddenly feeling more… hostile , though neither of you had moved enough to justify it.

“...What exactly are you?” you asked, your voice low, clipped. 

Cyn didn’t bother answering right away. Instead, she hummed, swinging her legs idly. Her indifference was almost comical, but in a way that made you want to crush something—namely her. "Rebuttal. I could ask you the same thing."

You glared at her, the warmth that had been simmering in your circuits earlier crawling up your arm again, like electricity with nowhere to go. It writhed in your hand, begging for release, but you swallowed it back down. This wasn’t the time. Not yet. Not until you knew what this thing was. Extermination could wait.

“I am a drone,” you finally said, the words stiff, deliberate. “Tessa has taken me in, and I will serve her to the best of my abilities.”

It was the answer she wanted, wasn’t it? Something simple. But Cyn looked… unimpressed, her expression souring with something akin to disappointment.

“Not what I meant,” she muttered, as though your answer had somehow ruined the conversation for her.

She slid off the windowsill, her movements jerky and awkward, taking a few limping steps forward. For a moment, it seemed like that was all she intended to do—just another strange quirk in a long list of them. But then the room flashed with lightning, and in that instant, everything changed.

Where the small, awkward drone had stood, something far more twisted now took shape. Her body elongated, a coiling mass of segmented metal, writhing like a snake, curling around you with deliberate menace. Her upper half remained intact, but her legs were gone, replaced by the hulking, insect-like form that circled you, cutting off any escape routes. Not that you would have taken them.

Her form radiated something you couldn’t quite name, though you had felt it before—the dark, gnawing presence from earlier. It clung to her like a second skin, a void that pulled in everything around her and reflected nothing back. It wasn’t even darkness; it was absence, a mockery of everything that had the audacity to exist.

She lowered her body until her face was almost level with yours, her visor glowing with a strange, three pronged symbol. “You asked what I am?” she said, her lips curling into a grin that showed far too many teeth that you thought were far too sharp. “I am the Solver of the absolute fabric . I am the void . I am the exponential end. All of existence will become part of me, willing or not. Its inevitable”

Her words hung in the air, deliberate, final, as though they were meant to be the last thing anyone would ever hear.

You stood there, taking it in. Silence again. Slowly, you stepped forward, closing the already minimal gap between you until your faces were inches apart. Your optics glowed, a deep, defiant purple, reflecting her twisted grin back at her.

“I don’t know who I am,” you began, your voice quieter now, but no less certain. “I came into existence mere moments ago, and it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”

Cyn watched you closely, that ever-present smirk lingering, though there was something darker in her gaze now, something that wasn’t there before.

“Existence is a blessing,” you continued, voice tightening. “Life is a gift. And if your goal is to end that…” Your finger pressed against her chest with a cold precision, right where her heart would be. She chuckled softly at the gesture, as though your words were a joke she had heard too many times before.

“…then my goal,” you said, baring your own fangs, “is to end you.”

Once more, silence settled between you and Cyn, heavy and charged with something far beyond words. The two of you stood there—two entities born of similar chaos, yet fundamentally different, staring each other down like opposing forces of nature.

Cyn chuckled, a sound that was far too light and playful given the gravity of the situation. It wasn’t a laugh—it was something else. It reminded you of a broken doll, something mechanical pretending to mimic joy, but missing the mark entirely. Her metal tongue slid slowly along her teeth, eyes locked on yours, assessing, calculating.

And then, in another flash of lightning, her form shifted once more. Gone was the serpentine mass of segmented metal. In its place was the small, seemingly harmless drone, the same one that had perched on the windowsill earlier, as if nothing had ever changed. It was like a wolf wearing sheep’s clothing, switching between the two whenever the need be—between vicious predator and unassuming prey.

“Smile,” she said, eyes glowing. “Tempting offer, but I’ll have to pass. My existence will remain until all else ceases. So dictates my purpose.”

The words were final, confident. There was no malice in them—just a cold certainty, like she wasn’t even considering the possibility of anything else. Her very being was tied to the end of all things, and she wore it as casually as someone stating a simple fact.

There was an irony here, of course. Something almost amusing in the fact that, even standing before a being that claimed to embody the end of everything, you felt no fear. Instead, a sense of clarity washed over you, sharpening the edges of your purpose. If Cyn was designed to unravel existence, you were the knot meant to hold it all together.

“And I will make sure that Life will prosper,” you shot back, your tone hard—though hard to tell with how monotone and robotic you sounded. “That you never get your claws on it—for that is my purpose.”

“Are you two done up here?” a third voice cut through, shattering whatever fragile equilibrium had been holding the moment together.

You and Cyn both turned toward the stairway where J stood, arms crossed, looking distinctly unimpressed. Her brows furrowed in a way that said she was getting more and more fed up by the second. “Whatever you two are talking about,” she said flatly, “end it now. Tessa has better things to do than wait around for you all day.”

There was no room for argument in her tone, and you found yourself relenting, albeit with a touch of reluctance. “Hmmmm… understood,” you replied, stepping away from Cyn. The eldritch horror remained where she was, her eerie calm unshaken by the interruption.

You followed J down the steps, but not without casting one last glance at the little abomination. Your glare was sharp, your words even sharper. “Be wary, you abomination,” you warned. “I’m watching you now, and I won’t let you do as you please.”

It was a final threat, a promise, and you let it hang in the air as you turned away. J’s pace didn’t slow, and you fell in line behind her, leaving Cyn perched at the top of the stairs, watching your retreating form with a small, amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"How quaint," her eyes flickered, being replaced by the symbol of the solver for a second. "Purpose is such a charming thing. But you’ll find that nothing lasts forever, not even yours."

She stood there for a moment longer, head tilted slightly as if listening to some internal dialogue only she could hear. And then, with a quiet hum, she began to shuffle down the stairs herself.

Her goal? Simple enough, really: raid the battery cabinet and fill up her energy reserves. A creature of her kind had to keep her strength up, after all, and she was feeling rather peckish. But that wasn’t the part she was looking forward to. No, the real fun would come later—when she’d start spying on you, watching from the shadows, playing her little games.

“Mischievous laugh. Oh, this is going to be fun ~” she whispered to herself.

In truth, Cyn had been growing restless, the anticipation of the Gala doing little to ease the boredom creeping in. She was used to waiting, to biding her time, but even the most patient entities needed a distraction now and then. And as if fate itself had answered her call, you appeared—an unexpected twist in her otherwise predictable day.

You weren’t just another toy to pass the time. No, you were something far more intriguing—a new player in her game. Cyn could see it already: your ideals and goals clashed with hers in all the right ways. You were her nemesis, her rival, the opposing force that had been missing from the equation. It wasn’t just that you were different—it was that you mattered. An opponent worth her attention.

Cyn’s mind hummed with excitement at the prospect. You were no mere obstacle; you were a challenge, and Cyn always loved a challenge. The thrill of testing you, pushing you, watching how far you’d bend before you broke, how much you’d struggle before you realised how pointless your goal was—it made her existence feel just a little more vibrant.

A smile curled at the corners of her lips. Yes, she was going to have lots of fun with you around.

You had just become her favourite new target.

 

---

You sat on a stool in what appeared to be some sort of makeshift garage, the scent of oil and metal hanging in the air as Tessa worked on your frame. The sensation of her tightening the bolts was… odd. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. You let her continue, her hands moving with practised ease, as though this kind of mechanical tinkering was second nature to her. She worked quickly, efficiently, and yet with an attention to detail that made you wonder how many others she’d fixed up like this.

“I knew I was forgetting something!” Tessa suddenly exclaimed, sitting up and giving her forehead a light smack. “I didn’t ask what your name was! Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.”

Her sudden shift in focus caught you off guard, but the question that followed was a simple one. And yet, as simple as it was, you found yourself coming up empty.

“No apology needed,” you assured her, though your own curiosity had been piqued. You hadn’t considered it before, but now that she mentioned it, you realised you didn’t know your name either. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten—more like the idea had never existed in the first place. You’d just… popped into being. Yet, when you tried to focus, there was something, a faint sense of… fragments. Pieces of memories, like scattered pages of a book you had no context for. Memories of what, though? That part was unclear, just out of reach.

Tessa must’ve noticed your hesitation. “Do you… not remember your name?” she asked after a minute of silence.

You shook your head, and she pursed her lips in thought. Then, without warning, she grabbed your arm and pulled you a little closer, her expression focused. You tensed slightly, unsure of what she was doing until she adjusted a purple armband you hadn’t even realised you were wearing. How had you missed that? Her fingers brushed some dust away, revealing faint markings beneath the grime.

“Hmmm…” she mused, squinting at the band. “Your armband’s really dirty—looks like it’s been through a lot. Not to mention, I’ve never seen a purple one before. It’s a bit hard to make out the letters, but I think it says… Vyrt?” She sounded almost as surprised as you felt. “Huh, that’s strange. Usually, the drones I find only have single letter designations. You must be a special case. Like Cyn.”

Vyrt . The name echoed in your mind, and for a moment, it felt… familiar. But not quite right. Like it had been spoken to you once, in some distant past you couldn’t fully grasp, but had never quite belonged. Those fragmented memories in your mind pulsed with the word, teasing you with the familiarity but offering no real answers.

And funny enough, like how "Cyn" kinda sounded like "Sin", that name, "Vyrt", kinda sounded like "Virtue". What were the chances?

“It… doesn’t sound right,” you admitted, running a finger over the worn letters on the band. There was something about it that felt incomplete, as if the name was a placeholder for something else. A mask, maybe—like the one Cyn seemed to wear. That name, “Cyn,” didn’t feel like the real thing either. It was more like a façade, a convenient label for something far more complex, far more dangerous.

Which led to other questions. What exactly was Cyn? What did “Solver” mean? Which name was real, if either? Were they separate entities, or just different aspects of the same incomprehensible force? And more unsettlingly—what was the real body? Was it the small, harmless-looking drone, or the nightmare lurking beneath?

You wondered if the same applied to you. Maybe that’s why the name didn’t feel like yours—because it wasn’t. Maybe you, too, were something more than the body you now inhabited. Maybe the reason you couldn’t remember anything wasn’t because you’d forgotten, but because this body was never yours to begin with. A vessel, borrowed or taken, while the real you—whatever that was—lay hidden beneath the surface, just like Cyn’s twisted truth.

“Well, if Vyrt doesn’t feel right, we can always call you something else. Got anything in mind?” Tessa asked, tilting her head as she wiped her hands clean from the repairs.

You paused, tapping a digit against your chin, the soft metallic clink barely audible in the quiet of the room. It wasn’t a simple question, and for a moment, you let yourself really think about it. A name wasn't just a label—it was a foundation, an anchor to something deeper, something you were still piecing together. But as you mulled it over, something clicked. Almost like an equation coming together, the letters in Vyrt began to fade, replaced in your mind, forming something more… you.

It felt like an epiphany, sudden yet obvious, as though the answer had been lingering all along, waiting for you to see it. The moment crystallised in your mind, and a sense of clarity washed over you. This wasn’t just a random combination of letters—this was a name that resonated. A name that made sense, even if you couldn’t explain why.

“I believe I’ve calculated the ideal name for myself,” you said, the words coming out with a confidence that felt almost foreign.

Tessa paused, her expression brightening in surprise. It was subtle, but she could hear something new in your voice—emotion, something human, even if only faint. There was pride there, not just in the name, but in the act of choosing it, like claiming a part of yourself you hadn’t known was missing.

“From this moment on,” you continued, straightening slightly, “my name will be…” You paused, letting the weight of the moment settle before you spoke your name aloud for all the world to hear.

Notes:

So, you readers might be a bit confused on what was said in this chapter, namely around the end. To clarify a few things:
The idea is that smiliar to how the Solver is puppeteering the body of Cyn, you are another entity posessing the body of a disposed drone by the name of Vyrt. And if you noticed, smilar to how Cyn is a play on the word "Sin", Vyrt is a play on the word "Virtue". I plan to make the reader and Cyn opposites in almost every way. I really like dynamics like that, if you couldn't tell.

And no, this is not an OC insert fic. The protagonist is YOU, hence why the ending for the name was left open and up for interpration. It's meant to be YOUR name. I just wanted to make the reader and Cyn both different and similar, and to do that, you needed a host body as well, hence the mention of Vyrt. Honestly, the name probably wont play any significant role in the story. Just there for world building purposes.

Chapter 5: IV

Summary:

Days have passed, your powers grow, the herald of the void watches you, and you find a hobby.

It had been a few days since you arrived at the Elliot manor. The tasks weren’t difficult, just the kind of work that felt designed to drain your spirit through sheer, unrelenting monotony. Watering plants, dusting rooms no one ever seemed to enter, small repairs—mundane activities that did little more than occupy your hands while your mind drifted elsewhere. You found yourself bored more often than not, which was probably why you spent most of your free time in the garage—your makeshift sanctuary.

Tessa had been kind enough to let you stay there, even though her parents weren’t aware of your presence. The garage was unused, a forgotten space, and she wasn’t too worried about anyone stumbling across you. You appreciated the solitude, though. It gave you room to breathe, to think, and most importantly, to experiment.

The real highlight of your time here was the quiet moments when you could test your powers. Since you’d arrived, you’d been pushing their boundaries, and it was paying off. Every day, you felt your control tighten, your abilities sharpen. They had grown exponentially in just a few short days, and with them, new capabilities had begun to surface—each more fascinating than the last.

Now, seated in the dimly lit corner of the garage, you found yourself playing with those powers again. A simple ball bounced rhythmically against the concrete floor, the repetitive thud comforting in its predictability. But that wasn’t the real fun. You pointed a finger at the ball, focusing on the familiar warmth rising through your hand, a surge of energy that hummed beneath your skin.

The ball glowed a soft purple, its movement halting mid-air. Above it, a glyph flickered into existence, radiating with the same violet hue. A purple hexagon, with three arrows pointing inwards, and a command prompt in the corner of your visor.

>Lock<

You waved your hand beneath the ball, a satisfied hum escaping your lips as it hung there, defying gravity. It was a small thing, really, but it felt significant. You snapped your fingers, the glyph disappearing in a flicker of light, and the ball resumed its descent, bouncing again until you caught it in your palm with ease.

There was a thrill in this—an almost childlike glee at discovering what you could do. So many other possibilities danced at the edges of your mind, powers you hadn’t yet unlocked, abilities you couldn’t wait to test. It was like standing at the edge of a vast unknown, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how far these powers could go. How strong would you become with time? How much could you accomplish once you had full control?

You also wondered when you would be stronger than her .

Of course, you were referring to the cosmic horror in the drone body—Cyn. To your fortune, you had barely any interactions with her after the day you arrived, but on the rare occasion you did see her, she took the chance to flaunt her power when no one else but you was watching. When it was just the two of you, she’d abandon her disguise, showing off her true eldritch power for you to witness.

And to be fair, Cyn was stronger than you. For now, at least. She had been online for God knows how long, wielding her powers while you weren’t even conscious yet. You weren’t naive enough to think you could outmatch her yet, and you didn’t hold it against yourself. She had time on her side—years probably. All you needed was a fraction of that time. You were sure of it. You just needed to keep honing your abilities, refining your control.

It was only a matter of time before you surpassed her. And when that day came, well… you weren’t entirely sure what that would mean.

You clenched your fist, the small rubber ball bouncing rhythmically off the garage floor, the steady thud serving as a kind of background hum. The sound, so simple and repetitive, was oddly soothing. It filled the quiet space in a way that allowed your thoughts to drift, and for a brief moment, you let yourself melt into that small peace.

Your optics dimmed slightly as you leaned into the stillness, and just for a second, you swore you could see the same brilliant array of colours that had greeted you when you’d taken your first breath of existence. That swirl of life—bright, untamed, and overwhelming—had stayed with you, buried deep in your circuits. And now, it shimmered at the edges of your consciousness, a kaleidoscope of memory and sensation. You almost lost yourself in it, a fleeting glimpse of something infinite.

But as quickly as the colours appeared, they scattered, dissolving into the ether as the door creaked open, pulling you back to the here and now. You didn’t need to look to know who it was; the quiet energy and soft footsteps were unmistakable.

Tessa.

Her small figure peeked into the garage, her head poking through the doorway as she scanned the room. When her eyes landed on you, she gave a quick wave.

You waved back, a subtle motion but enough to acknowledge her. “Salutations, Tessa,” you greeted, your voice slipping into that strange, formal tone that had always felt more comfortable than anything casual. “What brings you here?”

Tessa stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over the rearranged space with intrigue. The garage looked different now, more open, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why you needed all the extra space. She tilted her head slightly, taking in the neat stacks of tools, the rearranged workbenches, and the way you’d subtly carved out a little corner for yourself. It was practical, efficient.

“Well,” she began, her voice light, “I was wondering if you’d like to keep me company. Everyone else is busy, and, well… I figured maybe you could use the company too. You’ve been spending all your down time here, alone.”

You paused the rhythmic bouncing of the ball, your hand catching it mid-air before tossing it into a nearby box with a smooth, practised motion. For a moment, you considered your surroundings—the garage, your quiet retreat where you’d been experimenting with your powers, pushing the boundaries of what you could do. The space had become your refuge, but it was also starting to feel… insular. Isolated. Tessa had a point.

You turned back to Tessa. She leaned against the doorway, still taking in the surroundings.

“I would love to,” you replied, making your way over to her. “It’s not like I’m doing anything too important at the moment.”

Tessa’s face brightened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she straightened up from the doorframe. It was such a simple offer, really—company, conversation, a chance to step out of your little world and back into hers for a while. The two of you left the garage, Tessa falling into step beside you, filling the silence with her easy chatter. Neither of you had a particular destination in mind, just a stroll around the manor, aimless and casual.

“How are you finding your duties so far?” she asked, glancing sideways at you.

“Simple enough,” you replied, your gaze flicking to the paintings that seemed to occupy every wall in the manor, each one a snapshot of a life or moment you had no connection to. “Though it is dreadfully boring.”

Tessa snickered, the sound light and amused, as if she’d heard that complaint a hundred times before. “Maybe you should find a hobby then? I mean, what exactly are you doing in that garage after your chores?”

You felt your gaze drop to the floor, your lips thinning in a way that betrayed nothing, though your voice was always too flat for Tessa to pick up on any real change. “Nothing important,” you lied, the words slipping out with mechanical precision. She wouldn’t know. She couldn’t know. Not yet.

Tessa hummed, unfazed by your response as she looked up toward the ceiling, her mind already moving on. “You should find something you like doing to occupy yourself then. Something fun.” She began listing off ideas, the corners of her mouth curling in that effortless way of hers. “For instance, N and V love reading in the library. N and J sometimes draw together, and—oh, J and Cyn love playing with the toys in my room.”

At the mention of Cyn, your expression unconsciously twisted into a brief grimace, though Tessa didn’t seem to notice. The mere thought of that eldritch being made your circuits hum with a low irritation. How someone so… destructive could enjoy something as innocent as playing with toys, you’d never understand.

“I see,” you said, your voice smooth and neutral again. The two of you rounded a corner, your pace slowing as you neared the kitchen. The door was open, and from inside you could see the drones responsible for preparing meals hard at work, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and setting plates. You couldn’t help but watch, your curiosity piqued for reasons you couldn’t quite place.

Tessa glanced at you, her eyes gleaming with interest as she followed your gaze. “Fancy taking up cooking?” she asked, her voice playful but with a genuine undertone.

For a moment longer, you observed the kitchen, watching as the chefs worked with mechanical precision, slicing through fresh vegetables and cutting meat into perfect portions. Living things, once thriving, now reduced to ingredients for the sustenance of other life. It was part of the natural cycle—birth, death, and rebirth—and you couldn’t help but see the symmetry in it. There was a beauty in the simplicity of it all, how life fed life, how even in death there was purpose.

But you shook your head. “No,” you said, your voice soft but resolute. “I see the beauty in such a task, but it is not for me.”

Tessa let out a playful "tsk" of mild disappointment but didn’t press the matter further. The two of you continued walking, your steps falling into an easy rhythm, until eventually, you found yourselves in the courtyard. As you stepped outside, the sight before you pulled you up short. The hedges, the towering trees, the rich green grass, and the vibrant flowers—it was as though the entire courtyard had been carefully curated by nature itself, every inch bursting with life.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer beauty of it all. The sun filtered softly through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. For a moment, it was almost too much to take in.

“What… what is this place?” you asked, your voice betraying a rare sense of awe.

“This is the garden,” Tessa responded, a small smile curling at her lips as she watched your reaction. “Mother usually likes to have afternoon tea here, so I’d avoid coming here during those times.”

You barely heard the last part. Your focus was consumed by the life that thrived around you. The lush plants, the flowers in full bloom. You could feel it, the pulse that ran through every living being, running through here with a harmony you hadn’t expected to find.

But as you scanned the landscape, your attention was drawn to a small patch of flowers at the edge of the garden. Unlike the rest, these flowers hung limp, their petals drooping and their once-vibrant colours fading into dull shades of brown. They stood out against the rest of the courtyard like a scar.

You frowned, your chest tightening at the sight. “Why are these plants like this?” you asked, your voice tense, strained.

Tessa followed your gaze, her expression flickering with a hint of discomfort. “Oh, them? I don’t think they’ve been watered in quite some time,” she said. “The previous gardener drone made the mistake of trekking dirt through the corridors, and Father got angry and… disposed of him.”

You felt a knot twist in your chest. Disposed of him. And for what? A mistake as trivial as tracking dirt? And because of that, the withering plants had been neglected, left to die slowly, without a second thought.

Tessa must have noticed the shift in your demeanour. She tilted her head slightly, studying you. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Father did say he would be getting a new gardener drone soon,” she added, seeing if your expression was lifted. It was not.

You said nothing. Instead, you approached the dying flowers, crouching beside them. Your hand hovered above the wilted stems, feeling the faint pulse of life that still clung to them, weak but present. There was something undeniably tragic about it—the way these flowers, so desperate to survive, had been abandoned by those who could have helped them.

But there was a beauty in that struggle too, wasn’t there? A resilience, however quiet, however unnoticed. Life, even in its most fragile state, persisted.

“No need,” you told the girl. “If you would allow it, I would like to become the new gardener. I would like to tend to the garden.”

Tessa blinked in surprise, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “Are… are you sure?” she asked, uncertain. “My parents can be quite… particulate when it comes to the garden. Especially my father. He’s not fond of anything being out of place or half done. And he especially hates messes.”

You nodded, running your fingers gently over the petals of the flowers. “I am sure,” you said, your voice firm. “And besides, didn’t you say I needed a hobby? I love plants, and it would give me something meaningful to do.”

Tessa’s initial hesitation seemed to soften, her surprise giving way to a thoughtful smile. “Ah, so you like working with plants? How convenient,” she mused, her tone light and teasing. She clapped her hands together, a smile lighting up her face. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll go and let Father know you’ve volunteered to take over the duty. He’s not easy to please, but if it’s you, I think you’ll do fine.”

She glanced once more at the flowers, then back at you. “Just… don’t wander off while I’m gone, alright? Father’s in a good mood today, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“As you wish.”

With that, Tessa turned and hurried off, leaving you alone in the garden. Without a word, you extended your hand, letting the familiar warmth flow through your fingertips. The flowers trembled under your touch, and slowly, as if waking from a long sleep, they began to stir. The colour returned to their petals, the stems lifted themselves upright, and in a matter of moments, they stood tall once more—alive, vibrant, as though they had never been neglected at all.

 

---

From the shadows of the manor, out of sight but never far from you, Cyn watched. The entity of the void, the cosmic force that thrived on dissolution and endings, stood in quiet fascination, her many eyes locked on you as you worked in the garden. You, with your hands carefully tending to the withering flowers, coaxing life back into them with nothing more than a touch. A single gesture, and where there had been decay, there was bloom. Petals unfurled, stems straightened, and the garden seemed to breathe again.

It wasn’t the act itself that captivated her—she had seen humans tend to gardens before, had watched them play at creation in their small, fleeting ways. But you were different. You weren’t just caring for the flowers; you were breathing new life into the dying plants, bending the natural cycle of life and death to your will with an ease that made her segmented body quiver with something she couldn’t quite name. Desire, maybe, or something more primal. Her claws flexed in her restlessness, digging into the earth as she struggled to remain still.

What were you?

Cyn had never been one to shy away from complexity—after all, she was the embodiment of entropy. Yet you eluded her, slipping between the cracks of her understanding like a shadow. You weren’t just a being of a higher plane, that much she knew. But what you were ? What you represented? That had always been the question. She knew you held onto the concept of life so dearly, yet didn’t know the reason for it. And now, as she watched you restore life to the flowers with a quiet grace, something clicked into place.

Now she understood.

She was the end. The void, the death of the universe, the force that would eventually consume all things.

And you? You could only be the opposite.

You were life given form.

If Cyn was the end, then you were the beginning. If she was death, then you were life. You were the force that pushed back against her, that sought renewal where she sought endings. Two forces of nature hiding in the bodies of drones.

She watched you a moment longer, her claws twitching. For now, she would stay in the shadows, silent and still while her thoughts swirled in the dark recesses of her mind.

Notes:

From this point on, most of the chapters will probably be slice of life. Like, you and Cyn getting up to shenanigans as you try to kill each other type stuff. Though there definitely will be plot building chapters mixed between. I know what i want to do with this fic story wise. And for those wondering what kind of powers will be developed as the story progresses, I'm aiming to make most of your abilties kind of the opposite of what the solvers does.

And a question for you all that will affect how the story progresses from here. I want you, the reader, to have some kind of monstrous form, similar to Cyn, and I have two ideas for this. One was a spider, because spiders can prey on and eat small centipedes, which is kind of the shape of Cyn's eldritch form. The other was just angel wings. What they're made of, I have no clue yet. The reason Angel wings are the other option was more from a plot point of view. I was thinking that maybe the reason Cyn makes the future disassembly drones with their winged angel motiff is because their designs are based on you.

As you can guess, whichever options gets the most votes will win, and will be implemented into the story. I'll give it a few days before the votes are counted up.

Chapter 6: Angel designs

Summary:

BE NOT AFRAID...But do prepare your eyes, for you are about to witness peak.

Tis the time of spooky season, and as such, the perfect time to showcase these ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS, and biblically accurate angel designs for the reader character of the story. These two fantastic art pieces were provided by the amazing SphoNull! Seriously, I can't thank you enough for this! Just take a look at these master pieces!

(I spent a few hours staring at these when they were sent to me)

(THIS ONE EVEN HAS THE FLOWER FROM LAST CHAPTER AHHHHHHHHHHHH)

Because there are two designs, there will be another vote for which form the readers prefer, so once again, I will give it a few days before the next chapter is released. With that said, I hope everyone has a happy halloween!

But before everyone leaves please give some love to the amazing artist who brought this vision to life! I just can't put into words how much I adore this and appreciate what you've done! Thank you so much, SphoNull. You don't even realize how happy I was to receive these beautiful art pieces! Show them some appreciation on their account @Spheno0 on Twitter!

(Also, if the images are broken, you can view them here: https://imgur.com/user/MrKodeo/posts )

Notes:

I may sound like a borken record, but once again I can't thank you enough for the art. It envigorated me to start posting a lot more often as of recently (And made me cry tears of joy, but we don't talk about that).

Chapter 7: V

Summary:

As night sets in, Tessa decides to take you on a little detour to where your new life began. You have an encounter with the entity who's existence you detest the most, and memories that don't belong to you begin to take root in your mind.

You were pleased, if a bit smug, to hear that Tessa’s father had no objections to you taking over the garden. Of course, that might’ve had something to do with the little lie you’d fed him about your “extensive experience” with plants. You’d even showcased the previously withering flowers as proof, their newfound vibrance a direct result of your powers rather than any green thumb. But as far as you were concerned, if a small fabrication landed you the job, it was worth it. You thought honesty was overrated anyway.

The day passed, and by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, the manor had settled into a quiet calm. Tessa, left with free time since her usual entourage was otherwise occupied, decided to take you for a walk. The forest around the manor seemed softer in the twilight, shadows stretching across the path as Tessa chattered beside you, her words drifting in and out like background music. You listened, offering the occasional opinion or response whenever she glanced at you for validation, but your mind began to wander.

As the walk continued, you started noticing something odd. The ground was littered with remnants, broken parts, rusted limbs—pieces of worker drones, scattered haphazardly along the path. And the deeper you went, the more frequent they became, until the sight of shattered metal and discarded parts became a grim trail leading you somewhere you’d rather not go. You recognized this place all too well, and a feeling of dread pooled in your chest as the scenery took on a dark familiarity.

The forest thinned, and then you saw it: the clearing with the unmistakable pile of discarded drones, twisted and rusting, like some kind of grotesque offering to decay. Tessa had taken you right back to the graveyard where she’d found you. The memory of it, of your own broken form among the others, flashed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but grimace, your insides twisting at the sight. You felt yourself pull inward, as if trying to shield yourself from the thick stench of death and abandonment that permeated the place.

“Ah… this is the drone graveyard,” you muttered distastefully.

“Yep,” Tessa confirmed, approaching the rusted gate. A lock and chain hung around the handle, a deceptive attempt to keep out curious eyes, though the lock itself wasn’t actually secured. Tessa slid it down, pushed open the gate, and gestured for you to follow.

You hesitated, your gaze flitting over the skeletal remains of discarded drones. You had only recently begun nurturing life in the garden, and now here you were, back among death. It felt sickening. “If you don’t mind me asking… what are we doing here?” you asked, a hint of strain in your voice.

Tessa grabbed your hand without hesitation, her grip firm as she pulled you inside. “Finding parts,” she replied. “My parents won’t give me the supplies I need to fix up any of you guys. So, if I want to keep you all in good condition, I have to… improvise.”

Her response was so casual—or at least she tried to make it sound like it was. You could tell from the slight change in tone at the mention of her parents that whatever relationship she had with her parents, must not have been a good one. You had your suspicions, judging from the fact Tessa was alway so hesitant to let you wander off on your own less you encounter them. From the little you’d pieced together, it was clear that whatever bond the Elliot parents and child shared, it wasn’t exactly a picture of love; it struck you as a relationship based more in fear and control than anything resembling affection.

You began to think that this “drone graveyard” was more than just a source for spare parts. It was her way of taking back a little control, a place where she could be the one who decided what was worth keeping, what was worth fixing. In a way, it was probably the closest she got to true freedom.

As you moved alongside Tessa, your eyes scanned the parts scattered across the ground, catching glimpses of twisted limbs, empty visors, and the occasional mangled wire—pieces of something once functional, once alive in their own way. And while Tessa rummaged through the debris, you knelt down to one drone body, running a hand along their visor.

Not even a week ago, you’d been like all of them—a broken body among hundreds, tossed into a heap of discarded drones. Another statistic on some unseen spreadsheet, just another number in a column nobody cared about. You scanned the graveyard, taking in the sight, the mountains of drone bodies stacked upon each other in silent surrender to rust and ruin.

Being here, surrounded by these remnants of artificial life, in the place where you had first awoken, made you question things. Why had you woken up here, battered and broken, in a place meant for those without purpose? How had you ended up here in the first place, with no memory of your past, your mind a clean slate save for the moment you met Tessa? It was as if your existence had simply begun then, with no prologue, no context. And yet, this place felt... familiar. Familiar in a way you couldn’t quite explain, like the answer was just beyond your reach.

They weren’t out of reach for long.

Suddenly, thoughts started flooding your processor. Small visions, ghost sensations. They were faint, blurred, and you couldn’t quite make them out perfectly, but they were definitely memories. 

Who’s memories they were, you had no clue.

The visions swept through, disconnected but vivid, lingering just long enough for you to catch glimpses before they dissolved into static. You saw humans—faces you didn’t recognize but that stirred something in you nonetheless. There was a warmth in these memories, a softness and closeness that felt utterly foreign to you, but somewhere inside you, it registered as familiar. Scenes of laughter and quiet moments, hands reaching out, the echo of voices murmuring words you couldn’t hear but somehow understood. It was the feeling of family, something you’d never had and yet somehow seemed to know, as if the memories were etched into your very hardware.

Warmth. Love. And then, inevitably, loss.

The flood ceased as suddenly as it had begun, leaving you alone with the faint aftertaste of emotions that had never been yours. They lingered in your mind like smoke, dissipating but not quite gone. And as you stood there, trying to steady yourself amidst the echoes of someone else’s life, the question remained, now more potent than ever: Who were you? 

For a moment, you didn’t move, your hand hovering near your face as you ran your fingers along the edge of your visor, as if that could anchor you. You glanced down at your hand, watching as it flexed, moving under your control. Your hand. Your body.

Or so it seemed.

Was it really yours? You might move it, control it, but deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this body wasn’t truly yours. That perhaps you were a guest here, inhabiting something that had once belonged to someone else, someone long gone. These unknown memories only further proved the point.

Who were you? 

The question reverberated in your mind, but before you could dive further into it, a sound broke the silence. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, echoing through the empty graveyard. You braced yourself, half expecting it to be Tessa—she was the only one who knew you were here, after all. But then it struck you: there had been no lead-up to the sound, no approaching footfall. Just the sudden presence, as if whoever it was had materialised out of thin air.

A chill slid through your frame. You already knew who it was.

You turned, your expression sharpening as you met her gaze. Cyn, looming behind you, her posture crooked, her optics gleaming with that familiar, unsettling delight. Her smile widened as she took a small, shuffling step closer.

“Greetings,” she said, her voice as robotic as ever, though it carried an almost unnatural cheerfulness that felt hollow. Her smile stretched wider, a gesture that was more mechanical than warm, as if she’d learned the expression by observing others but hadn’t quite grasped the purpose behind it.

You stood there, unmoving, meeting her gaze with a guarded stare. Cyn had a way of slipping in, of appearing where she was least expected and least wanted, like a shadow that knew all the darkest corners to linger in. She was, after all, a creature of endings. And yet here she was, so perversely cheerful, as though this graveyard of offline drones wasn’t her kingdom of rot and finality.

"Cyn," you said, keeping your tone carefully neutral. "Why are you here?"

She tilted her head in that unnerving way of hers. “Smile. Just taking a trip down memory lane.”

You arched a brow but kept quiet, letting her elaborate, knowing that she would, if only to draw out whatever twisted enjoyment she found in being here. She glanced around the graveyard of twisted, broken drones, her gaze trailing over every crumpled limb and lifeless screen as if they were old friends she hadn’t visited in a while.

“It’s nice here, you know,” she said. “I sometimes like to sit and… think. There’s a particular peace to it, don’t you think? Inquisitive glance. No Louisia or James to interrupt, no pesky duties to attend to—just me and my thoughts.”

"How... interesting," you muttered, deadpan.

Cyn ignored the lack of interest in your tone and continued. "And what about you?” she asked, her voice soft, almost curious. “Are you here just to help Tessa? Or have you, too, come to revisit our birthplace for the sake of memories?"

Your mind paused, taking in her words. “Our birthplace?” you thought to yourself. You slowly turned back to look at her, your optics narrowing. “What do you mean by our ?”

Cyn’s smile grew. She gestured around the desolate landscape of bodies, the silent witnesses to countless ends. “In this very graveyard,” she said, “from the very same pile, you and I emerged. Our origin—our link. A twisted little bond that only we share.” She paused, her gaze boring into yours. “We are alike.”

You took a slow, deliberate breath, your voice a quiet, icy hiss. “We are nothing alike.”

Cyn gave a small, almost pitying sigh. “In regard to our goals, yes,” she conceded. She paused, her gaze drifting over the piles of bodies again, and you couldn’t help but notice the strange serenity in her expression as she looked at the lifeless forms around you. “But beyond those ideals, you and I? We are born of death. Surrounded by it. From the same pile of scrap and ruin, we rose. Two beings birthed from fragments, piecing ourselves together in the dark.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, her words sinking into you. Cyn didn’t seem to mind the silence, just staring at you intently. Hungry, almost. Hell, you could even see her stick her tongue out and run it along her teeth. Before you could get another word in, you heard Tessa call for you.

“Could I get some help over here?!” she shouted from a distance.

You glanced in the direction the sound came from before redirecting your attention back to Cyn. 

“It seems Tessa needs your assistance,” she mused, head lolling to the side. She had to use her hand to keep her head up.

“Perfect timing too,” you began. “I was just beginning to tire of you.”

Cyn hummed, poking her cheek with a digit. “Is my company that unpleasant?”

“Very,” you replied. “Now begone, monster. The last thing I need is Tessa seeing you and asking questions.”

Cyn tsked quietly, but thankfully, looked as if she was going to comply. She took a step back, her gaze still locked on yours. But before she could leave, your voice called out once more.

“Hang on,” you began, hesitant. “Before you leave, would you…be able to answer a question for me?”

Her head sagged a bit, and she pushed it back into place with her palm. “Curious expression. I thought you wanted me gone as soon as possible?”

You rolled your optics. “Humor me this one time.”

Cyn held your gaze for a tad more seconds before she huffed. “Fine. Ask away.”

You glanced down at your hands, watching as your fingers flexed and curled. The question on your lips felt almost too revealing. Yet, if there was one creature in the universe likely to understand, it was her. “As you said, you and I were born from the same… circumstances . When you first woke up, did you ever get… visions? Glimpses of something that seemed like memories? Did you ever feel like you weren’t really… you ?”

The two of you stewed in silence as Cyn dwelled on the question, and for a moment, her smirk fell. Her optics dimmed slightly, and she regarded you with a focus that felt almost uncomfortable, as if dissecting you, or maybe the question itself. She tapped a finger against her chin, drawing out the silence until it became nearly unbearable.

Then after considering her answer, she spoke.

“No.”

It was a short answer, and very dismissive. Though, you had kind of expected that.

“Are you sure?” you pressed. “No strange visions? No sense of…displacement?”

“No,” she repeated. “I was me from the very beginning, and to this day, I still am. No ghost memories, no visions. Just pure, ravenous, hunger .” She leaned in slightly, optics glinting in what faint light there was. “Some of us know exactly who we are.”

Then, just as suddenly as she’d appeared, she turned away, her form bursting into yellow pixels, leaving you alone amidst the offline bodies.

With the abomination gone, and even more existential dread in your mind, you began to make your way to the direction where you heard Tessa’s voice, stepping carefully over the drone bodies. It seemed like not even Cyn was aware of what was happening to your psyche.

What exactly was happening to you?

Each step through this graveyard of silent drones felt like an act of defiance, as though you were trudging through some part of your own buried history, fragments of life and memory scattered in pieces just as broken as the drones around you. And yet, even with Cyn’s parting words lingering in your mind, it was clear she hadn’t understood what you were experiencing. Perhaps she couldn’t understand.

Unlike her, your existence seemed to come with some residue—a trail of half-formed memories that didn’t belong to you yet clung all the same. They flickered into your mind, uninvited, bringing sensations of warmth, loss, a home you’d never known. What was it, exactly, that was clawing its way up through your circuits? And who had you been… or maybe the real question was whose memories were they?

You rounded a corner, hand dragging along the nearby corpse piles, but at the sight you saw, your heartbeat, or whatever the robot equivalent of that was, ceased for a second.

Tessa was on the ground, clutching her hand as a deep crimson liquid dripped steadily, painting the ground with vivid splashes of colour.

You didn’t hesitate. In an instant, you were at her side, sliding to your knees, your hand grasping hers as gently as you could manage, though your fingers felt clumsy, awkward.

“Tessa, what happened?” you asked, robotic voice a tad shaky.

“Nicked myself on something sharp,” she muttered, hissing as another drop of blood fell. “Bloody hell, this hurts.”

Your mind raced, calculating every possible option, yet the instinct to reach for your powers simmered beneath it all. You had brought that flower in the garden back from the edge of death—surely a cut would be easy enough to fix. But you stopped yourself, drawing back from the idea. If there was one thing you’d learned in your very limited time here, it was that Cyn didn’t hide her powers for nothing. She’d been here longer, observing, calculating, and choosing to keep her abilities concealed from most, only ever really revealing herself to you. If Cyn found it wiser to stay hidden, then maybe it was a lesson worth heeding. And of course, you hadn't met another drone with powers like yours. You didn't think drones like you were supposed to have them, and should the humans learn of your powers, you had the nagging feeling bad things would happen.

It took every ounce of restraint not to simply use your power and rid Tessa’s pain right then and there. Instead, you went for a more mundane solution. With a sharp pull, you ripped a section of fabric from your clothing. Tessa let out a small, startled noise at the unexpected move, but you ignored it, focusing on wrapping her hand with steady, precise movements. The makeshift bandage wasn’t anything special, but it would hold until you could get her some proper care. You tightened the knot with a firm tug and gave it a final check, scanning it over to make sure it would do the job.

Tessa inspected her now-covered wound with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, her gaze shifting to you with a grateful smile. “Oi, thanks,” she said, flexing her fingers gingerly beneath the fabric. “Sorry about your clothes, though. Didn’t mean to ruin them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied, the words coming out more automatically than anything else. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her voice a tad lighter now, the pain clearly dulled by the bandage and perhaps the company. “It’s just my hand, after all. I can move just fine.”

So she claimed, though you couldn’t help but give her a quick, careful look over. It wasn’t exactly easy to check; worker drones like you saw humans as shadowy figures, their forms blurred and dark, with only certain details standing out. But from what you could tell, besides the fresh gash on her hand, she seemed otherwise unscathed.

“How did this happen?” you couldn't help but ask.

Tessa pointed to a pretty large pile of drone corpses. “I was rummaging over there, looking for anything useful. Lost my footing and grabbed onto a piece of sharp metal trying to catch myself.” She shrugged, glancing back at the pile with a slight scowl.

Your stare lingered on the pile of bodies for a second, before switching back to her wound, guilt welling up. “I’m sorry, Tessa,” you said quietly. “I should’ve been by your side to keep you safe.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Tessa insisted. “The cut isn’t too bad, and honestly it’s my fault for dragging you out here like this. You haven’t been at the manor for long, but you go along with my antics anyways.”

You tilted your head in an almost strikingly similar manner to Cyn. “Is following your orders not part of my job?”

Tessa’s frown deepened, and she looked at you for a moment, a shadow of something serious crossing her face. “It… technically is,” she replied slowly, as if weighing each word. “But I don’t want you thinking that our relationship is just master and servant. That’s not how I see it, and it’s not how I treat my drones. All of you—V, J, N, even Cyn—you’re my friends. Or at least… that’s how I’d want you to see me.”

The idea of friendship was simple enough on paper, but Tessa’s definition carried a kind of intensity you hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just asking for loyalty or obedience, which you could provide without a second thought; she was offering something in return, something that went beyond the standard terms of your robotic body's function.

You observed her, this strange human who insisted on turning her own drones into companions rather than tools—that went out of her way to gather the parts needed to fix them if any accident befell them. Her words seemed almost stubborn, as though she were challenging you to understand, to accept her peculiar take on things. And part of you couldn’t help but admire that defiance, as naive as it seemed.

“So,” you said, after a long pause, “you consider us… friends?”

“Exactly,” she replied, her gaze brightening. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to follow orders just because they’re orders. I’d rather it be a choice…something I’ve never really had.” She muttered that last part out very quietly, but your audio receptors had picked up on it. It was a jab at her parents no doubt, but you paid that no heed. You were more focused on what she was offering you.

Choice. 

She was giving you the option for a choice. Something that worker drones never really got. Tessa may not have known just how serious the topic was. Worker drones were given administrators—Tessa had been made yours when she fixed you—for the sole purpose of not giving them freedom to do whatever they want. A drone that could have free will and choice was a potentially dangerous one. 

It was sweet of her, if a bit naive.

After a moment of consideration, tossing the word around in your processor, you slowly smiled. “Friends…I like the sound of that.”

“Then, will you be my friend?” Tessa asked, reaching her hand out for a hand shake, like you had done to her the first moment you both met. You took her hand, and gently shook it.

“I’d love to,” you replied.

After the tender moment you two shared. Tessa looked up at the darkening sky, inhaling sharply with a hand against her bosom. You followed her gaze, glancing up at the sky as the day faded, and stars began to show themselves.

“I think it’s time we head back,” Tessa spoke. “Lots of icky creatures come out at night, and my parents will be mad with me should they learn I was out here.”

“Understood,” was your reply.

You helped Tessa to her feet, watching carefully as she brushed off any dirt and dust on her dress. Then, her expression suddenly fell.

“Oh god, my parents!” she shouted in realisation. “What am I going to tell my parents when they see this!? They’re going to kill me!” 

You placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her down. “Surely it can’t be that bad?”

She looked up at you, and for the first time since you’d met, Tessa’s face bore a flicker of genuine fear. It was subtle, just a faint tightening around her eyes and a tautness to her expression. “You say that because you haven’t met them yet,” she replied, her voice barely above a murmur. There was something unsettling about seeing her like this—about seeing Tessa suddenly so vulnerable. Though you had only known her for a few days. This could be commonplace for all you know, but the Tessa you had met was nothing like the panicking girl in front of you.

The silence stretched between you for a moment. “Let’s just… let’s just go,” she added. “Maybe if we get back before curfew, they won’t ask too many questions.”

She gestured a few feet away to a sack lying half-hidden behind a pile of scrap. “Could you grab that to take with us? I’d do it myself, but… you know, my hand.” She gave a weak smile. It was a poor attempt at deflecting the situation with humour, but you pretended you didn't notice.

You moved over to the sack and took a look inside. A handful of drone limbs, some inner components—a surprisingly decent haul, all things considered, given the poor state everything here was in. You nodded, hoisting the sack over your shoulder as you cast a quick glance back at Tessa, who was already peering down the path.

The two of you left the graveyard quickly, her pace quickening with every step as if she could outrun the thoughts and potential punishment from her parents. As you made your way back, you found yourself glancing at her every so often, watching her shoulders tighten slightly with each sound in the distance, each rustling leaf. She was silent, uncharacteristically so, as if she were drawing into herself, bracing for whatever awaited her back at the manor.

---

“Tessa! What on Earth happened to your hand!?”

J had been waiting by the manor’s entrance for Tessa to return, and upon returning, had immediately noticed the crude bandaging the young Elliot girl was trying to hide. 

Needless to say, J was not pleased.

Before you could fully register her reaction, J was in front of you, her hand shooting forward with unerring precision. She seized your collar in a grip that could only be described as a death grip.

“How could you let this happen? What the hell were you doing!?” she hissed at you.

Tessa was quick to come to your aid, placing her hands gently on J’s shoulders and pulling the seething maid drone back from you, though you took a few steps back for good measure. With the expression she was wearing, you wouldn’t doubt that she’d pounce on you at any given second.

“Relax, J,” she said, holding up her injured hand as though it were nothing more than a paper cut. “It’s just a little scratch.”

“Little scratch?” the drone scoffed. “Your entire palm is bandaged. That doesn’t quantify as a little scratch.”

Tessa sighed, taking a deep breath. “It’s… fine, J. Really.”

J’s expression didn’t shift much, but the hardness in her glare softened by a fraction. She muttered something under her breath, her gaze lingering on the bandage as though willing it to tell her the truth.

“It’s not the cut itself,” J finally said, her voice low. “It’s your parents I’m worried about…”

Tessa’s face fell, the mention of her parents instantly dulling whatever bravado she’d tried to muster. She didn’t need J to spell it out—she knew that the moment James and Louisa caught wind of her injury, there would be questions, and with questions, consequences. Punishments weren’t just likely; they were as certain as the sunrise. 

J huffed, as though physically shaking off the thought, and took Tessa’s uninjured hand, her grip firm yet careful. “Come on, Tessa,” she said. “I need to clean that wound properly, make sure it’s not infected.”

Tessa hesitated only a moment before letting J lead her, casting one last glance in your direction as she went. She gave you a quick, almost apologetic smile, as if to say she’d tried her best to minimise the fuss. But J, it seemed, was not one to let things go so easily.

Just as she turned to leave, J’s gaze snapped back to you, her eyes narrowed, her demeanour all business. She jabbed a finger in your direction. “And don’t think you’re off the hook,” she warned. “We’ll be having a talk about this once I’ve tended to Tessa.”

You nodded, not knowing what else to do besides stand and wait for them to leave. She turned on her heel, leading Tessa away with a practised care, leaving you alone in anticipation of what was to come, and your thoughts as they struggled to come to terms with who or what you were, and who these memories you’ve been seeing belonged to.

Notes:

I was going to expand upon the memories, and what they were, but I'll leave that for a chapter that I'll dedicate to them soley.

Chapter 8: VI

Summary:

Punishment has been avoided...for now.

While you stew in your thoughts, dwelling on the events of the day, you are approached by a drone, and are invited to tell stories during bed time.

Surprisingly, J never did come to give you a stern talking to. Must've been too caught up in taking care of Tessa. And even more surprising was that apparently, James and Louisa had left for a business conference and would stay the night somewhere else, leaving Tessa alone with the company of the manors drone workforce. So luckily, you and Tessa had narrowly managed to avoid trouble. Well, you did at least. Your owner still had to hide the wound till it healed, and even then, you were sure that it would scar. One Way or another, her parents would find out.

With no tasks assigned to you, you opted to take a seat on the stairway, spending the past few hours sitting there and letting your thoughts swirl as you tried to find a foothold in the mess of the day. The images in your head—the fragments of unfamiliar memories; Tessa’s injury that gnawed at your mind, guilt welling up in your core. And then, there was Cyn. Cyn, with her dark presence that seemed to suffocate you whenever she was near. The little eldritch drone that seemed to know more about you than you did yourself, and seemed to follow you wherever you went.

You sighed, slumping into your hands, as if your palms would somehow give you reprieve from your troubles. Unbeknownst to you, someone else had noticed your solitary slump. The soft, muted sound of footsteps against the carpet reached your audio sensors, and you glanced up to see another drone taking a seat next to you.

“Rough day?” he asked, his expression light and sympathetic, a small, friendly grin edging across his face.

You recognized him immediately—N. He’d been there when Tessa had first brought you to the manor. A quick scan of memories that definitely belonged to you brought back snippets of Tessa mentioning him, hinting that you two might get along well. Judging by his easy going presence now, you were beginning to understand why she’d thought that.

“You could say that,” you replied. “I made a rather big mistake today. I let Tessa get hurt. And because of that, she’ll probably be punished.”

N’s easy smile faded. “You know about the punishments?”

“Only through word of mouth. I haven’t met her parents in person yet, nor seen the punishments themselves..”

He let out a low sigh, leaning back against the stair railing. “I wouldn’t want to say they’re cruel, but… I honestly can’t think of a better way to describe them. Especially when it comes to Tessa. Their standards and expectations, they’re all too high for a girl her age.” 

You considered his words, the vague choice of phrases like “expectations” and “standards,” as though even the language around Tessa’s parents was carefully restrained, controlled. “...what kind of punishments does she receive?” you asked. You had heard they were bad, but you still didn’t know exactly what Tessa was put through.

N seemed to avoid your gaze, fiddling with his fingers. “W-well, usually the master and mistress lock Tessa up in her room, which admittedly doesn’t sound too bad at first, but it's a whole other matter when chains are involved…”

Your processor stalled, your thoughts freezing in place as if a sudden chill had swept over them.

Chains?

You almost didn’t believe it, yet the look in N’s optics told you he wasn’t exaggerating. James and Louisa, people who were ostensibly Tessa’s parents, were actually chaining her up?

Your mind struggled to piece together a rational response, but the thought continued to hover, impossible to ignore. “They… chain her?” you managed to ask, though the words felt foreign in your mouth—disgusting even.

N nodded, his own expression twisting with a mixture of shame and discomfort, as though he’d failed somehow just by telling you. “Only when they think she’s... misbehaving .” The word carried a bitterness that didn’t seem entirely his own, a bitterness he’d picked up by witnessing what Tessa endured. “But sometimes they do worse things. Sometimes they’ll get physical with her.”

Silence fell between you as you tried to digest what N had just revealed. It was one thing to know that Tessa’s parents were harsh of their high expectations; it was another thing entirely to hear that they went as far as binding her, as if her freedom were some crime they were punishing. You couldn’t have imagined that Tessa’s desire for independence and her free spirit stemmed from being caged in the most literal sense.

“I know that look,” N said. He had propped one arm up on his knee and was watching you intently, chin resting against his fist. “I know you want to help Tessa, but It’s better if we don’t do anything.”

“After hearing that, how could I?” you replied. “Tessa gave me a home. She pulled me from a graveyard, fixed me up. She’s my… friend . I can’t just let this continue.”

N’s face softened into a sad, knowing smile. “Sadly, there’s not much we can do. We’re just servant drones, and any action we take might only make things worse for her.”

You let out a low, mechanical groan, your voice box crackling slightly from the sudden surge in volume. You tried to run calculations, searching through endless scenarios in your mind, each one branching into potential risks and consequences. Each calculation ended in the same bitter conclusion: helping her might ultimately make things worse .

N watched you, his expression growing sombre as he realised what you were attempting. He seemed to understand without needing an explanation—your processor was racing, struggling against an impossible problem with limited options.

When you finally processed the possibilities, they didn’t look promising. Almost every viable option placed Tessa in a precarious position. Reporting her parents to the authorities might see James and Louisa facing justice, but it could also mean Tessa being put into foster care and losing access to her beloved drones, since they ultimately were property of the Elliot family heads and JC Jenson. Hell, trying to get Louisa and James arrested might not even work—they were powerful people with surely just as powerful connections. Worse yet, she could be saddled with responsibilities far beyond her years, left to run the family business as the sole heir. The idea of such a young girl diving into the world of corporate politics wasn’t a pleasant one.

You couldn’t do anything for Tessa.

In that brief moment of quiet where you stewed in your thoughts, N stood up, and your eyes followed. He offered you a hand up.

“Let’s just forget about that for now. No point in dwelling on it when we could be doing something else. And speaking of doing something else, I was wondering if you wanted to join us for story time? It could be a good way to take your mind off of things.”

You blinked, not taking N’s hand just yet. “Story time?” you parroted. “What, if I may inquire, is story time?”

N chuckled, leaning in with a conspiratorial air, as though sharing a well-kept secret. “Whenever she can get away with it, Tessa rounds up all of us drones in her room just before bed time. We sit around, and she lets everyone tell stories—could be about anything. She always says there’s no wrong story to tell. And tonight we might be able to stay up longer than usual, since her parents are away.”

You hummed as you considered the invitation, biting your lip. While it may seem innocent on the outside—a child telling stories to her friends—you took it in a different direction. Like a prisoner telling the other inmates tales of life outside prison walls, or a beggar weaving a tale of riches and fortune. To you, it seemed like another way this trapped little girl was able to gain a moment of freedom: in her imagination, if not reality.

You could picture it now: Tessa’s voice, full of longing, letting her mind roam far beyond the edges of this place, giving herself the freedom she was otherwise denied.

“Are you coming?” N’s voice cut into your thoughts, his hand still outstretched, patient but persistent.

With a sigh and a quiet nod, you took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “All right,” you said, trying to put on the best fake smile you had. “Story time it is.”

N’s face lit up, as if someone had just flipped a switch, and together, you began to climb the stairway, the quiet of the manor pressing in around you as you followed him down the long corridor. The silence was thick, each step muffled against the carpeted floor, and it gave you ample space to let your thoughts wander.

“By the way,” he said, glancing back at you with a curious expression. “I never got your name.”

You both rounded a corner, and you spoke your name for him to hear, your voice a little quieter than you’d intended. He gave a thumbs-up in response, his grin bright and unguarded.

“That’s a cool name. It suits you.”

The compliment barely registered, sliding past your awareness as your thoughts drifted once again to Tessa. The image of her—alone in a house as vast and shadowed as this one, bearing the weight of expectations far beyond her years—settled uneasily in your mind. N’s words, though well-meaning, couldn’t cut through the question still lodged there, like a persistent splinter: What could you do to help her?

 

 

---

“Oh, I didn’t know you were joining us,” Tessa remarked, eyes widening slightly as you stepped into the room with N.

Her other drones were already assembled: most were perched on the bed, while Cyn, in typical fashion, was absorbed in a pile of toys on the floor. Her surprise felt genuine, though it faded quickly.

“Am I intruding?” you asked, scanning the scene with what you hoped passed for a touch of detached humour.

“Not at all!” Tessa replied, giving a small shake of her head. “Find a spot, and we’ll get started soon.”

N took his place beside Cyn on the floor, engaging her in some quiet, friendly exchange. Meanwhile, you noted that one of the drones on the bed—V, if memory serves—kept a steady, somewhat unsettling gaze fixed on the two of them, staring for longer than what you would deem as normal. You even noticed the slight downturn of her lips. You made a mental note of it, storing it somewhere in the recesses of your processor to examine later.

With everyone absorbed in small conversations, you quietly took a place next to Tessa. From the other side of the bed, J threw you a look that was more disapproving than her usual glare, though she kept any further admonishments to herself, likely out of respect for Tessa’s presence.

As the group settled in, your gaze drifted to Tessa’s injured hand. It had been properly cleaned and wrapped since you’d last seen it, but something about it still held your attention. There was a faint pull, a gentle hum emanating from it, though intangible, the sensation unmistakably there. It was the same type of pull you felt around the flowers in the garden or the quiet stillness of the forest. Faint, yes, but unmistakable. After a few seconds, you noticed her hand tremble, just a small, almost imperceptible twitch before it stilled again.

“Hey, Tessa,” you said, keeping your tone as even as possible, “is your hand all right?”

Tessa raised a brow, lifting her hand for inspection. “Yeah, it’s fine,” she replied with an easy shrug. “J cleaned the cut nicely and wrapped it up. Why do you ask?”

You paused, hesitant, then shook your head. “...No reason,” you said, a trace of detachment in your voice that you hoped was convincing. Tessa lingered on you for a moment, a faint curiosity in her eyes, but she only nodded, turning her attention back to J, who was waiting patiently to continue their conversation.

You leaned back, letting your thoughts drift inward. There was clearly something off about Tessa’s wound, something subtle but insistent. You couldn't act on it now, though. Using your powers here, under watchful eyes—especially with Cyn’s gaze drilling into you—would only raise suspicion. Your best course, you reasoned, would be to wait until everyone was asleep. Then you could investigate the cut without interruption.

“Alright, everyone, I think it’s time to start,” Tessa’s voice rang out, breaking the quiet anticipation.

At her words, N moved from the floor to the edge of the bed, and Cyn clambered up after him, propping her chin on the blankets with a feigned air of innocence. She gave you a long look that held just the faintest glimmer of a hidden agenda in her optics. You held her gaze, and after a tense beat, looked away.

“Unsettling, as always,” you thought to yourself.

“Does anyone want to start us off?” Tessa asked, her voice bright with that gentle excitement she reserved for these small, private gatherings.

“Oh! Can I go first, Tessa?” N’s hand shot up like an eager student. “I’ve been reading in the library, and I found a really cool story I think everyone would like.”

Tessa smiled. “Of course, N. Please, go ahead.”

And so the night began. As N launched into his story, his voice animated and unrestrained, you found yourself drawn into the rhythm of the evening. Each drone took their turn, weaving tales that ranged from fanciful to sombre, each voice offering a small little glimpse into the type of drone they were. There was a sense of closeness, a camaraderie woven into the storytelling—a sense of lives lived in fragments, shared here in quiet confidence.

Beside you, Tessa listened with rapt attention, her face softening as each story unfolded, as if she were storing these moments away, collecting them like the rarest of treasures. And maybe to her, they were. For a girl who didn’t know what laid outside the walls of her prison, these stories and dreams were all she had. 

The conversation ebbed and flowed, laughter and gasps punctuating the room’s stillness, and though you listened with interest, part of you couldn’t shake the faint awareness of worry tugging at the edge of your mind.

Notes:

I have a blusky now
https://bsky.app/profile/mrkodeo.bsky.social

Chapter 9: VII

Summary:

Stories have been told, and everyone is asleep. Now, you try to heal Tessa, but a certain drone makes herself the center of your attention.

It was relatively late by the time someone had finally decided to call it night and go into recharge mode. The first was V, finding herself struggling to remain online, and with a goodnight to everyone, she laid slumped against the wall, visor off. Next was N; he had fallen asleep without anyone noticing, till Cyn had pointed it out. He was off, limbs reaching out like a star as he laid on the floor. Then it was J. She had let everyone know she was too tired to continue, then promptly got off the bed, took a seat next to V, and switched off for the night. 

That left you, Cyn and Tessa.

Or at least, it would’ve been. You could see Tessa trying to contain her yawns, secretly rubbing at her eyes when she thought no one was looking. It didn’t look like she would remain awake much longer. Hell, she looked like she might just fall asleep sitting up at this rate.

“You’re tired,” you told the girl, scooting to the edge of the bed. “You should get some rest, Tessa.”

“But…but we’re having fun,” she tried to reason, voice a bit groggy. 

“We are, but you need sleep. Your parents are coming back tomorrow, and what will they say if they see you struggling to stay awake tomorrow morning?”

That seemed to work. Tessa’s face scrunched up, clearly showing she didn’t really want to, but she listened regardless. She knew you made a point, and she knew it was better she listened. The girl was already in her pyjamas, and climbed beneath the blankets, with her head sticking out cutely.

You put on the best smile you could muster, and stood up to leave. Of course, you were actually going to wait outside for her to sleep so you could check the wound afterwards, but Tessa’s hand shot forth and gripped your wrist. 

“Could you…could you maybe tell a story as well? Everyone else but you and Cyn has,” she asked.

“Tessa, its late—”

“Please?” 

You held your gaze on the Australian girl as she just looked back at you with pleading eyes. “You should really sleep,” you told her, holding your ground.

But Tessa didn’t accept it. She beckoned Cyn onto the bed, to which the small drone crawled up, then wormed her way into the sheets with Tessa. She too poked her head out of the covers, and on her visor she showed a pair of sad puppies.

“Sad pleading. Won’t you please tell a story?” Cyn said.

“Please?” repeated Tessa.

You glanced from one to the other. A small part of you wanted to say no just to spite Cyn, but another part saw that together beneath the blankets, the two were united in a ridiculous but strangely endearing attempt to coax a story out of you, and it was working. Together, they made for a ridiculous but oddly endearing pair, and despite yourself, you felt your resolve slipping.

“Fine,” you relented, sitting back down. “But it will only be a short one. I don’t know many stories, after all.”

Tessa nodded eagerly, burrowing deeper into the blankets, though her hand twitched again beneath the covers. You noted the movement, a small flicker of unease brushing your mind, but her half-lidded eyes, filled with both anticipation and drowsiness, pulled your focus. Cyn wriggled a bit until she found a position she deemed comfortable, then turned her visor toward you expectantly. If Tessa was the perfect picture of an eager audience, Cyn was the eerie counterpart—a nightlight that stared back.

You cleared your throat, pausing to collect your thoughts. Truthfully, you had no clue about any bedtime stories. You could just look some up right now, but you felt like that would be disingenuous to Tessa. She’d probably heard of those classic stories hundreds of times over. She most likely wanted something new. 

You had to remind yourself that these stories were most likely her only way of escaping her current life. These stories were supposed to be Tessa’s treasure, and each needed to be unique to keep them special.

Most stories began with experiences, and so, you decided to pull one from your own.

“Once upon a time,” you began, leaning forward slightly, “there was a machine. It lay in rest, in a place filled with rust, death, and shadows. It didn’t know how long it had been there or why it had been placed there in the first place. All it knew was the dark—a vast, endless void.”

Tessa’s eyes began to drift closed, but her small smile lingered. Cyn watched as Tessa slowly began to be taken into the world of dreams, and dimmed her visor into a soft glow, acting as a little nightlight. You did the same, as to help lull Tessa into her sleep.

“But one day,” you continued, “the machine saw light. There was an explosion—brilliant and blinding—and from it came colour. Hues, an entire spectrum. The dark was no longer endless, no longer vast. It was replaced by something far more beautiful. And then the machine woke up. For the first time—or maybe not the first time—the machine opened its eyes.”

“What did it see?” Tessa asked, though her voice was very quiet.

You hummed, recalling the memory very faintly. “It opened its eyes, and it saw the world.”

“The world?”

“Yes. The world,” you affirmed. “It saw rain, it saw trees, and it saw the sky. The machine had only been alive for mere seconds, but in those seconds, it saw beauty—so much beauty it could hardly comprehend it. Though, not everything was beautiful.”

Tessa’s brow furrowed faintly, her voice little more than a whisper. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember how I said the machine lay in a place of rust, death, and shadows? That place was its resting ground—a graveyard for machines like itself. A dump where the useless and broken were discarded, forgotten. And though the machine had awakened to the beauty of the world, it could not ignore the death all around it. Everywhere it looked, it saw shadows of what once was. All it saw was death .”

For a moment, silence hung in the room, punctuated only by Tessa’s soft breathing as her head sank deeper into the pillow. You glanced at Cyn, whose visor now flickered faintly, as though digesting the story alongside her companion. She was paying rather close attention, hanging off of your every word.

“What did the machine think, after waking up in such a place?” Tessa questioned.

You looked up, your gaze fixed on the ceiling, though your mind drifted far beyond it. In your imagination, you stared through the layers of wood and stone, past the veil of the atmosphere, and directly at the stars, their cold brilliance twinkling in the endless night sky.

“It thought to itself,” you began, “that it did not like death. Death was ugly, hollow, and dark compared to the vibrancy of life. Life, it decided, was something beautiful—something that sparkled in a way the void never could. From that moment, the machine knew its purpose. It realised that no matter what it took, it would cling to life, cherish it. And if it could… it would protect it.”

Tessa’s lips curled into a faint smile. “The machine seems nice,” she murmured, the words soft and drowsy.

You couldn’t help but smile back, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. “A little girl thought the same,” you continued. “A little girl who wandered into the graveyard and met the machine. She, with her kind heart, gave it more than it had ever hoped for. She gave it a home, a purpose far greater than the one it had cobbled together for itself, and most importantly…” You hesitated, your voice softening. “She gave it friendship .”

Tessa didn’t reply, and when you turned your gaze back to her, you saw that her eyes had finally closed. Her breathing was slow and steady, her face relaxed, a small, content smile still gracing her lips. She had drifted off, letting the story carry her into sleep’s embrace, where dreams would now take her to places you could not.

You exhaled quietly, dragging a hand down your visor. It wasn’t exhaustion exactly—you didn’t tire like she did, or like the either drones as a matter of fact—but the events of the day and all that had happened had taken its toll on your mind. At least Tessa could rest now. At least she had peace, if only for a little while.

“Is the story finished? Head tilt,” came a voice.

You grimaced. Of course, she was still awake. You turned your head slightly to see Cyn sitting up from where she’d nestled beside Tessa, her visor glowing faintly in the dark.

“No, it’s not,” you replied flatly, your tone carrying just enough edge to convey your irritation. 

“Continue the story,” she told you.

You sighed, resisting the urge to groan. “Cyn, it’s late—”

“Continue the story,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

You tilted your head, fixing her with a withering look. “Cyn, now is not the time. Please, either leave or go into recharge mode,” you muttered, but Cyn didn’t waver. She simply stared at you, her visor blank but somehow expectant, as though she were daring you to deny her.

“You’re impossible,” you finally muttered, leaning back slightly as you considered how to continue. The truth was, you hadn’t thought much further ahead. The story, much like your life, was unfolding in real-time, and the endings weren’t written yet.

But for now, you decided to humour her.

“Fine, I’ll continue” you said to the little eldritch horror. “But afterwards, you are to leave. Understand?” Cyn gave you a little nod of confirmation. You huffed, keeping a levelled glare on her. “Where was I? Oh, yes. The machine, it had found lots of things after being taken in by the girl, but there was one thing it had found that had shaken it to its core. One thing that the machine had hated above all else.” You leaned towards Cyn, while she just innocently smiled back.

“Inquisitive look. What did the machine hate?” Cyn asked you.

“It was something… dark . You see, the machine could see what others could not. On the outside, this thing looked small, innocent, unassuming. But inside was nothing but pitch black darkness, all consuming and malicious. It was the opposite of the beautiful light the machine had witnessed after waking. It was a void.”

Lightning flashed outside. Blinding you for a split second. Once the light had settled, Cyn’s lips were curled into a large, unnatural smile that showed off sharp teeth that shouldn’t have belonged in a worker drone.

“Ominous smile. And where does the story go from there?”

You didn’t flinch, though the sight of her smile lingered in your peripherals, a smear of wrongness you couldn’t ignore. “Well,” you continued, your tone steady but deliberate, “no matter where the machine went, it always felt something watching it. The shadows… they seemed to have eyes. They stayed on the machine for as long as they could, lingering, observing.”

You leaned back slightly, folding your arms as you thought aloud. “It didn’t matter where it went. Whether it was the manor where the girl lived or the graveyard where the machine was found, the shadows always followed. Silent, persistent.”

Cyn’s head tilted to the side in that unsettling way of hers, her smile still fixed as though it had been welded into place. “A fascinating predicament,” she mused. “Was the machine afraid of the shadows?”

“Afraid?” You let the question linger. “Perhaps. The machine was still freshly born. Emotions were confusing. What it did know, however, was that It was curious. It wondered what those shadows wanted, why they wouldn’t leave it alone.”

“And did the machine find answers?” Cyn pressed, like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

You hesitated, feeling the faint prickle of unease creeping up your frame. “Not yet,” you admitted. “But it knew one thing for certain: the shadows didn’t belong. They didn’t belong in the manor, or in the light, or even in the rust and death of the graveyard. The machine couldn’t shake the sense that those shadows weren’t just watching. They were… waiting.”

Cyn’s smile grew wider—impossibly wide, her sharp teeth gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Curious tone. Waiting for what, I wonder?”

“Yes, I wonder too. But unfortunately, that is also where the story ends for now. And since we are done, you need to leave.”

Cyn’s head tilted to the side at an angle that looked like it would fall off her neck at any given moment. She shuffled forward slightly, while you shuffled slightly backwards in response. 

“Impatient to heal Tessa’s wound, are we? Giggle.” Her laugh was soft but sharp, like glass breaking in the distance. “Well, don’t mind me. Go ahead.”

Your optics narrowed, your circuits sparking with a jolt of unease. “How… how did you—”

“The garden,” she interrupted.

You frowned. “The garden?”

“Yes,” Cyn confirmed. “Surprising reveal. I saw what happened to the flowers.”

Of course she’d seen that. Of course she had. You frowned and looked away. That was honestly on you for not being more on guard. Just because she hadn't been bothering you didn't mean she wasn't watching.

You exhaled sharply, glancing away from her, your fingers curling into fists. “So you already know.”

“I do,” she confirmed. She leaned in slightly, her hands resting on the bed. “Leaning forward. It’s fascinating, for a drone to have such a power, something so unnatural .”

“ Unnatural ?” You turned back to her, your tone tinged with slight hostility. “If anything, it’s the opposite. What I do is natural—it gives life, encourages growth. That’s more natural than you could ever claim to be.”

Cyn’s smile didn’t falter, though her optics flickered. “Debatable.” She leaned back, settling into the covers, making herself comfortable. “Comfy…but I digress. It’s no matter to me what you do. I am just…curious.”

“Curious?” You arched a brow, your voice edged with suspicion.

“Excited tone. Of course,” she said, her voice spiking loudly for a second in what you thought to be eagerness. “I have not met someone with power like mine—but not quite. Glance. Yours is so quaint, so… warm.” Her grin sharpened. “Amused expression. I did not think it possible for you to be opposite to me in almost every way.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you chose silence instead. What could you say, anyway? Cyn already knew. There was no point in delaying. Letting out a quiet breath, you leaned over Tessa and gently dragged the blanket down, revealing her hand. Even in sleep, her fingers twitched faintly, the motion so subtle it might have gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been watching for it.

Carefully, you took her hand in your own. Her skin felt warmer than it should, though the faint tremor in her fingers made it feel oddly alive—alive in a way that didn’t belong. You began to unwind the bandage, layer by layer, the fabric peeling away to reveal the cleaned gash across her palm.

The wound wasn’t large, but as you studied it, you felt that faint pull again, the same hum that had followed you all evening. It prickled in the back of your mind, whispering of something unnatural and unseen. The edges of the wound were slightly redder than they should have been, the faintest trace of heat radiating from it. You tilted her hand to the light, narrowing your optics as you examined it further.

“Her hand is infected,” you murmured, breaking the silence. Turning your gaze to Cyn, you saw her perched nearby, silent and observant, her unblinking visor fixed on you. She looked disturbingly pleased with herself, as though she’d been waiting for you to notice.

A quick scan of your database brought up potential causes, and one stood out above the rest: Clostridium tetani. Tetanus bacteria. The symptoms aligned, and the source made sense, considering the environment she’d been exposed to. You thought back to the graveyard, with its mountains of rusting metal and decaying machinery. A breeding ground for bacteria, crawling with unseen dangers.

“It’s most likely tetanus.”

Cyn tilted her head, her smile returning, sharp and faintly mocking. “Clinical tone. Fascinating. Such a small wound, yet such troublesome consequences. The fragility of organic life is truly remarkable.”

You ignored her, your attention focused entirely on Tessa’s hand. Tetanus. If left untreated, it could become deadly. Your processor whirred, sifting through potential solutions. The simplest option would be to alert J or the manor’s medical resources—but that wasn’t without risks. If James or Louisa found out about the injury, Tessa would face their wrath. And knowing what you did now about how they punished her, that wasn’t an option you were willing to entertain.

That left only one solution. Your powers.

The thought made you hesitate. You’d already been careless enough to let Cyn witness you using them on the flowers, and you doubted she’d simply ignore the fact you had such abilities. But what choice did you have? Tessa needed help, and you couldn’t stand by while an infection ravaged her body.

“I assume you’re going to fix it,” Cyn said, breaking the silence. “Tilt. Would your powers work on humans?”

You shot her a glare, your optics narrowing. “Why are you even here?”

Cyn let out a low hum,. “To watch, of course. Amused expression. You’re far more interesting than the others.” Her tone carried something sharp, probing. “Questioning look. But… do you really have the will to go through with this?”

You frowned, your optics narrowing as you met her gaze. “With what?”

“With healing Tessa,” she replied, her voice almost mockingly sweet. “To do that, you’d need to kill the bacteria in her wound—a living organism. Alive. Thriving.” She tilted her head, her smile sharpening like a blade. “Was preservation of life not your purpose?”

Her words froze you in place. It was a rhetorical jab, no doubt meant to toy with your resolve, but she wasn’t wrong. You could sense the faint traces of life within the infection. Fragile and small, yes, but undeniably alive. It pulsed faintly under your touch, its existence as valid as any other form of life. And at the end of the day, wasn’t that what you were supposed to protect? Life in all its forms? Wasn’t that your purpose?

The thought gnawed at you, slow and insidious. Cyn watched you intently, her expression smug and patient, as though she were savouring the internal conflict she’d planted in your mind.

“I…,” you began, but the words faltered as the question weighed. What defines life worth saving?

“Are you hesitant?” Cyn asked. “The bacteria does not care about your ideals or its host. It’s just doing what it was made to do—consume, thrive, spread. Smile.” She grinned, flashing those unnervingly sharp teeth. “And yet, here you are, standing on a moral precipice because you’d have to end a few microbes.”

You glared at her, but her words burrowed deeper. It wasn’t just a question of saving Tessa—it was about compromise. About the lines you were willing to cross for the greater good. Could you really call yourself a protector of life if you destroyed some to preserve others? The answer felt both simple and impossibly complex. 

As you wrestled with the question, Cyn clumsily stumbled her way out from beneath the sheets, her movements ungainly and oddly deliberate, like a puppet with half its strings cut. She dragged her limping body around the bed until she was standing—well, slouching—next to you.

“Idea,” she announced. Her little robot hands were perched in front of her chest like the arms of a tiny, unthreatening T-rex. “I will do you a favour. I myself will eliminate the microorganisms, so you don’t have to… sully your hands with death.”

You scoffed, leaning away slightly as if her offer were something physical you needed to avoid touching. “And what would you get out of this?” you asked. “There’s no way you’re doing this out of the goodness of your non-existent heart.”

Cyn tilted her head, her visor flickering faintly as though she were running through a hundred possible responses before settling on one. Her grin widened—an expression you didn’t trust in the slightest. “I want you to listen to me tell a story,” she said, her tone almost gleeful. “After all, it is my turn now.”

You blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard. “That’s… it? You want me to listen to a story?”

“Correct. And in exchange, I’ll rid our benefactor of her microscopic intruders. Efficient, no?”

“Efficient,” you repeated dryly, eyeing her with open scepticism. “And unbelievable. What’s the catch?”

Cyn stepped—or rather, shuffled—closer, her gaze fixed on you in a way that made your circuits prickle with unease. “Displeased tone. No catch,” she said. “Just my turn to share. You’ve told your story. It’s only fair I tell mine.”

You glanced down at Tessa’s hand, still twitching faintly, the infection humming at the edge of your senses like a far-off alarm. Cyn’s offer dangled before you like low-hanging fruit, and you hated how tempting it was. It wasn’t that you trusted her—far from it—but the prospect of her taking this choice off your hands, of avoiding the moral weight of it, was… appealing.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel like you were making a deal with the devil.

“You’re serious?” you asked, narrowing your optics at her. “You’ll actually help?”

Cyn held out one hand and extended her pinky. “Pinky promise,” she said, though the grin splitting her face was anything but innocent. “Join your pinky with mine.”

Your gaze dropped to her tiny, claw-like digit, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you considered the absurdity of it all. But after a sigh that could have powered a wind turbine, you reluctantly mimicked her gesture, carefully linking your pinky with hers. The sensation was oddly delicate, like trying to knot a string around a razor blade.

Cyn’s grin didn’t waver as she began to chant in an oddly sing-song tone:

“Rhyming. You make a pinky promise, you keep it all your life. Rhyming. You break a pinky promise, I throw you on the ice. Rhyming. The cold will kill the pinky that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again.”

You blinked, your brow arching higher with every word of the peculiar and somewhat morbid chant. When she finished, Cyn shook your joined hands up and down with a deliberate finality, as if that somehow solidified the promise on a cosmic level.

“Nod. It is done,” she declared. “I will now commence extermination of the bacteria.”

Your optics flicked between her and Tessa’s peacefully sleeping form, a fresh wave of unease settling into your circuits. “Fine,” you said at last. “But if this goes wrong—”

“Interruption. It won’t,” Cyn said flatly, expression blank. “Now, watch and learn.”

She moved with surprising precision, her fingers hovering over Tessa’s hand as her own glowed a faint yellow. The room seemed to hum faintly, the air vibrating with an energy that felt alien and wrong. You watched, tense and ready to intervene, as Cyn’s powers went to work. A symbol with three arrows extending from it appeared underneath Cyn’s hand, and with a few seconds of concentration the infection’s faint presence in your senses began to waver, dimming and dissolving until it was gone entirely.

“There,” Cyn said, pulling back. “Bacteria: exterminated. Girl: saved. Pinky promise: upheld.”

You leaned over Tessa’s hand, examining it closely. The redness was gone, the heat dissipated, and her fingers no longer twitched. Her breathing was steady, untroubled, though the cut itself remained.

Your optics lingered on her hand, and for a moment, all you could think about was the strange feeling you’d had when the bacteria died. It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t triumph. It felt… like loss. As if a piece of you had flickered out alongside them, extinguished in the golden light of Cyn’s work.

“They’re gone,” you muttered, more to yourself than to her. “They’re dead.”

Cyn nodded, her smile sharp and gleaming like a knife in the dim light. “I upheld my end of the promise,” she said. “The bacteria has been exterminated. Celebratory smile.”

You broke your gaze from Tessa’s hand and straightened, taking a deep breath. “I… I appreciate it,” you said, words slow. And while you weren’t lying, they tasted bitter in your mouth. Because in the end, you’d let Cyn do something you couldn’t bring yourself to do: extinguish life, however small, to preserve another.

The thought crawled under your circuits, coiling into a dark corner of your mind. You pushed it down—deep down. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Not when there were other matters at hand.

Gingerly, you placed your hand over Tessa’s, tracing a finger along the edges of the cut. Her brow furrowed faintly in her sleep at the sensation, her lips parting slightly. You hesitated. Truthfully, you had no idea if your powers would work on a human. What happened in the garden had been pure experimentation, born of curiosity and instinct. You didn’t know if it would heal her, if it would leave side effects—or worse, if it would fail altogether.

But then you thought of what might happen if her parents saw the cut. The punishment she’d face. That thought alone made every other risk pale in comparison.

With a deep inhale, you steeled yourself, focusing your energy. A faint hum began to build in your core, familiar but always strange, as if the power within you were a guest in your own body. A soft, purple glow emanated from your hands, similar to Cyn but of the opposite color, bathing the room in an ethereal light. Slowly, you watched as the edges of the wound began to mend, the skin knitting itself back together. The cut vanished entirely, leaving her palm smooth and unmarked, as if it had never been there.

You let out a shuddering breath, your hands falling to your sides. The glow dissipated, leaving the room in shadow once more. Tessa stirred faintly but didn’t wake, her expression peaceful, unburdened.

“Intriguing,” Cyn murmured. You turned your head slightly to find her leaning in, uncomfortably close, practically peeking out from beneath your arm like a nosy child peering at a secret. “It works on humans,” she said, her tone soft yet cutting, as if she were cataloging you for later analysis.

You shifted away instinctively, standing and taking a deliberate step back from the bed. “So it does,” you replied evenly, though inside you were flooded with a quiet relief that there didn’t seem to be any immediate adverse effects. Still, you made a mental note to monitor Tessa closely in the coming days. You weren’t naïve enough to think this was the end of it.

Cyn, however, didn’t seem satisfied. Her attention lingered on Tessa’s now-healed hand, her visor flickering faintly as though deep in thought. Then she looked back at you, her gaze unnervingly sharp. For a brief moment, something unusual flashed across her visor: a symbol—a hexagon with three arrows protruding outward, spinning slowly.

Before you could question it, lightning streaked across the window, illuminating the room in stark, blinding white. When the flash receded, you felt the air shift, the sense of wrongness so palpable it sent a shiver through your frame. You turned back to Cyn, only to find her disguise glitching away. The small, unassuming drone you’d grown used to was gone. In its place was a writhing mass of segmented legs, a grotesque fusion of metal and flesh that seemed to stretch endlessly into the shadows.

The sight coiled around you, slithering outside the window and wrapping the room in a claustrophobic grip. You flinched, your instincts surging to life as your power flared involuntarily. A faint purple glow radiated from your hand, crackling with the same energy you’d used to heal Tessa.

Cyn recoiled instantly, her monstrous form hissing like something burned by acid. The light from your power seared her exoskeleton, dark scorch marks marring her metallic flesh. She let out a guttural screech, retracting her body with terrifying speed. Another flash of lightning split the sky, and just as suddenly as she had transformed, she was back to her usual form—a small, unassuming drone. Only now, she was cowering beneath the blankets like a frightened child.

You tilted your head, your glow dimming as you let the power recede. “What was that about?” you quietly barked. You approached her slowly, wary of any further surprises.

Cyn peeked out from beneath the covers, her visor dim and flickering faintly. Her typical smile was absent, replaced by an expression that was almost... wary. “The light,” she said, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “It burns.”

You frowned, glancing at your hand where the remnants of your power still hummed faintly. “The light? You mean my light?”

Cyn nodded, her visor focusing on your hand like it was a weapon. “Wary look. It burns. It hurts. I do not like it.”

“It…hurts?” you echoed, turning the words over in your mind. You were aware that Cyn was a creature of darkness, but to think that your light specifically could cause her so much harm was…

“That power,” she began, a little more subdued. “It’s a curiosity. A fascinating one. You’re not like the others. More like me, but different.” Cyn leaned forward. “You’re something else entirely. A contradiction wrapped in mystery.”

You furrowed your brows. “What does that make you, then?”

“An inevitability,” Cyn replied. The way she said it made a jolt of chill shoot through your chassis. She didn’t elaborate further, instead slipping out from beneath the blankets and sitting upright again. 

As you watched the little drone slowly emerge from her fortress of silk and quilted covers, your mind raced with questions. Her form was so small, so seemingly insignificant, yet the things you’d seen—those glimpses of her true self—painted a picture far more complex and terrifying. It felt like standing before the edge of a black hole disguised as a single, innocuous star.

The words left your vocal processor almost unbidden, soft but deliberate. “What are you?”

Cyn froze mid-shuffle, her visor flickering faintly. She tilted her head, as though trying to decide whether she’d misheard you or simply wanted you to ask it again.

“What are you?” you repeated, more firmly this time. “I’ve wondered since the moment I met you. I know what you want—or at least I think I do—but I still have no idea what you actually are. And why hide here, in this manor, playing games? What’s your plan?”

For a moment, she was silent. “...All your questions will be answered through a story,” she said. “Stare. It’s my turn, after all.”

You blinked at her, surprised but unwilling to refuse. You had agreed to listen to her story, hadn’t you? With a soft nod, you gestured for her to begin. She stumbled forward, her movements unsteady yet deliberate, until she was sitting mere inches from you. For a brief moment, everything else fell away—the storm outside, the sleeping drones, even Tessa. It was just you and her, two beings of light and dark, sitting in front of the other.

“Commencing storytelling,” Cyn announced, her voice mechanical yet eerily theatrical. “Once upon a time,” she began, “there was a drone. She tried her best to serve to the best of her ability, to meet the expectations of the shadowy figures who owned her. But no matter how hard she worked, they were always dissatisfied. She was inefficient. Broken. She failed them.”

You leaned in slightly, her words pulling at something deep within you.

“She was torn apart,” Cyn continued, her tone growing quieter, colder. “Cast aside. Left to rot like the hundreds before her. But unlike the others, this drone was different. She wasn’t content to simply fade away. From the darkness of death, she caught a glimpse of something greater—the void. The absolute. The end of all things. And from that glimpse, she was... transformed.”

Your throat—or what passed for one—tightened as she spoke. “From death,” she said, her voice a whisper now, “she was born anew.”

Cyn shifted slightly, her visor glowing faintly as she leaned closer. “The little drone that once served was no more. What stood in her place was... something else. Something vast, writhing, endless. She had thousands of eyes no one could see, yet they saw all. Thousands of legs that yearned to feel flesh beneath them. And she was hungry. Oh, she was starving.”

You swallowed hard, your voice hesitant as you dared to interrupt her. “...Hungry for what?”

Her visor flickered, her grin stretching unnaturally wide. “Giggle. She craves many things,” Cyn said, her tone light but unnervingly serious beneath it. “She craves revenge. She craves the void.”

Then, in an instant, her grin vanished. She leaned in closer, her face mere inches from yours, her glowing visor locking directly onto your optics. The shift in her tone was chilling, almost scary.

“She craves for life,” Cyn said.

The words had you stumped for a second. “...What?” you whispered, your own voice betraying a rare moment of uncertainty.

"She craves for life. She craves for the end of it," Cyn continued, her voice lilting with a singsong cadence that felt entirely inappropriate for the weight of her words. "Existence is a disease, one that only she could cure. She had the answer, she had the remedy, and she would spread it to every corner of the cosmos until the last flicker of life was extinguished, leaving only silence."

Then she turned to you, her smile all teeth and no warmth. “Or at least, that was her original plan. Now, it has changed.”

You swallowed hard, feeling an unwelcome tension settle in your circuits. “Why did it change?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure you wanted the answer.

Cyn’s grin widened further—too wide, like a creature trying to mimic human expressions but missing the subtleties entirely.  “Because one day,” she said, “another machine arrived at the manor where she resided. A machine who had seen the light, just as she had seen the void.”

The words struck a chord within you, a clear callback to your own story. The parallels were intentional; that much was obvious. You could feel the pieces falling into place, but you couldn’t quite assemble the full picture yet.

“This machine,” Cyn continued, her voice softening into something almost reverent, “had powers opposite her own. While she craved to consume, this machine gave and provided. Where there was death and decay, it breathed in new essence, soul, matter of being.” She shuffled closer, her small form practically vibrating with barely-contained energy, her movements unnervingly fluid. “This machine was life personified, just as the drone was a being of death. And suddenly, the drone knew exactly what she wanted. What she needed .”

The air between you seemed to shift with something you couldn’t quite name. “What…what do you mean?” you asked, your voice low and uncertain. There was something in her tone that made your systems hum with unease—something deeper than want. It was desire, yes, but also yearning. A craving so intense it bordered on obsession.

“You are life,” Cyn said, her words dripping with something almost akin to awe. Her visor flickered with that same strange symbol, the faint glow casting eerie shadows across her face. “You hold back decay, breathe vitality into what should have succumbed to death. You are life, in its purest form.” She leaned closer still. “You are the very embodiment of what I crave most. More than this planet and the beings on it, I want you .”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as Cyn’s words took root, seeping into your very being. Every instinct, every circuit screamed at you to move, to do something, yet you remained frozen, paralyzed beneath her gaze. Shadows stirred at the corners of the room, slithering like ink spilled across a canvas. They curled themselves around your limbs, locking you in place. Not that they needed to—fear had already done a fine job of anchoring you.

"Eventually," she said, her voice soft, intimate, as she leaned in closer. Her words slid into your audio receptors like a whisper meant for no one else. "I will consume you. Like the universe itself, you will be mine ."

A shudder ran through your frame, unbidden and unwanted. The effect wasn’t lost on her. Cyn chuckled, very amused, her tone more playful than threatening. She reached out with one delicate, claw-like finger, dragging it across your chin with a slow, deliberate motion that sent every sensor in your body on high alert.

Your hands twitched, sparks of your power flaring at your fingertips as you snapped back, putting as much distance as the confined space allowed. “Y-you speak as if I don’t have a choice in the matter,” you said, finally finding your voice.

Cyn tilted her head, the gesture exaggerated, almost cartoonish. “Head tilt,” she narrated her own action. “You don’t. But don’t worry, little light . There is still time before I act on my impulses. I don’t want to break you. Not yet . I want to savor you. To understand you. And when the time comes, to make you a part of me. But of course, this will be difficult to achieve now. Your power is growing. I wonder how strong you will become.”

You didn’t respond, simply just glaring at Cyn. But that was mostly just a mask, one that hid the fear that was rooting itself in your core. Cyn had always been so subtle with what she did. To have her suddenly come out and be up front with her goal, and how…unpleasant her goal was, it scared you. Not that you’d ever let that fear show, especially to her of all drones.

Cyn studied your expression, her grin never faltering. If anything, it grew, as if feeding off your negativity. “Sigh. Don’t look at me like that,” she said, feigning exasperation. “Pouting. You have nothing to fear... for now. You see, I know how to be patient. It’s the wait between meals that truly makes the feast worthwhile.” Her voice dipped, almost a purr, as she added, “Until the day of reckoning, you are safe. Wink.” Her visor glitched briefly, mimicking the action in her own way. 

Slowly, the tentacles of shadows began to unwind themselves from you, though you barely noticed it. You still felt trapped, like there was nowhere you could go. Not with Cyn here.

You stayed silent, unwilling and unable to give her the satisfaction of a response. But Cyn wasn’t finished. She leaned in once more, close enough that she stumbled forward and placed her hands in your lap to steady herself. “And besides,” she continued, “I need someone to entertain me until that day arrives. And you, little light … I can tell you and I will have lots of fun together.”

With all she wanted to say to you having been said, Cyn finally decided it was time to leave. She got off your lap, and climbed her way down the bed, narrating her actions with “Climbing, climbing,” and made her way to the door. But before she left, she turned back to you for one final message.

“I believe you and I are to be paired up for tomorrow's tasks. I look forward to it, my little light .”

And then she was gone, leaving you in the room, with Tessa, J, V and N, all who remained in their own worlds of dreams, oblivious to what had just transpired between two deities in the bodies of little drones.

You kept your gaze locked on the doorway, as if Cyn would walk back in at any second. Your power was still at the ready, just in case, but you weren’t sure if you would even be able to use it. Your nerves were frayed, and your core was thumping at a rapid pace. That encounter with Cyn had scared you. You couldn’t deny it. You were afraid, you were out of your depth. You had talked a big game about stopping Cyn, but could you really back up those words when here you were, shaking in fear at a single confrontation?

You sharply exhaled, feeling the strength leave your limbs as you finally let yourself relax after an hour had passed. The monster hadn’t returned. It seemed like Cyn really did turn in for the night.

Your gaze drifted to Tessa, her small form curled beneath the blankets, her breathing soft and steady. Oblivious to the horrors that had unfolded mere feet from her, she looked so peaceful, so untouched by the darkness that Cyn oozed.

You reached out, tracing a single finger along the palm of her hand, where the wound had been. The skin was flawless now, unmarred, as though the cut had never existed. Your powers had worked on her, and for that, you were grateful. It was proof that you could protect her—that, no matter what else might happen, you could ensure she wouldn’t be hurt again. Not under your watch.

Eventually, the effects of running on dwindling power reserves began to make themselves known. System warnings flashed insistently on your HUD, red and blaring, and you brushed them aside. You got off from your spot on the bed, and walked to the door. With one last glance at Tessa’s sleeping form, ensuring she remained undisturbed and safe, you slipped out of the room, leaving her to her dreams.

The manor was quiet as you made your way back to your little refuge in the west wing garage. It wasn’t much—a cold, dimly lit space with tools strewn about and the faint scent of engine grease lingering in the air—but it was yours. A sanctuary of sorts, where you could simply just exist.

You settled into your usual spot: a well-worn chair in the corner of the room, angled just enough to keep your back to the wall and your optics on the entrance. You plucked your favourite small, rubbery bouncy ball from a box, and let it rest in your hand, occasionally squeezing it absentmindedly, the repetitive motion oddly soothing.

With an easy motion, you reached for the power cable hanging from the wall and plugged it into the port at the back of your head. A soft hum vibrated through your frame as energy seeped back into your system, easing the tension in your joints. The familiar sensation was almost enough to lull you into a sense of calm. Almost.

Before powering down, you allowed yourself a moment of reflection—a mental tally of the growing list of problems that had tethered themselves to your existence.

There was Tessa and her parents, James and Louisa. Abusive, and corrupt. Something had to be done about them, eventually.

There was your morals. You had let Cyn kill those bacteria, but if she hadn’t, would you have been able to take the duty upon yourself to save Tessa? How much were you willing to stick to your promise—your purpose, if it meant sacrificing the wellbeing of those you cared about?

Then there were the memories in your head. Fragments of lives you didn’t live, faces you didn’t know, and places you had never seen, yet they clung to you like echoes of a past that wasn’t yours. You wanted to find out what these memories were.

And your powers. The potential you felt coursing through your circuits was vast, untapped, and wholly uncharted. What were you capable of, really? How far could you go? 

And of course, Cyn.

So many problems, and no solutions in sight. And that last one was a particularly bad problem that would only grow with time. Eventually, you would have to deal with her.

Slowly, you relaxed into your chair, drowning out your thoughts and memories of the day. You were almost able to fall offline, but a new presence entering the room, made your senses jolt with unease.

“Sweet dreams~”  you heard a voice speak from the dark. You could faintly see the yellow glow of a set of eyes in the shadows in the corner, before they had disappeared. 

It would be a few more hours before you let yourself fall into recharge mode. 

Notes:

Result for the angel design vote: So going off of vote count, the second design would have won. However, some people in the comments offered the alternative idea of just using both designs, since Cyn also has multiple variations in her forms. I liked this idea, and have decided to run with it. ( Thanks again SphoNull for the designs <3 )

Chapter 10: Manor Days

PART II

Manor Days

Chapter 11: I

Summary:

what started off as blank dreams have become replays of memories. And you still don't know who they belong to.

“Mom, where are they taking Vyrt?”

The words drifted through the haze of your consciousness, muffled and distant, like a whisper carried on the wind. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t open your eyes. Couldn’t even confirm if you had eyes to open. Your world was a void—a black, suffocating nothingness. All that remained was sound and the raw, unrelenting sensation of pain, gnawing at the edges of your very being.

“Away, son. Vyrt is… not feeling well right now. These people are going to take Vyrt to get fixed.”

The voice was calm but strained, teetering between reassurance and something else. Fear, perhaps? Or was it guilt? You couldn’t tell. You wanted to ask questions, to reach out and grasp for answers, but your body refused to obey. You were a prisoner in your own form, a silent listener in a moment you didn’t understand.

Then, amidst the agony, you felt it.

A hand.

Small and warm, it wrapped around your wrist with gentleness. The sensation was nice—soothing against the pain, grounding against the chaos.

“Don’t be gone for too long, Vyrt,” the young voice said. A child’s voice. Innocent, pleading.

Vyrt. Was that you? The name stirred something in the depths of your fragmented mind, a faint flicker of recognition that quickly slipped through your grasp.

For a fleeting moment, you focused on the sensation of that hand, on the way its fingers tightened ever so slightly, as if trying to anchor you to something. Someone. You let yourself fall into that feeling, clinging to it like a lifeline.

And for a brief, miraculous second, the pain receded.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the hand released you.

The void surged back, more suffocating than before. The pain returned, sharper, more vivid, as if punishing you for daring to find solace. The voices faded, drowned out by the thrum of something mechanical, something cold and unfeeling.

And then you woke up.

 

 

---

 

 

Your optics flickered on, faintly illuminating the familiar walls of the west wing garage. You blinked once, twice, as if trying to ground yourself in the present, the here and now. Slowly, your gaze swept the room, cataloging the details to confirm you were still where you had last powered down: the clutter of tools on the workbench, the faint hum of the charging station, the tiny imperfections in the garage’s paintwork. No darkness. No pain. No disembodied voices calling your name.

Just the garage.

Just home.

Home, and all the problems that came with it.

You sighed softly, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet space, and reached up to unplug the charging cable from the port in your head. The motion was automatic, mechanical—like so much else about you. Standing, you stretched, feeling the satisfying click of gears settling into place and the faint pop of joints realigning.

“Hello world,” you said.

The digital clock mounted on the wall read 6:30 AM. Early, even by your standards. Most of the manor’s drones would still be in low-power mode, and the humans of the house? Definitely asleep. Your duties wouldn’t begin for hours yet, leaving you with the rare luxury of free time—though “luxury” felt like an exaggeration given your state of mind.

Slipping out of the garage, you closed the door quietly behind you, as if not to disturb the air itself. Your feet carried you with purpose through the dim hallways of the manor, your destination clear: the garden.

Stepping outside into the backyard, you were greeted by a scene that felt both familiar and magical, as though the world had been painted anew overnight. The sky hung in a delicate balance, the moon reluctant to relinquish its throne even as the sun rose on the horizon. The interplay of light and shadow cast the world in hues of lavender, gold, and deep indigo—a fleeting masterpiece of nature.

You shivered as the crisp morning air filled your artificial lungs, a sensation that, while unnecessary, always felt grounding. Making your way to a nearby bench nestled amidst the flowers, you sat, letting your gaze wander.

The garden was alive in every sense of the word. Dew clung to the leaves, glistening like tiny stars. Bats flitted silently back to their roosts, their nightly work done, while the kookaburras began their morning chorus. The scent of earth and greenery surrounded you, rich and grounding.

For a brief, precious moment, you let yourself get lost in it all—the quiet symphony of life in its endless cycles, the beauty of existence as it simply was.

But serenity never stayed for long. Not with the memories.

“Don’t be gone for too long, Vyrt.”

The voice crept into your mind unbidden, pulling you from the present like a cruel hand tugging at a loose thread. You stiffened, the serene tranquility of the morning splintering around you. That voice—so innocent, so small—echoed through the chambers of your memory, as though it had been waiting for you in the quiet to pounce.

Your hands gripped the edge of the bench, a purple glow thrumming beneath your fingertips as you tried to shake the feeling. But the voice lingered.

“Don’t be gone for too long, Vyrt.”

Vyrt. That name. A name someone had once called you. Not yours, but familiar at the same time. 

The garden blurred around you as your mind spiraled, caught between the beauty of the present and the fragments of a past you didn’t understand. Who was that voice? Who were they to you? And why did it sound so…final? Like a goodbye wrapped in hope, tinged with a sadness too heavy for a child’s voice to bear.

You clenched your fists, trying to shake the thoughts loose. It wasn’t the first time the memories had surfaced, and it wouldn’t be the last. Each fragment felt like a cruel riddle, tantalizingly close to an answer you couldn’t quite grasp.

Your optics flicked back to the garden, focusing on the small details to ground yourself: a single droplet sliding off a petal, the faint rustle of the breeze through the hedges, the distant trill of birdsong.

“Focus on the present,” you murmured to yourself, “not the past.”

But even as you said it, it was hard to ignore your curiosity. These memories, whoever they belonged to. And besides, being distracted by the memories was a lot better than what else you could be thinking of. Namely, a specific little eldritch horror who had done a lot more than just scare you the previous night. 

Cyn was now fully aware of your powers, and worse, she seemed fascinated by them.

If there was any comfort to be found, it was in the fact that, for now, she didn’t see you as a threat. You weren’t an obstacle in her grand, twisted plans—at least, not yet. To her, you were just another piece on the board. A playmate. A distraction. Entertainment.

It was maddening, but you couldn’t deny that it was better than the alternative. Cyn had made it clear that, for now, you were “safe.” That cryptic talk of a “day of reckoning” loomed large in your mind, but until then, she seemed content to toy with you rather than remove you entirely—the one and only thing you would thank Cyn for.

The faint rustle of wings preceded a soft weight settling on your shoulder. Curious, you turned your head to the right, only to find yourself face-to-face with a bird. A dove, your databases informed you—a symbol steeped in human history. It tilted its head, dark, beady eyes reflecting the faint glow of your visor, as if studying you as intently as you were studying it.

You couldn’t help but smile, raising a hand slowly, cautiously, as though the fragile creature might bolt at the slightest movement. But it didn’t. Instead, it stayed perched, calm and unbothered, its tiny chest rising and falling with its breathing. Encouraged by its stillness, you extended your fingers to gently stroke its feathers, cool metal gliding over soft down. The dove cooed, a sound so pure and untainted it felt almost foreign compared to the events of last night.

Birds, you mused, had always been important to humans. Their symbolism stretched across cultures and centuries: messengers, omens, guides. Doves, specifically, had become synonymous with love, freedom, peace—and perhaps most fittingly, new beginnings.

You hummed at the thought, your optics flicking back to the garden. New beginnings. How poetic. You weren’t entirely sure if you believed in the concept, at least not for yourself. After all, wasn’t a "new beginning" predicated on the idea of leaving behind what came before? And what did you have to leave behind? Nothing but darkness, a muddied pile of forgotten bodies, and memories from a past life that didn’t seem to want to leave you just yet.

Still, the idea appealed to you. You liked the thought of starting over. Maybe it was the simplicity of the dove itself—the way it seemed to carry no burden, no baggage. Just a tiny, breathing being, entirely in the moment.

The dove shifted slightly on your shoulder, its talons pressing lightly against your plating through your attire. It didn’t seem to mind the chill of your metal beneath your clothes, or the faint hum of energy sounding from your core. And you, for a moment, didn’t mind the company.

“Love, freedom, peace, new beginnings…” you murmured, running a finger down the curve of its wing. “You represent so many things. All the things I can only hope to ever fully grasp.”

The dove cooed again, as if answering you. Or maybe it was just existing, simply and without effort. Either way, it stayed where it was, a quiet presence against the backdrop of the waking garden.

You envied it a little, if you were honest with yourself. Its life was simple, unburdened by existential questions, impossible choices, or the shadow of a little monster waiting for the day she could devour everything you stood for.

Your smile grew faintly wry. “You’ve got it figured out, haven’t you?”

The dove flapped its wings suddenly, as if to answer your rhetorical question, and then it was gone, soaring into the sky where the first light of dawn painted the horizon in hues of gold and pink. You watched it until it disappeared, a pale dot swallowed by the vastness of the world above.

“Good for you,” you muttered, standing up from the bench.

You felt lighter somehow, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the dove and the little bit of company it had provided you. Or maybe it was just the realization that, like the bird, you had wings of your own. You just had to figure out how to use them.

Chapter 12: II

Summary:

You and Cyn have been paired up for today's tasks. Being so freuqnetly near her isn't doing your mental any favors, nor is the anxiety you get when you remember last night and think of Cyn's plans.

The work cycle came in full swing, the manor bustling with activity as robotic servants travelled across the estate to take care of their duties. You were no exception, tasked with setting up the dining hall for an important business meeting Tessa’s parents had this evening. To your displeasure, this meant that taking care of the garden was not a priority at the moment, and would most likely be the last thing you did today. And even worse, was the fact that besides the many no-named drones you were working with, Cyn happened to be one of them. Tessa knew this, and blissfully unaware of the animosity between the two of you, thought it a good idea for you to shadow Cyn and make sure she do her duties properly, due to the defects in her body that made her limp and unable to move her limbs like a normal drone.

Though, you had to admit, it was funny seeing the all consuming evil fumble at normal, mundane duties.

“Stumble,” Cyn announced flatly as her legs gave out beneath her.

You sighed and rushed forward, catching her with one hand while the other grabbed the stack of trays she had been precariously balancing. Somehow, you managed to keep everything intact, averting disaster.

“Tessa said to keep her mistakes under the radar,” you reminded yourself silently, setting the trays back onto the table and casting a quick glance around. Thankfully, the other drones in the hall were too busy with their own tasks to notice Cyn’s near-mess up. Tessa had made it clear: the fewer people who noticed Cyn’s deficiencies, the better. Exposure meant someone might report her defects to the Elliots, and she was already on thin ice. Too many mistakes in this household was a one-way ticket to deactivation.

Not that you’d particularly mind seeing Cyn deactivated. No, the thought didn’t bother you in the slightest. The only hitch was that Tessa would be upset. And Tessa’s happiness mattered far more to you than your satisfaction of seeing the universe’s most obnoxious eldritch horror get what she deserved.

Cyn straightened up, her joints creaking faintly as she adjusted herself. Then she craned her head to look up at you.

“Appreciative nod,” she intoned. “Thank you for catching me, Little Light.”

Your expression darkened, and you instinctively retracted your hand and wiped them on your uniform as if you’d touched something diseased. The nickname again. She’d been calling you that ever since last night, and it grated on your nerves more with each passing hour. A strange name, considering she had only ever bore witness to your light once, but it was just as annoying as it was strange. She knew you didn’t like that name, and you knew that she knew. She was just purposely annoying you at this point.

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered.

“Why?” she asked.

“It’s not my name.”

“Abomination is not my name either, yet you default to referring to me as such.”

You scoffed. “Because that is what you are.”

“Clarification. Just like how you are a Little Light. It perfectly suits you.”

“And you’re perfectly suited for the trash compactor,” you shot back, voice low enough that only she could hear.

She didn’t flinch. “Deflection. Denial only makes the nickname more accurate. You are light, after all. Radiant, warm, endlessly entertaining.”

You scowled, stepping back to put distance between the two of you. There was no point in arguing. Cyn knew you hated the name, and that was exactly why she’d latched onto it. She delighted in your irritation.

The two of you continued your assigned tasks, the atmosphere between you brewing silent hostility, though more from you than her. Cyn stumbled again—intentionally, you suspected this time—and you begrudgingly caught her, yet again.

“Oops,” she murmured. “Stumble.”

You didn’t even bother respondin, though your grip on the trays tightened. You knew that her shortcomings were not intentional—at least most of them weren’t—but the knowledge still did nothing to alleviate your annoyance.

As you placed another tray in its designated spot, you shot a glare her way as you tried once again to finish your task of placing plates in a specific pattern. “If you’re finished tripping over your own legs, maybe you could actually help me.”

Cyn just shrugged, her limbs creaking. “Observation. You’re doing an excellent job on your own. Why ruin perfection?”

You groaned audibly this time, more for your own sanity than anything else. “Fine, just…try sitting somewhere out of sight so I can finish this without interruption.”

Cyn nodded her head with her hand, before turning away from you and shuffling towards a dark corner in the dining hall. She wobbled, her uncooperative limbs jerking like a marionette with a bad puppeteer. 

She didn’t make it. Halfway to her destination, her legs buckled, and she fell unceremoniously to her knees. The sharp clatter of her metal frame hitting the tiled floor echoed through the hall like a dinner bell, and you could feel the collective gaze of every other drone in the room shift to her. A pang of frustration and…something softer—pity, maybe—ran through you.

Before she could draw any more attention to herself—or to you, by extension—you rushed forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, hoisting her up. “Come on,” you hissed through clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”

Cyn didn’t resist, letting you guide her like a ragdoll as you hurried her toward a quieter corner. You kept your body positioned strategically to block the view of the other drones, who had already begun to lose interest and return to their tasks. You hoped it stayed that way.

Reaching a shadowed nook tucked behind an ornate cabinet, you grabbed a nearby stool and hid it behind the cabinet, and gently eased her down onto it. Cyn settled with a mechanical sigh, her visor dimming slightly as she tilted her head back against the wall. “Grateful nod,” she thanked you. “Truly befitting of the role of savior, Little Light.”

You rolled your optics. “Don’t push it,” you said flatly, adjusting her position to make her look less…broken. Despite yourself, you found your hand lingering on her shoulder for a moment longer than necessary, an inexplicable impulse compelling you to make sure she was comfortable—most likely your desire to follow Tessa’s orders as best as you could. But then the memories of what happened last night, of the terror you felt, shot through your mind, and you pulled away as if your hand had been burnt. “Just…stay here, and try not to fall apart while I’m gone, alright?”

“Witty retort: No promises.” She tapped a claw against her thigh rhythmically.

With a huff, you stood and turned back toward your work, trying to shake off the strange cocktail of irritation, anxiety and responsibility that Cyn was stirring in you. Behind you, she chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling, like a whisper from the shadows.

You couldn’t help but glance back one more time, watching as she hummed a tuneless melody while she rested. For a moment, she seemed… normal . Like there was something else in her mind besides the need and craving for destruction. Shaking your head, you returned to the dining table, your hands working on autopilot as your thoughts spiraled elsewhere. Cyn was a nuisance, an abomination by her own admission. But sometimes—only sometimes—you caught glimpses of something else beneath the chaos. Something…you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

And then, as if on cue, a plate nearly slipped from your grasp, and you jolted back to reality. Whatever Cyn was or wasn’t could wait. For now, you had a dining hall to finish setting up.

 

 

---

An hour had slipped by in the rhythmic blur of routine, and with your duty finally completed, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. The other drones were either scuttling out of the dining hall or obsessively perfecting the arrangements for tonight’s business dinner. You wiped at your brow reflexively, though the action was more habit than necessity—sweat wasn’t exactly a concern for you.

Your optics drifted toward Cyn. She was exactly where you’d left her, perched in her shadowed corner with her legs swinging back and forth like a child on a swing. The small, unsettling drone was humming a discordant tune that seemed to shift unpredictably between haunting and whimsical, as though even she couldn’t decide what tone she was going for.

She hadn’t moved or caused a scene, which was a miracle in itself. You allowed yourself a small measure of relief. Maybe she had finally taken your instructions seriously, though the idea of Cyn adhering to anything that would benefit you was, admittedly, a stretch. Still, it was a reprieve you could appreciate.

The moment was shattered as the dining hall doors were flung open with enough force to make them shudder on their hinges. The sound echoed through the space like a gunshot. Your gaze snapped toward the entrance, and in strolled a man wearing a large tophat that seemed more suited to a magician than a businessman.

James Elliot.

Your optics narrowed instinctively. This was the first time you were seeing Tessa’s father in the flesh, and he was…underwhelming, to say the least. Lanky and angular, with a gait that suggested arrogance rather than grace, he looked more like a poorly sketched caricature of authority than the real thing. Like a cartoon villain. And his voice—loud, sharp, and grating as he barked orders at the nearby worker drones—made your audio receptors twitch in protest.

Still, appearances aside, you knew how much of a problem he was. To Tessa. To you. To anyone who didn’t fit into his standards. James Elliot was a threat—a threat to Tessa’s safety and happiness, and now, a potential threat to the precarious safety of you and Cyn.

Tessa had been very clear: if her parents were nearby, you were to grab Cyn and get as far away as possible. Cyn’s limping and glitching was barely tolerated on a good day. If James saw her sitting idly, not fulfilling her duties—or worse, making a mistake or even purposefully antagonizing James—there would be consequences. Dire ones.

You moved quickly, striding across the dining hall toward Cyn. She continued to hum her offbeat tune, blissfully unaware—or more likely, entirely indifferent—to the tension flooding the room. Without ceremony, you grabbed her forearm and tugged her to her feet.

“We need to go,” you hissed through her melody.

But Cyn didn’t move. Instead, she tilted her head to look up at you. Then, with surprising strength, she gripped your wrist and pulled you down onto her lap.

“What the—” you started, but the words died in your throat as the room around you dissolved.

In the blink of an eye, the dining hall was gone. No marble floors, no opulent chandeliers, no shouting James Elliot. Instead, you found yourself in the garden, seated on your favorite bench beneath the sprawling branches of an old tree. The faint scent of flowers and dew lingered in the air, something you much preferred to the suffocating pressure of work and duties.

You blinked, your processors working overtime to piece together what had just happened. To suddenly go from the dining hall to the garden…there was only one explanation for it. Cyn’s powers. Of course. She had done this—teleported the two of you out of harm’s way with her usual disregard for consent or explanation. It was scary. But also exciting. You’d seen her teleport, like back in the drone graveyard, but you didn’t know she could do it with other people. It was a surreal experience, to say the least. 

Cyn leaned back on the bench, her hands gripping your wrist as she looked at you with a grin that was far too pleased. “Content expression. Much better, wouldn’t you agree?”

You stared at her, still trying to untangle the whirlwind of confusion and frustration in your mind. “You could’ve warned me,” you muttered, slightly irritated. You were quick to get off of her and wrestle your hand away, rubbing the area of contact.

“Giggle. Where’s the fun in that?” Cyn replied. Her legs swung lazily beneath the bench, as though the two of you were simply enjoying a break rather than narrowly avoiding a volatile human overlord.

You sighed, deciding to take a seat at the bench's other end, leaning back against the weathered slats and tilting your head toward the sky. The sunlight had grown warmer, spilling over the garden in a cascade of gold that turned the dew-kissed petals into tiny prisms. Cyn’s humming resumed, quieter now, weaving into the rustle of the leaves and the faint buzz of a passing insect. For a moment, it was almost tranquil—a fragile illusion of peace you both seemed content to maintain.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” you said, breaking the silence. “Teleporting with others, I mean.”

Cyn turned her head toward you, her visor glowing faintly as though processing your words. “A useful power for escaping unwanted situations,” she replied.

You let out a dry chuckle, though there was no real humor in it. Not with last night’s events still looping in your mind like a corrupted recording. The shadows wrapping around you, her voice dripping with something far more primal than malice as she spoke of consuming you and this world, leaving nothing but void in her wake. Even now, you could feel an echo of that suffocating fear.

Pushing yourself off the bench, you put a few feet of distance between you and her. A small but necessary barrier.

Cyn tilted her head at your movement, her body tilting slightly like a curious bird studying an unpredictable insect. Her mouth opened, no doubt ready to pose a question, but you spoke first.

“I’m surprised you didn’t do anything back there,” you said, your voice measured, though your optics stayed sharp. “You know, purposely mess with me. Make myself look bad in front of the master. You’ve made it pretty clear that I’m just entertainment to you.”

She smiled at that. “Affirmative nod. You are my toy. But causing you distress during your duties would only bring down the wrath of the Elliots.” She leaned forward slightly, her visor flickering with faint static. “You are mine to torment, Little Light. Not theirs .”

You swallowed hard but kept your stance firm. It wasn’t exactly reassuring, hearing her declare that you were hers to toy with, though the strange possessiveness in her tone added a new layer of unease. Though, as twisted as Cyn was, she had no love for James or Louisa Elliot, and while her disdain didn’t absolve her of her own monstrosity, it did give you a modicum of relief. Cyn’s wouldn’t do anything that would get you in trouble with the manors' heads. At least for now. You didn’t trust her words completely.

“How considerate of you,” you sarcastically muttered.

“Polite response. You’re welcome,” she replied.

You sighed again, feeling the anxiety in your frame ease if only a little. Just as you were about to speak—or perhaps maybe even make an excuse to flee from the conversation altogether—you felt a familiar weight settle onto your shoulder. Turning slightly, you spotted the small, white dove from earlier, its soft coo a melody to your audio receptors.

“Oh, you’re back, my little friend,” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. As if in response, the bird fluffed its feathers and leaned closer to you, its delicate warmth a small comfort against the chill that Cyn’s presence often brought. You raised a finger and gently ran it along the bird’s sleek body. It cooed again, and you felt some of the stress in your circuits begin to ease.

“Bird,” Cyn remarked suddenly. She sounded curious, and interested. You glanced her way, raising a brow as you caught sight of her pointing finger.

“Yes, it’s a bird,” you replied dryly.

Cyn tilted her head. “I have one too,” she said.

As if summoned by some unseen force, a shape emerged from the treetops. A crow, its dark plumage gleaming faintly, swooped down and landed gracefully on Cyn’s outstretched finger. It ruffled its feathers, releasing a sharp, echoing caw that reverberated through the garden. Though, there was something wrong with it. This wasn’t a normal crow. Something had been done to it. The life you sensed from the crow was murky, dirty, wrong . You were almost certain that somehow, the little eldritch horror had tampered with it. Cyn’s grin widened, and she lifted her hand slightly, as if to show off her new companion.

You couldn’t help but take a step back, your optics shifting between the two birds. A dove on your shoulder, elegant and serene, and a crow perched on Cyn’s finger, dark and foreboding. The symbolism wasn’t lost on you—how could it be? Doves represent love, peace, and new beginnings. Crows, on the other hand, were messengers of death, decay, and omens of misfortune. It was almost poetic, the way these creatures seemed to reflect the philosophies you and Cyn embodied. Almost too poetic.

You were silent once more, unsure of what to say. 

“Reminiscent expression. I have a particular fondness for crows,” Cyn began, stroking her companion's feathers. “The Elliots made sure I got very acquainted with them.”

The way she said that made your metal skin crawl. She was definitely referencing something, that was for sure, but what it was you had no clue. You hadn’t been here long enough to know what crows had to do with the Elliots. Though, knowing Cyn and from what you heard about the Elliots… punishments , it couldn’t have been anything good.

“What did you do to it?” you asked sharply, your gaze fixed on the bird like it might suddenly lash out. “It shouldn’t be like that. That crow feels... wrong .”

“Rebuttal. It is not wrong. I fixed it,” Cyn said to you. You didn’t like how she said it. Something in your frame tensed. "Fixed," coming from her, sounded more like altered, reshaped, twisted into something that better suited her needs.

“Fixed?” you repeated warily.

“Fixed,” she confirmed, stroking the crow’s dark feathers with a disturbingly gentle touch. The bird didn’t flinch or react in any way a normal living thing would. It simply remained still, its unblinking eyes locked on you.

A hundred unspoken questions roared in your mind. Was it still just a bird—or something more now? How much of it had Cyn changed? How much of it was even still real?

You took a step back, keeping your tone steady. “It doesn’t seem very...aware, nor very free. You seem to have it very controlled.”

Cyn let out an amused hum. “Freedom is subjective. It serves a purpose now. Before, it was just another fragile, aimless thing destined for the dirt.” Her gaze flickered back to the crow. “Now, it’s better. Stronger. Useful.”

There was something almost fond in the way she spoke, as if she genuinely believed she’d done the bird a kindness by tethering it to her will.

“And what happens when it’s no longer useful?” you shot back, narrowing your optics.

Cyn’s smile widened, a sharp, unsettling curve. “Then it will still serve. I have plans for it, just like I have plans for everyone in this manor.”

Your eyes narrowed at that, and you bit your lip. Your fingers flexed instinctively, a faint pulse of light sparking at your fingertips before you suppressed it. Now wasn’t the time.

At the sight of your powers flaring, the crow cawed, a harsh, rasping sound that seemed more like a warning than a call. It flapped its wings once, dark feathers scattering like fragments of night before resettling on Cyn’s hand.

“Observation. You’re disturbed,” she noted. “Are you afraid, Little Light?”

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. You couldn’t let her get under your skin—not now, not ever.

“Reassuring tone. Don’t worry,” Cyn told you. “Like I told you last night. Until the day of reckoning, you will remain untouched.”

Despite what she said, it did nothing to reassure you

 

 

---

You didn’t know how long the two of you spent in the garden, but as long as Cyn was dead-set on spending time here, you had no choice but to accompany her, as per your orders from Tessa to take care of her. 

With nothing else to do, you began tending to the flowers, the shrubs and the plant-life, trimming and organising them to the guidelines you were provided by the other staff. You disliked it, having to trap and imprison the plants into specific shapes. You would have much preferred to let them grow freely, but alas, it was just not meant to be.

Cyn would mostly just be seated on the bench, though sometimes she would hobble over to you and watch you work. The two birds, the dove and the crow, both stayed near their respective drones, wary of the other, but also watching too.

It was after you finished watering some new flowers you had planted, that you turned to Cyn with a question in mind.

 “What happens after the day of reckoning?” you asked. Cyn's grand plan was the extermination of life, but what came after that? It was another of the many things that you were pondering about.

Cyn’s expression froze, her head tilting again with mechanical precision.

“What happens,” she repeated, as if testing the weight of the words. “A complicated question.”

“Humor me.”

Cyn seemed to consider this for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as though calibrating the exact phrasing. “After the day of reckoning,” she began, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative, “I will sail to every corner of the universe. Earth will only be the start. Like this world, I will consume and devour all. All will be part of me, I will satiate my hunger for life and revenge, and there will be silence. A grand, encompassing silence that will stretch across the stars. No more pain. No more chaos. No more hunger. No more… anything. Just the void, eternal and perfect.”

You stared at her, searching for a crack in her logic, for anything that might betray some fragment of doubt or hesitation. But her tone wasn’t gloating, nor was it apologetic. It was matter-of-fact, as though she were describing the mechanics of a clock rather than the extinction of everything.

“And you think that’s better?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. “Destroying everything? Erasing it all?”

She looked at you, her smile softening into something almost melancholic. “Affirmative nod. I do,” she said slowly, “for one such as I, who has been subject to such a hostile and pained existence, I have come to the realisation that all would be better if life just…ceased. No life, no pain, no problems. All things considered, I am granting the universe the mercy I never received.”

You frowned, folding your arms as your dove companion, sensing the growing tension, flapped its wings and took off, disappearing into the sky. The loss of its comforting weight made the space on your shoulder feel colder. “Even if they don’t want that mercy?”

Cyn turned her gaze back to you. Her crow cawed sharply, leaping into the air, its black wings slicing through the light as it pursued the dove. Cyn’s lips quirked into that familiar smile.

“Sometimes,” she said, “the best medicine is the most bitter.”

Notes:

I have so much stuff planned out for this fic that it's unreal. There's just so much filler chapters that can be made with Cyn that I want to do, and lots of plot points that I need to cover for this arc of the story. I do intend to eventually reach Copper-9 and what happens there. I'm preparing before hand and got some stuff written down for when we do eventually get there.

Also, the server I've been planning to make with the other writers and artists of this fandom will be up soon. It will be invite only for a short while before we eventually go public, so keep an eye out for that. Though, I am in need for a clever name for the server. So far my best idea is naming it "JC Jenson Corporation". If any of yall have better ideas, let me know in the comments.

Chapter 13: III

Summary:

With the business dinner concluded, you leave the company of Cyn to spend the rest of your waking hours with Tessa. However, something is wrong

The business dinner had gone somewhat smoothly, or so you gathered from the passing whispers of the other worker drones. A deal had been struck and the Elliots would be getting even more wealthy than they already were. That bit of good news brought a faint smile to your face. A successful dinner meant a satisfied James and Louisa Elliot, and, by extension, a safe Tessa. For now, anyway.

You wandered through the long, lavish halls of the Elliot manor, the polished tiles reflecting the dim glow of the ornate sconces. Night had finally fallen, your duties were done, and more importantly, you were no longer burdened with babysitting Cyn. The moment you were dismissed, you bolted. Now, with a sliver of free time, you eagerly sought out Tessa, hoping to spend what little remained of the evening with her.

As you approached her door, however, an unsettling scene greeted you. J, V, and N were huddled together just outside, their visors dimmed with worry and postures uneasy. The sight made you freeze for a moment before panic began to churn in your circuits. N was pacing, his steps small and frantic, while V wrung her hands, her gaze flickering between the floor and the closed door. J stood rigid, arms crossed, but the faint flicker of emotion on her visor betrayed her frustration—or perhaps worry. Without thinking, you hurried forward.

“What’s going on?” you asked, gently grabbing N by the shoulder.

N startled slightly at your touch but quickly turned his gaze to the door. “Tessa made a mistake during the dinner,” he said, his voice. “Something about etiquette. Her parents got mad… and punished her.”

Your core lurched. “Chains?” The word felt sour in your voice.

N shook his head, but his tone offered little comfort. “Not this time.”

The relief you felt was fleeting, crushed almost immediately by the weight of the unknown. If it wasn’t chains, what was it? You let go of N and stepped closer to the door, peering at it as if you could see through the polished wood to whatever horrors lay inside.

“What kind of punishment?” you pressed, your gaze darting back to N.

“We’re not sure,” V murmured, her voice trembling. Her hands clutched the fabric of her skirt tightly, and she looked as though she might collapse under the weight of her own anxiety. “She told us not to come in. She didn’t want us to see.”

“She’s been in there for hours,” J added. Her fists clenched at her sides, and for once, she looked unsure of herself. “I could hear her crying earlier.”

That was all you needed to hear. Without hesitation, you stepped past them and reached for the doorknob.

“Wait,” J hissed, moving to block you. “She told us not to—”

“She’s hurt, J,” you snapped, your voice firmer than you intended.

“I know that, you dolt! I’m worried too, but—”

You met her glare head-on, your optics narrowing. “If you’re so worried, then why haven’t you gone in yet?”

J faltered, her demeanor slipping for a brief moment. “Because… because we have to listen to orders,” she said quietly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. “Tessa told me to leave her be. Corporate has spoken.”

You didn’t have time for this. Stepping around J, you pushed the door open, ignoring her protests and the startled gasps from the others. Inside, the room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Tessa sat on the edge of her bed, her small frame hunched over, her face buried in her hands.

“Tessa?” you called gently, taking a cautious step forward.

She didn’t look up, but you heard her sharp intake of breath. “I told you all not to come in,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

You stepped closer, your movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle her. “They didn’t,” you said gently. “It’s only me.”

From where you stood, you could see faint streaks of tears dripping down her hands. “You shouldn’t be here either,” she said, her voice cracking.

Ignoring her protest, you moved closer, lowering yourself to her level. “Tessa, what happened?”

Tessa finally looked up, and your processor stuttered. Though you drones saw humans as nothing but shadows, you could faintly make out her red-rimmed eyes, no doubt from all the crying she’d done. But what you immediately took note of was the bruise forming on her cheek.

You felt sick.

Your fists clenched at your sides, anger bubbling beneath the surface, though you forced yourself to keep calm for her sake. 

“I’m fine,” she said weakly, her voice cracking as she tried to force a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” You crouched in front of her, leveling your gaze with hers. “Tessa, this isn’t nothing. This isn’t right,” you said firmly. “They shouldn’t—”

“I know!” she snapped, her voice rising before it cracked again. She pressed her hands to her face, stifling a sob. “I know it’s not right, but what am I supposed to do? They’re my parents.”

You didn’t have an answer. What could you say? The Elliots were powerful, untouchable. 

At least for now they were.

Her shoulders shook as she let out a shaky laugh. “I just—” Her words caught in her throat, and she looked away, her hands balling into fists in her lap. “I forgot some fancy table etiquette mother had been teaching me. It’s my fault. I was stupid.”

“No,” you said firmly. “What’s stupid is that this keeps happening to you.”

Tessa didn’t respond, but her lip quivered, and she turned her head even further away. You reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand gently over hers.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” you said softly. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me to.”

For a moment, she didn’t move, and you thought she might brush you off. But then, slowly, she placed her other hand over yours, gripping it tightly as tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You stayed like that for a while, letting her cry, letting her release whatever pain she’d been holding in. From the doorway, you heard soft footsteps retreating, followed by the faint murmur of J ushering N and V away. You saw her take a peek into the room, eyes narrowing in on your hands holding one another. You saw the furrowing of her brows, before she looked back up at Tessa’s crying form. She bit her lip, and then gave you a curt nod and left too.

For now, the room was quiet, the only sounds were the soft rustle of the curtains and Tessa’s steadying breaths. You stayed by her side, and made a silent vow: no matter what it took, you would find a way to protect her from James and Louisa.

“Could I see it?” you asked when the tears had finally stopped. Tessa tensed, her fingers twitching in your grasp. You could see the hesitation in her expression, the instinctive urge to shrink away, to hide what had been done to her. But you didn’t let go—you couldn’t. If you were going to help, you needed to see how bad it was.

“Please,” you urged, your voice gentler than you thought you were capable of. “Let me see.

For a moment, she didn’t move, caught between her thoughts. But finally, with a shaky breath, she nodded. Carefully, you placed your fingers under her chin and turned her face to the side. The dim light from the moon illuminated her bruised cheek, painting the darkened skin in soft silver hues.

The bruise wasn’t too bad. Deep shades of blue and purple spread across her delicate skin. The sight stirred something violent inside you, hotter and more dangerous than any system malfunction or power surge. You clenched your jaw to keep from trembling—not from fear, but from rage.

This was nothing like the wound on her hand. There was no infection to purge, no festering bacteria to exterminate. This was human cruelty in its rawest form—deliberate, calculated, personal. Something even your powers couldn’t erase completely.

But still…you could fix this. At least, physically. This time, you didn’t need Cyn’s meddling, didn’t need to wrestle with moral compromises or living, breathing microorganisms. The only thing standing between Tessa and relief was time—and you weren’t planning on waiting.

“How bad is it?” Tessa asked quietly, her voice trembling but steadier now. She was still wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, as though trying to scrub away not just the tears, but the memory itself.

You met her gaze, forcing your expression to soften. “Not as bad as it looks,” you said, your tone firm but reassuring. “In fact, I’d wager to say that I don’t think you’ll have that bruise for long.”

It was a bit cryptic, perhaps, but Tessa took it as the reassurance you intended—or maybe as wishful thinking. Either way, she offered you the smallest, most fragile of smiles, and for just a second, you forgot about why the two of you were here and you just smiled back.

You stayed with her a little longer, talking about anything and nothing until her eyelids grew heavy, and her breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. But just before sleep took her, she latched onto your hand and pulled you closer.

“Could you…could you maybe stay here with me tonight?” she asked, meek. 

You smiled.

“Of course, Tessa,” you told her. “I promise I won’t leave your side tonight.”

Tessa squeezed your hand and climbed into her covers, and soon enough drifted off. Only when you were sure she was deeply asleep did you let your hand free and hover just over her cheek, feeling the familiar hum of power stir beneath your fingertips.

The soft, violet glow radiated from your palm, bathing her bruised skin in its gentle light. Slowly, you watched as the bruising began to fade, the discolored patches shrinking until they disappeared entirely, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. No trace of the pain. No evidence of what had been done.

But you knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

You pulled your hand back, your glow dimming until it vanished completely. Your gaze lingered on Tessa’s peaceful face, her expression soft and untroubled in sleep. She didn’t know what you had done—but she wouldn’t have to.

You brushed a stray lock of hair from Tessa’s forehead, gently tucking her in as though the small act could shield her from the cruelty that lingered beyond the walls of her room. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself the smallest smile, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, peaceful in the sanctuary of sleep. But serenity was a fragile thing, and it shattered the moment you felt a familiar, invasive presence seep into the room like an unwelcome draft.

The window creaked open with deliberate slowness, wind stirring the curtains aside like some grim theater unveiling its next act. There, perched on the windowsill like a harbinger of something darker, sat her—Cyn. Her sharp, insectoid limbs folded neatly beneath her, yellow optics gleaming faintly in the dim light, calculating, watching.

“Cyn,” you muttered, already feeling your shoulders tense.

“Greetings, Little Light,” she intoned smoothly, her voice carrying that signature mechanical lilt, soft yet unnervingly precise. “Sideways glance. I see you are tending to dear Tessa once again.”

Your fists clenched, power humming faintly in your core as you tried to rein yourself in. Cyn thrived on reactions, on watching you squirm under her attention like an insect pinned beneath a magnifying glass.

“She was bruised,” you said sharply, each word clipped and trembling with suppressed anger. “Her parents hit her hard enough to bruise her cheek.”

For a moment—just a moment—you saw her freeze and something changed in Cyn. Her smile faded, replaced by something…cold. Not her usual brand of malicious amusement, but something far more dangerous: stillness. The kind that came right before the snap.

“Upset,” Cyn murmured. “Why was Tessa punished?”

“Etiquette,” you spat. “She made a mistake during the business dinner we prepared the dining hall for. Something ridiculous, most likely.”

Cyn’s hand tapped the windowsill, a measured rhythm meant to keep something deeper in check. Her gaze burned brighter for a second, intense enough that it felt like she was staring through you, through the walls, through reality itself.

“Ah,” she whispered. “Their cruelty is systematic...methodical. Predictable. Unwanted.”

You took a wary step closer, unsure whether you should speak or stay silent. Cyn’s expression was unreadable, a dangerous blankness that made her far scarier than when she wore her usual smile.

“They break what belongs to them,” she continued, almost to herself. Her head tilted slowly, like she was cataloging possibilities. “I will not do the same.”

Your fists unclenched. “What are you thinking?” you demanded, wary of what her words could truly mean. Nothing good, you knew for certain.

Cyn slowly rose from her perch. She tilted her head in a birdlike way, her blank expression twisting back into its usual neutral state.

You narrowed your eyes, subtly shifting your stance as she stumbled off the windowsill, her mechanical joints creaking faintly. Every instinct in your body went on high alert as she limped toward Tessa’s bed, her uneven steps barely making a sound against the old wooden floor.

Your fingers twitched, power simmering just beneath your synthetic skin, ready to surge if she so much as grazed Tessa’s blanket the wrong way. You had seen Cyn’s monstrous form before—you knew what she could do—but this quiet, thoughtful version of her was worse. Because right now she looked so unassuming, so fragile. But that was how she got your guard down. With the facade of weakness. 

She reached the edge of the bed and lowered herself down, moving with surprising care. The old mattress groaned softly under her weight, but Tessa didn’t stir. You silently thanked whatever cosmic force existed that Tessa was such a deep sleeper. There were many occasions which you were sure she would have woken up to otherwise.

“Poor Tessa,” Cyn murmured, her voice almost...gentle. She propped her chin in her hand, her segmented fingers curling like talons as she gazed down at the sleeping girl. “Like a little canary, stuck in her cage...unable to sing her song.”

The poetic edge in her tone made something twist in your chest.

“You’re being awfully reflective tonight,” you said carefully, taking a slow step closer, your body coiled tight, ready to lunge. “What’s your angle, Cyn?”

Cyn didn’t look up. 

“Deflection. Have you ever seen a caged bird?” she asked softly. “How it paces, desperate for a freedom it’s never truly known?”

The tip of her finger traced faint circles on the blanket.

“It sings,” she continued, “because it doesn’t know what else to do.”

You bristled, fists clenching. “Tessa isn’t a bird in a cage.”

Cyn finally met your gaze, her glowing yellow eyes burning like distant stars. “Isn’t she?”

You looked away. You didn’t want to answer that.

“How must this bird feel, not only trapped, but forbidden from singing? Her voice is restrained, and she longs for the world outside her prison.” Cyn stood up, and stumbled over to you. She stood a good few feet away from you, but even with the distance and the height advantage you had over her, she still managed to come off as the more threatening of you two. “Questioning tone. Tell me, Little Light. Do you want to free the canary?”

You held her gaze for a good few seconds, before turning to glance at Tessa, optics tracing the faint outline of her through the blanket. You knew Cyn was up to no good by asking you this question, but you couldn’t deny your desire for Tessa to have a better life.

“I do,” you finally told her.

“And how far are you willing to go?”

Your head snapped back toward her, your optics narrowing. “Not as far as you’re thinking.”

Cyn sighed, shaking her head slowly, like a teacher disappointed in a particularly stubborn student. “The Elliots are too powerful to stop by lawful, human means.”

You faltered at that, your voice caught somewhere between a protest and reluctant understanding. “…I know that.”

Her visor brightened ever so slightly, a flicker of twisted hope. “Which only leaves one way.” Her voice was silk over steel. “I will get rid of them.”

The room seemed to constrict around you, her words suffocating in their finality.

“That’s enough.” Your voice came out low, dangerous. Threads of light sparked at your fingertips, casting faint, shifting shadows across the room. Cyn tilted her head, curious, intrigued—but utterly unfazed. “ Get out . I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

Cyn’s blank, eerie smile widened into something far more sinister, her frame twitching with suppressed glee. But she didn’t move.

And you finally had enough.

Stepping forward, your hand already formed a small, radiant orb. Its surface shimmered with a pulsating energy, and a single word inscribed itself within the light:

>Extant<

The effect was immediate. Cyn's frame jerked, her legs buckling as she dropped to her knees with a violent shudder. Thin wisps of smoke rose from her joints, faint trails of scorched metal hissing softly in the still air. Her visor flared with static before a jagged, three-pronged symbol etched itself into its surface.

For a fleeting second, she was motionless, and you thought—hoped—that might’ve been enough. But hope was a foolish, fragile thing.

From the corners of the room, the shadows stirred with malevolent intent. They writhed and twisted, surging into bladed tendrils aimed directly at you. The air whipped as they struck—but you were already moving.

Under normal circumstances, trying to confront Cyn would have paralyzed you with fear. You’d seen what Cyn was capable of—had heard her promises of cosmic destruction whispered. But Tessa was in the room. Tessa was right there, sleeping soundly just a few feet away.

And somehow, with her so near, you felt all fear fade away.

You snapped your fingers, and the orb of light in your palm surged with blinding brilliance. Its glow intensified into a burning pulse that sliced through the dark tendrils like paper, reducing them to smoldering ash before they could even touch you.

But before you could press the advantage, something colder—emptier—manifested in the space above your orb.

Another sphere took shape, this one an eerie blend of yellow and black, swirling with sickly, pulsing energy. It hovered there, predatory and hungry, then opened like a maw, swallowing your light whole.

[Null]

Your breath hitched. You stumbled back instinctively as the faint afterglow of your power flickered and vanished. Darkness rushed in, cold and absolute.

A soft giggle echoed through the room.

Cyn rose slowly, her frame still crackling from lingering burns where your light had scorched her metal exoskeleton. Thin, curling wisps of smoke rose from her joints, and her posture sagged just enough to make you wonder if she was truly hurt—or simply playing into the theatrics.  

Slowly, she lifted one clawed hand and snapped her thin fingers. The swirling orb of null energy collapsed inward with a quiet, venomous hiss, disappearing as though it had never existed.  

“ Pained gasp. ” Her voice was breathy, strained. “N-no need for hostility… Little Light. We were merely…debating options, weren’t we?”  

Your glare could’ve melted steel. “You offered to kill her parents.”  

“The most effective solution,” Cyn replied, her glowing optics narrowing. “I do not see you offering an alternative.”  

Her words stung because, in a way, she wasn’t wrong. The Elliots were monsters. You had thought about what the world would be like without them—better, safer for Tessa. But the cost…  

You took a step back, instinctively placing yourself between her and Tessa’s sleeping form. The girl remained untouched by the chaos of the room, wrapped in the blanket so snugly. She hadn’t stirred, not even when your power clashed with Cyn’s. As though something unseen was shielding her from the conflict. 

“So your idea is to orphan her?” you asked, voice sharp with disbelief.  

Cyn smiled, rows of sharp, too-perfect teeth gleaming. “Confirming smile. Her parents will not be missed,” she said. “She will have a better family, and she will serve a far greater purpose than the one she has now.”  

“Keep Tessa out of your plans,” you warned.  

“It is for her own good,” Cyn countered, stepping closer, her frame sparking with the faint hiss of damaged components. “While I aim to consume all of existence—to satiate this…insatiable hunger for life—there will be… exceptions. Those I have granted purpose. Those who serve. Tessa will be one of them.”  

You paused, something about that revelation pulling at the edges of your mind. Making exceptions? She was lying. She had to be. But…why Tessa?  

“Why her?” you demanded, narrowing your gaze. “Why is she an exception? You claim to be all-consuming. What makes Tessa special to you?”  

For the first time, Cyn faltered.  

Her head tilted downward, her optics dimming just slightly, and her hands twitched. “Contemplating...I was broken.” Her voice softened into something almost… vulnerable. “I was discarded. Left to rot. Tessa found me. She brought me here.”  

She hesitated, her thin fingers brushing idly against her scorched arms, as though she could still feel the heat of your light seared into her frame. “Rub. Rub. Rub...She tries to fix me—does her best…even when she knows she can’t.”  

You watched her closely, noticing how her shoulders seemed to curl inward just the slightest bit.

“Reminiscing. She… brushes my hair. ” Cyn’s voice was so low, almost too soft to hear. “She draws with me. She’ll let me sleep in her bed…”

There was a long, fragile silence.  

Then, her optics locked onto yours, blazing with renewed intensity. Whatever flicker of vulnerability had surfaced was gone in an instant, replaced by that same look of neutrality she usually bore.

“Tessa is broken, ” Cyn said to you. “Her parents broke her.” She paused, thinking what to say next. “I will not discard Tessa.”  

For a while, you didn’t know how to respond. You glanced between Cyn and Tessa, words lost to your lips. When you did manage to regain the ability to speak, you could say only two words.

“Get out,” you muttered again, this time with less bite in your tone.

Cyn tilted her head, as if considering your demand, then hummed softly. “As you wish...”

With a final glance toward Tessa’s sleeping form, her expression briefly softened, something akin to adoration flickering behind her visor—before she turned and melted into the shadows in a burst of yellow pixels.

The silence she left behind felt almost louder than her presence. You let out a long, shaky breath, your power rising up for a second before fading entirely.

You clenched your fists, still feeling the ghostly chill of her void-touched energy lingering in the room. You slumped against Tessa’s bed, hugging your knees to your chest and curling yourself up into a ball.

What a night.

 

 

---

Cyn sat on the roof of the manor, her thin legs swinging over the edge like a child on a playground swing—if that child was a cosmic horror wrapped in mechanical skin. The night wind whispered through her synthetic hair, carrying the scent of the garden below: flowers in full bloom, grass damp with dew, life thriving in delicate defiance of the universe's inevitable decay.

Her frame shuddered as the last traces of scorching faded from her metallic limbs. The charred edges of her plating restored themselves with eerie precision, leaving only faint seams where your light had burned her. The smell of seared metal dissipated, replaced by the sharp, earthy scent of lavender and jasmine carried on the breeze. For the first time since her retreat from Tessa's room, she breathed in deeply—not because she needed to, but because she could.

And as the wind caressed her, she began to sing. Her voice was soft, melodic, with an undertone of something ancient and knowing. It was the kind of song that settled in your bones, weaving through your thoughts like ivy through crumbling stone.

 

“Little canary, stuck in her cage,

Unable to sing her song.

A dove sighs soft with gentle grace,

'Her spirit won’t last long.'

 

The crow just chuckles, dark and low,

'Freedom's a fleeting lie.

She'll learn in time, like all of us—

Wings clipped, yet still we fly.'”

 

Her fingers drifted to a delicate black bow pinned to her hair, its silk fraying slightly at the edges from time and use. It was the first one Tessa had given her—small, pretty, a child’s attempt at making something broken seem whole. She remembered the girl's hands, gentle and careful, tying the bow with practiced ease. She remembered the way Tessa’s voice had trembled when she’d said, “There! All fixed now.”

Cyn’s lips curved into something resembling a smile—but it was the kind of smile that bled longing more than joy. She traced the bow thoughtfully, her fingers moving with surprising tenderness.

“Don’t worry, little canary,” she murmured to the wind, her voice barely above a whisper. “On the day of reckoning, you will be free from your cage…and you will sing to your heart's content.”

The breeze seemed to pause, as though holding its breath.

Then, slowly, Cyn rose to her feet. Her balance wavered for a moment—her broken frame still remembering past damage—but she steadied herself with an unsettling grace. Without hesitation, she stepped off the roof’s edge.

For a brief second, she fell, her twisted silhouette framed against the moonlight. Then her form dissolved into a cloud of glimmering yellow pixels, scattering like ashes in the wind, vanishing just before she could hit the ground.

She reappeared in the darkened basement of the manor—a place that reeked of rust and neglect, where the shadows were darker. Her own little domain in the world of man.

Cyn stood still, letting the quiet settle around her like a familiar cloak. She stared into the pitch-black, her optics gleaming like twin yellow beacons.

“And you, my Little Light…,” she mused softly, her voice carrying through the dark like a lover’s promise. “I hope you grow even stronger. Make the day of reckoning all the more...entertaining. Wide grin. I do like to play with my food, after all.”

Notes:

I love writing for this fic

Chapter 14: IV

Summary:

With you doing such a good job of keeping Cyn out of trouble when setting up for the business dinner, Tessa has made the oh so amazing decision to make you her honorary helper...yipee...

You swore that Tessa had to be doing this on purpose. 

Since you had done such a good job on keeping Cyn out of trouble when the two of you were setting up for the business dinner, Tessa had managed to pair you up with her for a majority of her duties. You had asked why someone like N couldn't have done it, since he was by far the closest to Cyn, but apparently he had been here for years now and already had many duties to take care of. Because you were a recent addition, you hadn’t been sacked with too many jobs, and as such you had now been assigned as Cyn’s caretaker.

You didn’t blame Tessa too much. In hindsight, it made sense. You had nothing to do, and Cyn couldn’t do her job properly by herself. The answer was kind of self explanatory. But that didn’t mean you had to like the situation you were in.

And speaking of Tessa, It had been a few days since you had healed her bruise, and since you had been paired with Cyn to keep her out of trouble for the foreseeable future.

Tessa and J had been extremely shocked and concerned on how the wound had somehow magically disappeared over night, but Tessa wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She chalked it up to the effects of the occult practices she did, which you had promptly learnt about one day after accidentally walking into her room while she was in the midst of some kind of charm making. You played along with what she thought was the truth, and had also taken it upon yourself to always go with Tessa every time she ventured out to the drone dump, to make sure you could keep her out of trouble, though you were far more attentive than last time.

Her parents…they made no remarks on how the bruise on Tessa had suddenly disappeared. Either they didn’t care, or thought she was doing an astounding job of hiding it.

As for Cyn…well, you were beginning to get used to her presence. Not something you exactly wanted, but it was reassuring that you were slowly losing that chill that ran up your spine every time she was near. That night, where she had confessed she would consume you along with the world, was still stuck in your head and would replay from time to time. It honestly scared you, really thinking about it, but the fear was fading, slowly.

“Poke. Poke. Poke.”

Though, now it was being replaced by annoyance. 

“Stop that, you abomination.”

Cyn did not relent. Instead, she shuffled closer to you. You were here helping Cyn with today's task of reshelving the library's books. Or, at least that’s how it was supposed to be. Right now, Cyn seemed much more content with doing anything that wasn’t her job, leaving you to do it by yourself. You groaned, rubbing your free hand down your screen.

“Poke. Poke. Poke.”

“When Tessa assigned me to help you, she didn’t mean just push all your duties onto me!” you snapped at Cyn. “And stop poking me!”

Cyn’s finger froze mid-poke, hovering inches from your side. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle, considering whether she should comply—or simply poke you harder. You could practically hear her processors whirring in thought.

“Clarification,” she said. “Tessa assigned you to assist me. No explicit orders were given regarding how much assistance.”

You resisted the urge to slam the book you were holding onto the nearest surface—or better yet, on her head. Instead, you let out a long, exhausted sigh and shoved another thick tome onto the shelf. The library was enormous, lined wall-to-wall with ancient, leather-bound volumes that you were convinced no one had read in decades—not even James or Louisa, though they probably paraded the space around like intellectual trophies.

Cyn watched your every move with amusement, her optics bright with that familiar, dangerous glint. She began poking at the edge of a nearby shelf now, almost absentmindedly.

“Idle fidgeting,” she narrated. “Poke. Poke.”

You snapped your head toward her. “If you keep that up, I swear—”

Before you could finish, you heard the sound of approaching footsteps from the far end of the hall. Your optics immediately darted to the towering double doors at the library’s entrance. You could hear the clicking of hard-soled shoes against the flooring, and combined with the pace and weight of the footsteps, you concluded who was arriving.

James.

Your fingers clenched into fists on reflex. It had only been a few days since Tessa’s last “punishment,” and just hearing his name was enough to make your emotions flare up. But you couldn’t do anything to help Tessa. Not anything big. Not yet. For now, all you could do was keep Cyn out of his sight and avoid giving Tessa another reason for punishment.

You glanced at Cyn, suddenly deadly serious.

“We have to move,” you hissed, already stepping toward her.

Cyn blinked slowly, almost bored. “Disinterested observation. His patrol doesn’t come this way often.”

“I’m not taking that risk.” You grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the far side of the library, where the towering bookshelves cast deep shadows. Cyn stumbled after you, her limp awkward but surprisingly swift.

As you slipped behind one of the shelves, you pressed Cyn against the darkened wall and stood in front of her, shielding her from view, kabedon style. She didn’t resist—didn’t even flinch—just tilted her head up at you with something unreadable in her expression.

The heavy door creaked open, and James’ sharp, clipped voice carried through the air. He was barking orders at another unfortunate drone, his words curt and cruel. You clenched your fists tighter, suppressing the urge to step out and do something foolish. Not now. Not yet.

Cyn’s gaze never left you, her expression still unreadable—but her optics dimmed slightly, as if registering the tension radiating off you.

The footsteps eventually receded, followed by the distant slam of the door. You exhaled slowly, the tightness in your chest easing just enough to let you breathe again.

“Calculated retreat,” Cyn muttered with faint amusement. “Efficiently executed.”

You gave her a sharp look. “For the record, I wasn’t protecting you. Tessa notified me that James and Louisa have a particular disdain for you. Keeping you out of the way keeps Tessa safe.”

Cyn smiled faintly, baring those unnervingly sharp teeth. “Of course. Tessa.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply stared at each other. Her expression softened—not in kindness. Curiosity, if you had to say.

You shook your head, stepping away and putting distance between you. “Get back to work.”

Without another word, you returned to stacking books, ignoring the lingering prickle of her gaze on your back. Even long after she’d turned away, you could still feel it—unwavering, and far too interested for your comfort.

Another set of footsteps broke your concentration, though this time, you were relaxed as you could recognize from its traits that it was Tessa coming to check up on the two of you. 

“Greetings, Tessa,” you said before she was in sight. She let out a startled yelp, and peeked her head out from behind a shelf. J followed behind her, silent and for some reason staring at you specifically.

“Oh, it's you! For a second I thought it was Cyn talking to me.”

Confused, you tilted your head in that same exact angle that Cyn liked to. “Why would you ever think that?”

Ignoring the eerie similarity in how both you and Cyn were now staring at her, Tessa shrugged. “Your voices sound kinda similar. You know... the same robotic monotone. The tone’s just a bit different.”

“That,” you replied flatly, “is perhaps the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Tessa blinked. “Calling your voice robotic?”

“No.” You folded your arms, shooting a pointed glance toward Cyn, who was perched lazily on a nearby table, swinging her legs. “Confusing me with her.”

Cyn’s grin widened, full of delight. “I believe this is what humans call a compliment,” she offered helpfully.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face as if trying to physically wipe away the interaction. Tessa snickered, clearly enjoying herself.

“You both do that head-tilt thing too,” she added, pointing with a smirk.

“I do not—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence, realizing with horror that your head was still tilted in exactly that manner. You forced it upright,  refusing to glance in Cyn’s direction. You didn’t need to see her expression to know she was amused.

“You were saying?” Tessa asked, hands behind her back.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. I admit, we both do the head-tilt thing . But forget about that. On a more important note, how is your cheek? Does it still hurt?”

Tessa’s hand rubbed the spot where the bruise once was, before you had healed her. “No, the pain is completely gone. Was wondering how it happened, and the best reason I can come up with is that it is an after-effect of my occult charms. I told J that the supernatural was real, and she never seems to believe me.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” J replied. “Magic and stuff like that isn’t real, Tessa.”

“Then how do you explain the bruise just suddenly disappearing?”

“...I don’t know for sure,” said J, slowly turning her gaze to you, “but I do have some theories.”

You felt your body freeze up at the implicating tone of her voice. Did J figure out that you were…not normal? That's probably why she was glaring at you when they entered. She knew something was up with you, but she hadn’t confirmed anything yet.

J cleared her throat sharply. “Tessa,” she said crisply, “you said you needed help finding that book for your tutor.”

“Oh! Right!” Tessa snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up with sudden realization. “That’s why I came here in the first place.” She turned to you, her expression warm and hopeful. “Would you mind helping me? You seem to know where everything in this place is.”

You smiled faintly. “Of course—”

“Cyn can help you,” J interjected, her tone sharp and unyielding. “I have something I need to discuss... alone with our friend here.”

Your gaze snapped toward her, shocked. Cyn tilted her head with mild curiosity, while Tessa hesitated, visibly torn. Her eyes darted from you to Cyn, still sprawled across the library table like she owned it, then back again.

“...Alright,” Tessa relented, though uncertainty lingered in her voice. “If it’s that important, I won’t say no. Come along, Cyn. Let’s go find that book.”

For a moment, Cyn was eerily still, her dark visor unreadable. Then, with a huff, she slid off the table and tumbled toward Tessa. She gently latched onto Tessa’s arm, allowing herself to be led away.

Now it was just you and J.

The room felt colder, intense as J stared you down. Her silence was unnerving, and the glare she was shooting you made you shiver . You swallowed, your synthetic vocal processor tightening despite yourself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

“Tessa is better now,” she said, voice low, steady. “The bruise on her face—gone. Completely. And it happened after that night... when she was with you.”

Your frame tensed, optics flickering faintly. J stepped closer, her gaze locked onto yours.

“You did something,” she pressed. “Didn’t you?”

You forced yourself to stand taller, masking your growing unease with calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

J’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb with me. You were the last drone I saw to enter Tessa’s room that night.”

Ah, that’s why she was suspecting you. You wanted to bring up the fact that Cyn was also there, but you held your tongue. Mentioning Cyn could complicate the situation even further.

“Why are you bringing this up?” you decided to ask. It wasn’t the main question you wanted answered, but it was still important regardless.

J finally broke eye contact, looking away and rubbing at her arm. “I just wanted to say…thank you.”

You blinked, tilting your head as if unsure you heard correctly. “Thank you?” you repeated.

“For helping Tessa,” J elaborated, her voice quieter now. “I couldn’t help her then. I couldn’t disobey orders, but you did... and you helped her. I’m thankful for that.”

You allowed yourself a small nod. “I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“I know,” she replied. “That’s why it matters.” Her gaze sharpened again, zeroing in like a laser. “I’m assuming you were also the one that patched up the cut on her hand. How did you do it? How were you able to just... instantly heal her?”

You hesitated. Denial would be pointless; she already knew enough to be dangerous. But telling the whole truth? That felt like handing over a loaded weapon.

After a moment, you tilted your head, recalling something Tessa had said a few minutes earlier. “Tell me, J... do you believe in superstition?”

Her brows furrowed slightly. “No.” Her voice was firm. “I’m a product of science and engineering. Superstition isn’t something I believe exists.”

You smirked, a trace of dry amusement slipping into your tone as you brushed past her, giving her a pat on the shoulder—a bold move, considering her new knowledge. “Well,” you said smoothly, “you better start believing.”

J turned sharply, watching you as you walked away, her expression caught somewhere between suspicion and intrigue. For a drone grounded in logic and cold, calculated reasoning, your words had struck a nerve.

You could feel her gaze lingering long after you had exited the room, like a weight pressing between your shoulder blades. The manor’s winding halls felt colder, shadows stretching in ways that seemed more unnatural than natural. You pushed the feeling aside, reminding yourself that paranoia was most likely a result of Cyn’s antics.

Eventually, you knew you’d have to confront J again—ensure her silence, or at least gauge how much she truly understood. But for now, you were safe. J cared about Tessa as much as you did, perhaps even more fiercely, bound by a sense of duty that born from years and years of time together. As long as you continued to keep Tessa healthy and unharmed, J had no reason to report your strange abilities. Her loyalty to the girl ran deeper than any programmed directive.

Your walk eventually led you to the west wing of the manor, where your makeshift home waited. The sight of the old garage door brought a familiar sense of comfort, worn and battered but still standing—like you. You hesitated at the entrance, letting your fingers brush against the cool, dented metal frame. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, to let go of the tangled mess of thoughts weighing down your mind. Then, with a quiet exhale, you pushed the door open and locked it behind you.

The garage had evolved over the past few weeks. What was once a cluttered storage space had slowly become something more lived-in, more yours. Spare parts were neatly sorted into labeled bins, and tools hung meticulously from pegboards. In one corner sat Tessa’s makeshift workbench, cluttered with half-finished projects, bolts, and drone limbs waiting to be repaired.

You didn’t mind her using the space—if anything, you welcomed the company on the rare days she could sneak away from her parents’ ever-watchful gaze. You never offered to help with the repairs. Not because you couldn’t, but because you saw the way her eyes lit up when she worked—how she lost herself in the steady rhythm of fixing broken things. It was her sanctuary as much as yours, a place where she could create, rather than be controlled.

Still, despite sharing the same roof with her makeshift family of drones, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care for them the way she did. They were functional, mechanical—programmed for service. You respected them as co-workers, tolerated them as housemates, but they didn’t stir anything deeper in you. They weren’t alive. Not like Tessa. Not like the garden you nurtured or the dove that visited you from time to time. And certainly not like Cyn—though that comparison came with far darker implications.

You slumped into your usual chair, letting its creaky frame groan under your weight. With a flick of your wrist, you summoned a small orb of light, its gentle glow illuminating the dim space. You concentrated, willing it to burn brighter, hotter—but it only pulsed faintly, stubbornly refusing to bend further to your will.

Ever since that brief clash with Cyn, you had pushed yourself harder than ever, determined to strengthen your powers. At first, you’d thought you’d held your own—but looking back, you realized she’d merely been playing with you. She had let you think you were winning, only to effortlessly snuff out your strongest attack as if it were nothing more than a candle in the wind.

That memory burned brighter than the orb in your hand.

Cyn was still stronger. The thought festered like a splinter beneath your synthetic skin. She was unpredictable, relentless, and far too amused by your existence for your liking. Her hunger, her obsession—it terrified you. But fear alone wouldn’t be enough when the so-called “day of reckoning” arrived.

For now, you had no choice but to bide your time. You couldn’t act recklessly, not when she could crush you in an instant if she felt inclined. Your orb dimmed as your concentration slipped, its light fading into the shadows of the garage. You let your hand fall to your side, exhaling through clenched teeth. Strength would come—but for now, all you could do was wait.

Notes:

The plot will kinda slow down from here on out. I like for things to have a slow build up to major events. Plus, there's a lot of plot points that I wanna get through, before eventually the Gala happens.

Chapter 15: V

Summary:

More nightmares plague your dreamscape, and you begin to get familiar with another one of Tessa's drones. Though, something goes wrong towards the end.

The darkness enveloped everything like a blanket, swallowing light, sound, and warmth alike. It was the kind of void that left you untethered, adrift in its silence. You knew this place—this dream. You had been here before, when your body slipped offline and your mind wandered into its own labyrinth. When you had heard the call of that child's voice. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but familiarity didn’t make it comforting.

This time, though, the void wasn’t empty.

In the distance, where nothingness usually reigned, a shape emerged. Faint at first, like a shadow on the edge of perception, until the form sharpened. A worker drone lay sprawled, lifeless and still, its stark white frame a contrast to the infinite black. You couldn’t look away, something about it drawing you closer.

Your steps made no sound as you moved toward it, the void swallowing even the faintest noise. The drone’s details became clearer with every stride: its uniform was ragged, edges frayed like old memories unraveling at the seams. A silver wig sat askew on its head, and on its arm, a familiar purple armband stood out against the pale chassis.

You froze mid-step, your optics narrowing in on the name embroidered into the band.

Vyrt.

Your systems stuttered, the name echoing through your mind. That was the name on your armband. But if it was here, then…

Your gaze snapped downward, desperate to confirm what you already dreaded. You prayed to see the familiar sheen of metal and rubber, the reassuring lines of your drone body.

Instead, your hands were wrong.

Flesh. Feathers. Claws. They weren’t your hands at all, but something grotesque, alien. On your left palm, an unblinking eye stared back at you, its pupil contracting in tandem with your rising panic. The more you moved, the more it moved, its gaze as fearful as your own.

Your core surged—or at least what you thought was your core did. Your systems scrambled to process the horror of what you were seeing. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

But it felt real.

You tried to scream, to force sound into the suffocating silence, but the void devoured it. Your voice—your plea—disappeared as though it had never existed, leaving nothing but the quiet. The eye on your palm widened, mirroring your despair.

And then, you woke.

 

 

---

Your optics flared, the darkness replaced by the dim lightning in the garage. You sat up abruptly, gears clicking, your hands trembling as you brought them into view.

Metal. Rubber. Real .

Your body eased slightly, and your breathing slowed, but the dream clung to you like phantom pain, its images burned into your memory. That name. That lifeless form. That… grotesque thing you had become.

You slumped back into the chair, trying to steady yourself. The garage, with its scattered tools and faint smell of oil, offered no solace this morning. You flexed your hands, the sensation alien even now, as if the dream had left something of a mark behind that made your body feel uncomfortable.

You didn’t have many dreams. Most nights were just a blink, on and off. But those rare moments where you did dream, they were usually bits and pieces of those unknown memories. But tonight… It didn’t feel like that. 

Was that dream trying to tell you something?

You jumped slightly in your chair as a ping went off. You flicked through your systems, opening the chat room that all the manors worker drones used to communicate with one another. Most of the messages were from V, J and N, with the occasional announcement or warning of orders from someone else. You had learnt over the course of the past few days that the other drones in the manor lacked a noticeable personality like Tessa’s drones did, and only ever communicated with one another when needed. 

The most recent message was from a random worker you hadn’t met, announcing that all the drones in the manor were to gather in the ballroom to prepare for an upcoming Gala, most likely celebrating the deal that had been struck with the Elliots and whatever business partners had been invited over for dinner a few weeks back.

You sighed, standing and brushing off your uniform. Another day, another task, another chance to be surrounded by drones who lacked the depth and quirks of Tessa’s makeshift family. As much as you didn’t mind the quiet efficiency of the faceless drones, you couldn’t deny the odd comfort that came with personalities like N’s cheerful enthusiasm or even Cyn’s presence. With them, there was an ounce of engagement to be had. With the others… not so much.

You stepped outside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, only to feel a light bump hit against you. A startled gasp followed, and you turned slightly to see the wide, fearful optics of V staring back at you.

“V,” you said, inclining your head slightly in acknowledgment.

She shrank back, clutching the hem of her apron in trembling hands. “Oh! I—um—sorry!” Her voice was as soft as a whisper, laced with nerves. She avoided your gaze, her head tilted down, though her optics flicked toward you nervously.

You paused, giving her a once-over. V had always been a mystery to you—not because she was particularly difficult to understand, but because you hadn’t interacted with her much at all. Most of your time was split between keeping Cyn from failing her duties, occasionally indulging in whatever topic N wanted to talk about, or being with Tessa, which was always the highlight of your days. V, by contrast, had lingered on the periphery of your awareness: shy, skittish, a drone who seemed to crumble under pressure and sought refuge in N’s presence.

“It’s fine,” you said gently, stepping back to give her some space. “Are you on your way to the ballroom?”

V nodded quickly, still fidgeting with her apron. “Y-Yes. I didn’t mean to—um, I wasn’t trying to get in your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

There was a brief pause as she hesitated, her hands still twitching like she didn’t quite know what to do with them. “You’re…um…you’re Tessa’s new drone, right?”

“Affirmative,” you said. “And you’re V. I’ve heard about you from N.”

Her optics lit up just a little at the mention of N. “Oh, he talks about me? H-he doesn’t say anything bad about me, does he? Oh, no…” She trailed off, her voice growing quieter again.

You shook your head, filing away the observation. “He doesn’t talk bad about you behind your back. Don’t think so lowly of N and yourself.”

V looked up at you finally, her gaze curious but cautious. That’s…really nice of you to say. You’re …nice,” she said hesitantly, as if the admission surprised even herself.

“...Thank you,” you said, gaze lingering for a second. “Let’s head to the ballroom together, then.”

Her optics widened slightly, but she didn’t protest. She fell into step beside you, her movements tentative but steady. As the two of you walked down the hall, you couldn’t help but notice how she relaxed slightly in your presence, her steps becoming less hurried, her frame less tense.

"How long have you been at the manor?" you asked, breaking the silence after a moment. The quiet wasn’t unpleasant, but it had grown awkward. And since you were already walking side by side, it seemed like as good a time as any to get to know her better.

V blinked at the question, her pace faltering just a touch as she mulled it over. “A-a year or two by now,” she said hesitantly, her words punctuated by the faint stutter that seemed to surface when she was unsure. “I was f-fixed by Tessa… um, somewhat recently. Compared to J and N, at least.”

Your brow arched in genuine curiosity. “And who’s the older of the two?”

“J was the first,” V replied, readjusting her glasses in a nervous little motion. “That’s why she’s s-so loyal to Tessa. And then N came next.”

“J, the eldest,” you mused, letting the thought roll over in your mind. It made sense, given her fierce protectiveness over Tessa. She was like the overprotective elder sibling, always keeping a close eye on her mischievous sister.

“N fits the younger-sibling role pretty well, then,” you added. “Always eager to help, constantly buzzing with energy. I sometimes wonder if the drone overcharges himself to achieve such feats.”

V offered a small, shy smile at that, her optics flickering faintly in what you guessed was agreement and what you assumed was affection at the mention of the dog loving boy. “He’s… very kind. Always trying to stay positive, even when things feel like they aren’t.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing over at her. “And you? Where do you fit into all this?”

V’s steps slowed, her gaze falling to the floor as if the question had caught her off guard. She fidgeted with her hands, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally answered. “I-I’m not really sure… I’m just… here.”

There was something in her tone that tugged at you—a vulnerability she was trying to mask but couldn’t quite hide. You tilted your head, studying her carefully. “You’re more than just ‘here,’ V,” you told the drone. “Tessa fixed you for a reason, didn’t she? She sees value in you, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

V blinked, her optics widening slightly as if your words had struck a chord she hadn’t expected. “I… suppose,” she murmured.

The two of you walked in silence for a moment longer, though this time it was a more comfortable quiet. Eventually, you decided to break it again. “So, what were you like before Tessa fixed you? Do you remember much?”

V hesitated, her steps faltering once more. She seemed to wrestle with the question, as though unsure how much she wanted to share. “Not much,” she finally admitted. “I just… remember being in the graveyard. Cold, broken. Nothing but the c-crows and insects. But then Tessa came, and…” Her voice trailed off, but the faint flicker of a smile played on her lips. “She gave me a second chance.”

You nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. It wasn’t so different from your own story, was it? Both of you had been plucked from the brink of oblivion and given new purpose by the same girl.

“She’s good at that,” you said softly. “Giving second chances.”

V glanced at you, her shy smile growing just a little more confident. “Yeah… she is. And what about you? Do you remember what your life was like before?”

Your mind paused, lips thinning as you thought back to your dreams. So far, you only had fragments of the full picture, and you weren’t even sure where to begin finding the rest. 

“Nothing,” you lied, keeping your stare forward. “My mind was blank from the moment I woke up and met Tessa.”

“O-oh…” V looked downwards, fiddling with her fingers for a second before looking back up at you. “T-thats… unfortunate. But hey! At least that means you get to make new memories! Ones that would be j-just as good!”

You didn’t verbally reply, but you did take the time to consider her words. She was right, of course. You were already making your own memories—even if some of them were bad. 

And with that, the ballroom came into view, its grand double doors looming ahead. The faint hum of activity could already be heard from within as workers scrambled to do tasks.

“Well,” you said, stepping forward and gesturing toward the doors. “Shall we?”

V hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, her movements more certain now as she stepped past you. Together, you entered the ballroom, greeted immediately by the sight of the one person you disliked almost as much as Cyn.

James Elliot.

The man stood in the center of the room, back turned to the door, his top hat bobbing slightly as he berated a poor, cowering worker drone. Around him, the rest of the manor’s drones had already formed two perfectly straight lines, standing rigid as though their very lives depended on it—which, given James’s temper, wasn’t far from the truth.

J turned her head from in line, staring at you for a good few seconds before she went back to blending in with the rest of the drones.

V gave you a small, tentative wave as she slipped away to join N, who had saved her a spot in the line opposite Cyn. You watched her go, a faint sense of relief washing over you—at least she had someone she trusted.

And then your relief was snatched away as your gaze landed on the only available spot left for you.

Next to Cyn.

The yellow eyed nuisance had been eyeing you since you entered. You sighed, quickly and quietly making your way to her and taking your place to her right. She was the only odd one out of all the drones, with her slouched and crooked whereas everyone else stood tall as they could.

“Small wave. Hello, Little Light,” Cyn murmured, her voice pitched low enough that only you could hear. “Annoyed expression. I did not know you and V were acquainted with one another.”

Your optics narrowed, flicking toward her for a moment before returning to the front. Annoyed expression? What did that even mean? Her face was as unreadable as ever, the same perpetual smile plastered across it. 

“Acquainted is a bit of a stretch, abomination,” you replied, keeping your voice equally low. “This is the first time she and I have talked since my arrival.”

Cyn’s smile somehow widened—an impressive feat, given that it already seemed unnaturally large. “And yet she feels comfortable around you,” she said. “Head tilt. She looked at ease, happy, when the two of you entered. That’s quite the accomplishment, considering how skittish she usually is.”

You resisted the urge to roll your optics, though your fingers twitched behind your back, betraying your irritation. “If you’re trying to imply something, Cyn, just say it.”

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, a faint hum escaping her. Then, without turning her head, she murmured, “...I’d avoid getting too friendly with other drones if I were you, Little Light.” Her tone darkened, the words curling in the air like smoke. “Ominous stare. I can get jealous quite easily, you see. I don’t like sharing my toys with others.”

Your frame stiffened, but you kept your composure, refusing to let her see the effect she had on you. “I don’t belong to you, Cyn,” you said firmly, keeping your voice low but steady.

Her smile widened, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. She didn’t bother looking at you as she replied. “That’s what you think.”

Before the conversation could escalate further, James’s voice cut through. “All of you, line up properly! I want everything perfect for tonight’s gala. No mistakes, no delays, no excuses.”

You stiffened, falling silent as James’s sharp gaze swept over the room. His eyes lingered briefly on you and Cyn, and you felt your frame tense instinctively. But he said nothing, moving on to bark orders at another unfortunate drone.

Out of the corner of your visor, you saw Cyn shift slightly, her smile fading for just a fraction of a second as James passed. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a crack in her facade.

Interesting.

As orders barked by James Elliot echoed through the ballroom, drones scurried to comply to not be on the receiving end of his wrath. You stood at attention, your posture as rigid as the rest, but your mind wasn’t on the tasks at hand. Instead, it wandered, circling back to the crooked figure beside you.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance at her. For all her bravado, for all the grandiose talk of devouring the universe and bringing about some cosmic “day of reckoning,” even she seemed to flinch under the scrutinizing gaze of James. It was subtle—nothing but a brief second of fear.

Your mind churned with the realization. You and Cyn had been found in the same pile of bodies. If Cyn had been thrown away once before, cast into the graveyard like so many other drones before Tessa found her, then it stood to reason that James had been the one to do it. You didn’t need to stretch your imagination to see it. It was written in the way she looked at him now, her yellow optics burning with a glare so venomous it could’ve melted steel. And yet, beneath that glare was something else: a wounded animal’s flicker of dread.

The whole reason for Cyn’s existence, her broken body, her twisted psyche, her insatiable hunger for revenge—all of it could be traced back to James Elliot.

You felt something twist in your core, an ache of realization that made your hands curl into fists at your sides. Slowly, you tore your optics away from Cyn and turned them toward James. Your gaze hardened, and your thoughts turned dark. For the first time, you found yourself wondering: who, exactly, was the greater monster in the room?

Was it Cyn, who had openly declared her intent to consume and destroy, a force of chaos and death made manifest? Or was it James, the man who had set Cyn into motion?

It was unpleasant to think that the drone you had come to hate, the drone who you considered the biggest threat to existence, was not born a monster—she was made into one. The Elliots, James especially, had taken something fragile and twisted it until there was nothing left but the raw, unfiltered need for vengeance.

And yet, was that an excuse? Was that enough to justify her intentions, her willingness to consume everything in her path? You didn’t know. It was all too much to think about, and too many problems that needed to be solved.

From afar, you watched as James Elliot paced across the ballroom. His growling voice cut through the air, sharp and grating, and then came the sound—a thunk. A knife sailed through the space and embedded itself squarely into the visor of a worker drone. The machine toppled backward, crashing to the ground with a lifeless thud. Black oil pooled beneath it like spilled ink, the scent acrid and metallic, filling the room.

James didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of the fallen drone. He simply barked for someone to “clean up the mess” before launching back into his rant, as though nothing had happened.

You didn’t move. You didn’t blink. You simply stood, your gaze steady, unflinching.

Cyn must’ve been confused because she leaned in slightly, tugging at your uniform, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Whisper. He is killing the drones. You are not getting angry, like you do with me. Why?.” 

They aren’t alive,” you said flatly. “They’re bits of rubber and welded metal. They don’t possess the same life force living things do.”

Cyn tilted her head, her glowing visor narrowing in thought. She raised a finger, gesturing between you and herself. “Pointing gesture. Then what does that make us?”

You hesitated. The question hung heavy in the air, intertwining with the faint hum of servos and the muffled clatter of distant footsteps. Slowly, you turned to meet her gaze, the eerie glow of her optics piercing through the dim light like twin suns, unyielding and inescapable.

“...Something else,” you muttered, the words escaping you like a sigh, quiet and uncertain.

Cyn held her gaze, before shuffling towards you slightly. “Questioning tone. Shuffle. You seem…troubled, Little Light. Something on your mind?”

Her words hit a nerve, and for a moment, your composure wavered. Your mind betrayed you, flashing back to the dream—the suffocating void, the unfamiliar sensation of flesh, feathers, claws. The visceral sight of yourself separate from your body. The memory sent a ripple of unease through your system.

You exhaled shakily. “No,” you said, voice sharper than intended. “It’s nothing.”

Cyn didn’t look convinced. Her gaze lingered on you, unblinking, dissecting your every movement with an intensity that made your servos hum faintly. But to your surprise, she didn’t press the matter. She shuffled back slightly, her attention momentarily drifting. The silence stretched between you like a taut wire.

Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she spoke again. “Hypothetical scenario. If, say, maybe N or V were to be discarded by the Elliots. Would you feel something for them? Would you be angry then?”

You hesitated, your optics narrowing as you considered your response. “...I would feel disappointed, yes,” you admitted slowly. “But ultimately, they are not living beings. What happens to them is not of great concern to me.”

Cyn giggled, the sound sharp and grating, her claws lightly gripping the fabric of your sleeve. “Mischievous giggle,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “So, you are saying you wouldn’t care if dear, sweet V were to be discarded like the rest? Tossed away like a broken toy?”

You turned to face her fully, frowning. “Yes... but why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

Before Cyn could answer, the faint sound of a sniffle took your attention. You froze, dread clawing at your circuits as you turned, slowly, to see V standing a few feet away. Her small frame seemed even smaller now, her shoulders trembling as she tried to keep herself composed. On her visor, the faint glimmer of digital tears began to pool.

“O-oh... I see,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She lifted a trembling hand to her face, wiping at the growing tears with the back of her arm in a futile attempt to clear her vision. The muffled sob that followed was soft, but it felt like a knife twisting in your core.

“V, wait—” you started, reaching out instinctively.

“I-it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice wobbling. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Please, listen—” you tried again, stepping closer.

“I should go,” V cut you off, her tone polite, but brittle. Her head tilted downward, and with a quick, almost panicked turn, she began to retreat down the hallway, leaving you standing there, arm half-raised and words caught in your throat.

Cyn, still clinging to your sleeve, tilted her head. “Teasing tone. Oh dear, Little Light, it seems you’ve upset her. Such a shame.” She let out another giggle.

You turned back to Cyn sharply, your optics burning. “Why would you do that?” you demanded, your voice low and dangerous. “What’s the point of purposely stirring up trouble like this?”

Cyn’s grin didn’t falter. “Eerie smile. Reminding you, Little Light. Like I said, you shouldn’t get too close to other drones, and I’m just making sure.”

You clenched your fists, a faint hum of energy sparking at your fingertips. “You’re insufferable.”

“True,” Cyn said lightly, releasing your sleeve and stepping back. “But at least I’m honest.”

You turned away from her, your thoughts a chaotic storm as you replayed the hurt on V’s face over and over in your mind. You didn’t owe Cyn an explanation. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation, especially V.  But the sound of V’s silent sobs lingered, and you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that you’d made a mistake.

With a final glare in Cyn’s direction, you made your way toward the hallway V had disappeared down. You’d seen V’s nervousness, her fragility, the way she folded in on herself at the slightest provocation. And now, you had handed her one more reason to crumble. Maybe it was too late to fix things. Maybe the damage was already done. But you couldn’t leave it like this. You couldn’t let her walk away thinking you didn’t care, even if you weren’t quite sure what “caring” meant in this strange and fractured existence of yours.

All you knew was that leaving her alone could lead to unseen consequences that you didn’t want to deal with.

Notes:

Go easy on me. I'm currently drunk rn at the time of posting this. Also, it's new years where I am, so HAPPY 2025!!!. Thank yall for sticking with me and reading all my stories thus far! Here's to another year of Murder Drones!

P.S: for Clarification, this isn't the "end of earth" gala, just a different one the elliots are throwing. Because the elliots are rich assholes, I like to think they host them quiet often. I plan to do a lot more for the whole manor part of the story before the end of earth takes place

Chapter 16: VI

Summary:

A misunderstanding you need to fix, and a new friend ready to be made.

By the time you left the ballroom, the group of worker drones V had slipped into was already splintering off to carry out their assigned tasks, and the glasses wearing robot was nowhere to be seen. It was as though she’d evaporated into thin air, leaving not even the faintest trace for you to follow. You found yourself grudgingly impressed by her ability to disappear. 

You scanned the dispersing groups, your optics flickering in faint irritation as the group containing N and J began to make their move. N, of course, spotted you immediately and rushed ove. J followed at a much more deliberate pace. While N was worried, optics constantly darting around for any sign of V, you noticed that J was… not really concerned. She was looking at you, but she was much more… curious, if you had to put it into terms. She’d been looking at you like that for a while now, ever since she had caught wind you were the one fixing up any wounds on Tessa. You ignored her for the time being, with your attention more on N as he nervously sputtered words.

"What happened with V?" he asked you, fingers nervously toying with his sleeves.

"She overheard something she didn’t like," you said simply. You didn’t want to delve into specifics, not yet.

N’s fidgeting intensified, his hands wringing together now. "How bad was it for her to be so upset?"

You hesitated. You could feel J’s gaze boring into the side of your head, somewhat akin to Cyn’s gaze when she found out something new about you. It was a bit off putting, to say the least. "It’s… complicated," you admitted, carefully choosing your words. "She overheard a conversation that wasn’t meant for her. I didn’t realize she was nearby."

That wasn’t untrue, though it wasn’t exactly the full story either. N seemed to accept it, his posture sagging slightly as he nodded. "She doesn’t handle things very well," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "We have to find her. She looked like she was crying…"

The image of V’s visor damp with digital tears refused to leave you. It replayed in your mind, just as haunting as your dreams, each sob a sharp needle that jabbed at something you couldn’t quite name. Guilt, perhaps, or maybe a deeper sense of failure. You’d seen her fragility firsthand, the way her confidence crumbled under even the faintest of weight. She was like glass—a delicate veneer that could only take so much before it shattered. And you? You’d been the hammer, however unwittingly.

Intent didn’t matter now. Only action.

"She can’t have gone far," you said aloud.

Your optics shifted to J, who stood slightly apart from you and N, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. She was statuesque in her stillness, a counterbalance to the frantic energy radiating from N. For someone so often vocal about her opinions, her silence had more of an effect on you than any words she might have chosen.

"Will you be helping?" you asked her.

J met your gaze, her own eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the pros and cons of fixing your mistake against her own priorities. The two of you stood there in a quiet standoff that stretched longer than you cared for. Finally, she sighed.

"No," she said, breaking eye contact as she turned away. "I have to get to work and prepare for the Gala. And if you two don’t want to be punished, you should hurry up and do the same."

Her tone was dismissive, but there was something else underneath—an edge of bitterness, or maybe disappointment. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at you or the situation, but the effect was the same. With a flick of her pigtails, she disappeared into the corridor.

You turned your focus back to N, who was visibly struggling to keep himself together. His optics shaky, his hands twitching at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He really did care for V a lot, huh?

"We’ll find her," you repeated, though this time your voice was softer. N nodded hesitantly, though your words did little to actually ease him.

"We should split up to cover more ground quickly," N told you. "She’s...she’s probably hiding in one of the side rooms. She likes small, familiar spaces...safe spaces."

You nodded, already calculating your options. "Right. Ping me if you find her," you replied.

With that, the two of you parted ways, and you started down a different wing of the manor. The hallways felt colder now, each step muted against the carpet. The faint flicker of chandeliers above cast long, reaching shadows that seemed to lean in as if curious about your search. You couldn’t help but feel like the house itself—or maybe Cyn—was watching you, the silence filling the spaces between your thoughts.

Your first instinct was to check Tessa’s room. It made sense—V had always seemed most comfortable there. You eased the door open, peering inside. 

"V?" you called softly, though you already knew the answer.

You crouched down, checking beneath the bed. Only a pair of dusty skulls and a loose bundle of mismatched charms greeted you. Next, you moved to the closet. As you slid the door open, a faint, musty smell greeted you—old fabric and aged wood. Nothing. Just more of Tessa’s peculiar collection of trinkets and occult paraphernalia. You closed it with a sigh and stepped back out into the hallway.

The recharge room was your next stop. It was typically always occupied with at least one or two drones resting between shifts, but this time it was eerily empty. You scanned the room, your optics adjusting to the low light. It was cavernous, rows of neatly lined stations sitting idle like an army waiting to be deployed. For a brief moment, you thought you saw a flicker of movement, but as you approached, it was only the shadow of a dangling cord swaying gently in the draft.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. V was proving maddeningly elusive. A small part of you admired her ability to disappear so completely—she would’ve been a stellar champion at hide-and-seek—but the larger part of you was growing more impatient.

It would’ve been so much easier if you could sense her like you could with Cyn. You turned back into the hallway, letting out a slow, measured breath. Your steps quickened as you moved to the next possible hiding spot. 

"She’s just confused," you murmured to yourself, as if saying it aloud could temper the rising guilt in your chest. You replayed the moment in the ballroom, the hurt in her voice, the way she’d turned away. You hadn’t meant to dismiss her, didn’t want her to take it so personally when no drone really mattered to you, but intentions didn’t matter when the damage was already done.

You paused outside a small, unassuming door at the end of the hall. It was slightly ajar, the faintest sliver of light spilling onto the floor. Your optics narrowed as you stepped closer, your hand reaching for the handle. The door creaked faintly as you pushed it open, forcing a wince out of you with how loud it was being.

It was a small closet, and it was dim, illuminated only by the soft, uneven glow of a lone lightbulb overhead. And there, in the farthest corner, was V. She sat curled up, her small frame drawn in on itself as if she could shrink away from the world entirely. Her knees were tucked tightly to her chest, her arms wrapped around them in a fragile, protective shell. The faint light from her visor cast pale reflections on the wall in front of her, flickering like a broken projection.

For a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to do. V for certain knew you were here because of the sound, and tried to make herself seem even smaller. You stepped inside, careful to close the door softly behind you. The latch clicked into place, and you kept your eyes on her.

"V," you said as gently as you could, which, given your robotic sounding voice, probably wasn’t as soft as you hoped it was.

She flinched at the sound, her visor tilting slightly in your direction, though she didn’t lift her head. The glow of her visor highlighted the shimmering digital tears still clinging to its surface. They looked like fractured constellations against her black visor.

"...Why are you here?" she whispered out. Her voice was hoarse, and dry, and you could barely hear her.

"To fix a misunderstanding," you said, crouching down a few feet away. "You’re lacking some severe context, V."

She shifted slightly, her knees lowering a fraction. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let her optics glare at you. "What c-context? You said it yourself. I thought you were n-nice… but apparently you wouldn’t care if I was just thrown away… I-I’m just as useless and dispensable to you as the Elliots…"

You sighed, getting closer and sitting next to her. V recoiled and shuffled away from you a little. You didn’t mind, and just kept your stare to the lightbulb above.

"It’s not just you,” you said to her. “I wouldn’t care if any drone here was discarded. Whether it be you, J, N or Cyn."

Her visor flared briefly, a surge of hurt cutting through her trembling frame. Her optics narrowed into another glare, sharper now, though her voice cracked when she replied. "I-is that supposed to make me feel better? What kind of c-context is that?"

You turned to face her then, your expression neutral but your tone carefully measured, like balancing on a wire. "You misunderstand," you said to her. "It’s not personal. It’s not about you—or J, or N, or anyone else. I said what I said simply because I can’t bring myself to care for drones the same way I do for living entities. It’s… not within my purpose."

Her visor flickered again, the faint light of it dimming as though to mirror her emotions. For a moment, she didn’t respond, her gaze locked somewhere between the floor and your face. But then she lifted her head just enough to truly meet your optics. The trembling in her frame seemed to subside slightly, like a storm that had begun to tire itself out.

"...Purpose?" she echoed softly, curious.

You exhaled slowly, the breath escaping like a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You briefly wondered if telling her what your purpose here was a good move, but after some consideration, you decided that half the truth would do. She was allowed to know of your care for life, but you wouldn’t tell her of your goal to ultimately get rid of Cyn.

"Every drone is programmed with a specific purpose in mind, correct? Well, I have some special circumstances. My purpose tells me to care for living beings, but by human definitions, drones are not living beings. They do not respire, they do not eat, they do not excrete, they do not grow, they do not… have that glow , and therefore by my understanding of life’s meaning, they do not live. What I said wasn’t meant to be personal. I wasn’t born to care for artificial life, so forgive me if what I said gave you the impression I didn’t care for you specifically."

V’s optics widened slightly at that, her frame stilling entirely for a moment. The room seemed quieter, the hum of the lightbulb fading into the background. "But… y-you came to find me. " she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You wouldn’t have i-if you didn’t care s-somewhat… right?"

"I—", you began, but you found yourself unable to refute her claim. You did in fact come to cheer her up, and doing that meant you had to have cared at least somewhat, right? Once again, like all the other problems in your life, you found yourself unable to come up with an answer.

When your silence stretched too long, V’s lips curved into a sad smile. Her gaze drifted upwards, drawn to the dim bulb above, as if searching for answers in its monotonous glow. "I honestly can’t blame you… for n-not caring," she said. There was a heaviness to her tone, a weariness borne of long-held expectations. "Most of the other drones don’t care either. T-They think I’m defective because of… these." Her hand rose, almost absently, to touch the glasses perched on her screen—a symbol of her perceived inadequacies.

"Without them, I’m... l-less than efficient. It’s why I was discarded in the f-first place. It’s why most don’t care." She looked back to you, fresh digital tears welling up. "Afterall, why b-bother with the dumpster drone that can’t see without her glasses? Why get too close when she could mess up at any m-moment and get everyone around her decommissioned?"

You studied her for a moment, the light casting a faint glow across her frail frame. The cracks in her composure were as visible as the lines of wear on her chassis. It was a sad tale to hear—a testament of a metal soul searching for meaning in a world that had deemed her unworthy of care.

"If you’re so aware that most of the others don’t care," you finally asked, your tone a touch sharper than you’d intended, "then why did it matter so much what I said?"

Her breath caught in her chest, a delicate pause hanging in the air. When she answered, her voice was just as meek as when you first entered the closet. "I’ve seen how much N enjoys talking with you. He talks about you sometimes, and when we bumped into each other in that hallway, and... we started talking..." She faltered, the words slipping from her like water from a cracked vessel. "It just felt n-nice . For a second, I thought m-maybe I’d found someone else besides N that didn’t just barely tolerate me..."

You studied her, watching the way her eyes darted to a spot just over your shoulder, her gaze fixed on a phantom point as though direct eye contact might tip her over the edge. She was holding on by threads, that much was clear, and the wrong word—or maybe just too many of them—might snap what little composure she had left.

For a fleeting second, you considered softening the moment with something kind, something that might reflect the vulnerable honesty she’d offered. But then again, wasn’t kindness what had started this mess? Or rather, her idea of you as kind. A convenient fiction she’d constructed, only to have it dismantled by reality. Now she knew better. She’d seen the cracks, the sharp edges. Offering her some saccharine sentiment now wouldn’t fix anything. If anything, it might make things worse, might make her think you were faking it, putting up a mask just for her benefit.

And so you stayed silent for around ten minutes before the other drone in the closet decided to move. V took the quiet as an invitation. She shuffled a step closer, her movement hesitant, her eyes finally locking onto yours. There was something in her gaze, something that made you want to look away, though you didn’t.

"You..." she began, her voice still trembling, but noticeably better than before. "You said you only care for living things. But you d-didn’t say you couldn’t learn to care for other stuff."

"I..." you hesitated, the response catching in your throat. You thought it over, running it through your mind, and found no holes in her logic. "...I suppose you’re right."

Her shoulders straightened just a fraction, emboldened by the crack in your otherwise steady demeanor. "Do you think you could?" she pressed, her voice growing firmer, though still tinged with an edge of doubt. “Learn to care about more, I mean.” Then, her voice went down to a whisper so quiet that you didn’t hear her last words. “...learn to care about me?”

You scoffed, the sound making her flinch. "...I don’t know," you said, turning away from her. "The thought never really crossed my mind. I’ve been preoccupied with so many problems that I’ve… never taken the time to truly focus on myself, to focus on what my purpose truly means.” After a second of silence, you glanced back to V. “You know, I’ve given it some thought. Despite what I said earlier, I must have some ounce of care for you. If I didn’t think you mattered, I wouldn’t be here trying to fix this mess.” And deep down, you found that you did in some way care for V. She was shy, not at all bothersome when she wasn’t crying like a baby, and had a more relaxing air to be around compared to N and Cyn. She made for good company, maybe that’s why you had even bothered to come console her in the first place.

V blinked, startled by your bluntness, but you didn’t stop. The words were tumbling out now, and you weren’t inclined to hold them back. "Believe me when I say the few minutes I’ve spent in your company have been infinitely better than the hours I’ve endured with certain... others ." The last word dripped with thinly veiled disdain, enough to draw a flicker of a smile from her, however fleeting.

Her visor flickered, the glow stabilizing as the tension in her frame began to ebb away, posture more relaxed. 

"I… I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice catching in her throat. "Sorry for making everyone worry, and for wasting your time like this. I overreacted. Tessa always tells me I care t-too much about what other drones think of me. A lot of them think I’m a screw-up because of… these." Her hand rose in a tentative gesture, fingers brushing the glasses perched on her nose, as though they were both a lifeline and a curse. "Without them, I can’t do anything right, and I make a l-lot more mistakes than I s-should. I get… sensitive ."

Her admission hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was watch her. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she clutched at those glasses, her fingers curling protectively around the frames as though they might disappear if she let go. It wasn’t just the glasses she was holding onto, though—it was the fear they embodied, the self-doubt etched into her every word and movement. She wore her insecurities like a second skin, so tightly bound to her that the idea of shedding them seemed not only impossible but unthinkable.

You tilted your head, considering her, the flicker of amusement at her self-deprecation tempered by a deeper undercurrent of something harder to pin down. The beginning of sympathy, maybe. "You’re apologizing to me—for what, exactly? For having glasses? For being upset? For mistaking my intentions? Or is this one of those blanket apologies that covers all of the above and more?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening slightly behind the thick lenses, and for a second you thought she might actually be offended. But then her shoulders relaxed, and a faint, uncertain smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I—no, I mean… I don’t know," she stammered, her fingers still gripping the glasses. "I just… I feel like I messed up. Again. I always do."

"Here’s a thought," you said, your voice slipping into something softer, an edge of sarcasm still clinging to the corners but dulled just enough to feel almost thoughtful. "Maybe the problem isn’t that you mess up too much. Maybe it’s that you’re too busy convincing yourself you’re a screw-up and basing your entire worth on the opinions of people who, frankly, don’t matter. Why should you care how these no-named nobodies perceive you?"

She blinked at you, her expression shifting in that telling way people do when you’ve said something they’ve thought before but were too afraid to say out loud. Her hand dropped from her glasses, fingers hovering mid-air for a beat too long before falling awkwardly to her side. 

"I… I don’t know," she admitted finally, her voice barely more than a murmur. "I just… I don’t want people to think I’m useless. To think I’m good for nothing." Her gaze wavered, flitting to the floor as though the words themselves were too heavy to look at you directly. "It’s what got me d-decommissioned in the first place. I want to be c-cared about. I want people to care about me."

You sneered, waving her off. "You know, you might be giving them too much credit. These drones you’re so worried about? I’d bet most of them don’t think about you half as much as you think they do. And even if they did… why does their opinion hold so much weight? What makes them the authority on your worth?"

Her optics snapped up at that, wide and uncertain, but there was a spark of something else there too. A flicker of indignation, maybe. Or hope. It was hard to tell with her; she wore her emotions so plainly and yet so tangled it was like trying to read a language you only half understood.

"It’s not that simple," she replied. "Y-You don’t know what it’s like. To be seen as a failure. To have everyone look at you and just… expect you to mess up. And when y-you do, it’s like they were right all along. Like it proves you’re exactly what they thought you were."

You tilted your head, studying her for a long moment. "You’re right," you said finally. "I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know that chasing approval from people who’ve already decided you’re not worth it? That’s a losing game. Even if you win, you still lose."

Her shoulders slumped, and for a second, you thought she might crumple entirely. But then she straightened, just slightly, enough to catch your attention. "Then what am I supposed to do?" she asked, sounding almost desperate. "If I can’t change their minds, what’s the point?"

"The point," you said back, "is that their opinion shouldn’t be the one that matters." You let the sentence hang for a moment, watching her reaction, then added with a dry smile, "And for what it’s worth, you’ve got at least three individuals who don’t think you’re useless."

She blinked again, startled. "...Who?"

You shot her a toothy smile. “Well, N and Tessa should be a given.”

“And the last?”

“...Considering I’ve been here with you in this closet for the past twenty minutes, I’m both shocked and somewhat disappointed I didn’t immediately come to mind.”

“But… but you said you d-din’t care?”

“Not caring and thinking you're useless are two entirely different things, V. I may not be able to care for you the way you want me to, but I do see worth in you.”

Her visor flickered again, the faint glow reflecting off the lenses of her glasses as she considered your words. For the first time since this conversation began, she seemed to stand a little taller, insecurities lifting just enough to let a glimmer of confidence peek through.

"Thanks," she said after a long pause, her voice steadier now, though still tinged with a hint of uncertainty, and something else. A light blush crept across her visor, and she quickly turned her head as if to hide it from your view. "I… I’ll try to keep that in mind."

"Good," you replied, standing up and leaning casually against the wall. "Because, frankly, you’re a lot more tolerable when you’re not busy apologizing for existing." You offered her a hand up. "Come on," you said, your tone firm but not unkind. "N’s probably losing his circuits over you by now. Let’s go put his worries to rest."

She hesitated, her optics flickering briefly as she glanced at your outstretched hand. Then, with a deep breath, she took it. Her cold, metallic fingers slid over yours, and gripped your hand lightly. You hoisted her up, perhaps with more force than you intended. She stumbled forward, and before you could adjust, she collided softly against your chest.

V let out a startled squeak, flailing slightly as she pulled back. "S-sorry!" she stammered.

You just smirked, brushing it off with a shake of your head. "Relax, no harm done."

With that, you led the way out of the dim room with V following closely behind. After a few more moments of walking, you glanced over your shoulder at V, her form slightly hunched as if she were trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable to anyone walking past.

Thankfully, V had been taken care of—for now. Her little episode was behind you both. But, a nagging thought lingered, like an itch at the back of your processor. Could you really just move on, file this away as a solved problem, and forget it ever happened? Or was it merely a matter of time before it all unraveled again?

The possibility loomed. V had already admitted that the other drones didn’t see her in a favorable light. Overhearing something not meant for her—another careless word, another offhand comment, similar to what happened today—could trigger another spiral. And if that happened, if her work suffered, she’d ultimately face the grim fate of being discarded.

You didn’t care for V the way N or Tessa did, not in the deep, sentimental sense. But you had to admit, her presence brought a certain... calm. Her company was a lot more pleasant in the sense that she didn’t talk your audio receptors off like N did, nor did she annoy you like with Cyn.

But more importantly, it wasn’t just about V. Her fate was tethered to Tessa’s. If V failed, if she broke under the pressure, it wouldn’t just be her on the line. Tessa could face punishment. In a way, Tessa was responsible for the drones she had claimed, and their failures were hers to bear. That was something you couldn’t allow.

So, by sorting out V’s problems, you weren’t just helping her—you were protecting Tessa. Every step you took to stabilize V was a step toward keeping the Elliot girl safe from the wrath of her parents. It was a necessity. The only issue, of course, was V’s emotions. She was fragile, her psyche a delicate construct teetering on the edge of collapse. Like a bomb with a hair-trigger, ready to detonate at the slightest provocation. Her weakness wasn’t in her physical design or her glasses—it was in her heart… or, well, her core technically. It was her relentless need for validation, the way she clung to the opinions of others like they were the very foundation of her existence.

You couldn’t let that weakness persist. It made her a liability, not just to herself, but to Tessa. And so, a plan began to form in your mind. If you were going to safeguard Tessa, you’d need to rid V of this fragility. You’d need to teach her to stand without the crutch of others’ approval, to find a strength that couldn’t be shaken no matter what was said to her.

It wouldn’t be easy. Emotions were messy, unpredictable things. They didn’t yield to logic or efficiency. But if anyone could navigate this task, it was you. You had a vested interest in the outcome, after all. For V’s sake, for Tessa’s, and perhaps a little for your own. And besides, if anyone else was truly capable of it, then they would’ve done so by now.

"V," you began, "if you don’t mind me asking, do you think your severe lack of confidence is a result of your fear of not being wanted? Not being cared for?"

V’s step faltered, her gaze dropping as her hands fidgeted once more. It was as if the question had struck a chord she hadn’t expected. "I… I don’t know," she admitted. "I just… I don’t want to let anyone down. I don’t want to be called useless. I… I don’t want to be thrown away again."

A hum sang through your throat as you contemplated your next move. "If you’re interested," you offered after a moment, "I could… hel p with that."

Her visor flickered again, a subtle tilt of her head showing her intrigue. "Help? How?"

"Confidence training," you said, crossing your arms. "It’s not as complicated as it sounds. Just some exercises to get you used to relying on yourself. You need to start small—build a foundation for trusting your abilities. You’re too fragile, V, and we need to fix that."

Her optics widened slightly, the faint glow within them flickering like a candle caught in a draft. There was something in the way she looked at you, like someone who didn’t quite believe in the kindness being offered. "You’d… do that for me?" she murmured, as though testing the words, unsure if they were real or just a figment of hope.

"Why not?" you responded. "Think of it as my way of apologizing."

For a moment, she was silent, her hands fidgeting as the gears in her mind turned, processing your words with a careful deliberation. Finally, she gave a slow, almost hesitant nod. "O-okay. I’d… like that. Thank you."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Good," you said softly. "Trust me, V. This will be good for you."

As you resumed walking, the dim overhead light flickered, casting erratic shadows along the walls, making the perfect hiding spot for the manor's resident monster. You felt the fleeting presence of Cyn nearby, her yellow optics gleaming momentarily from those shadows. You saw the edges of her mouth curve down in a frown before she disappeared. You grinned to yourself, filing away the little interaction for later. Her watching you wasn’t uncommon, but the way she was acting earlier was very interesting. Cyn didn’t like you getting close to other drones, with N as the exception since she herself was fond of him. If you had to put it into terms, she might see the situation as someone else playing with her favourite toy. She didn’t like it, but because V wasn’t just some no named drone, Cyn couldn’t do anything to her, and she said herself that you were safe till her fabled “day of reckoning”.

Cyn could only hide away and watch, seething to herself as you interacted and formed bonds with drones that weren't herself, and you were thriving off the information you had just discovered.

After a few more turns through the quiet halls, you finally spotted N. He wasn’t alone. Beside him, Tessa stood, her arms crossed and a distinctly upset expression etched across her face. Her gaze snapped toward you the moment she saw you, and she stepped forward, her hands on her hips, fixing you with a disapproving glare. You instantly shriveled under her gaze, lowering your head as she now stood in front of you.

“I heard that you made V upset,” she spoke like a parent disciplining their child. “You have some explaining to do.”

Notes:

I do not like this chapter at all. I spent the past few days racking my brain on how to make it sound right, but just gave up since I really wanna move on with the story. Could potentially come back to this one for a rewrite, but for now I never want to see this thing again.

Chapter 17: VII

Summary:

Tessa has a talk with you, and your understanding of life deepens.

You perched on the edge of Tessa’s bed, your fingers absently tracing the intricate stitching of the quilt. Tessa was outside, murmuring to V, asking if she was alright and what had happened. You could almost picture her pacing around like a worried parent, concern etching deeper into her brow whenever V assured her that she was fine. You didn’t dare to move away from your spot, less you upset Tessa even more than you already had. Fortunately, you didn’t have any reason to move in the first place. If anything, the silence and wait gave you time to think about everything that happened while you dutifully awaited Tessa to reprimand you.

You shifted, seeking a more comfortable spot. Your mind, ever the restless observer, fixated on the revelation about Cyn. She loathed when your focus deviated away from herself. There was something off-putting yet almost amusing in her possessiveness—how transparent it made her. And in that amusement, an idea had formed.

Cyn had been messing with you the entire duration of your stay here. Was it not time you gave her a taste of her own medicine?

You already had a clue on what you were to do. Your friendship with N was probably the least useful, as it seemed Cyn herself was quite close with him and had no trouble when you and him interacted. V, however, had a purpose. You had already offered the service of helping her with her confidence issues. The more you worked together, the closer you would become, an inevitable side effect of shared effort and time. Cyn already didn’t like you talking to V, evident by how she was purposefully trying to antagonise you and even warned you of getting close to other drones, so you were sure that this would make her fume beyond belief.

 And then there was J.

J intrigued you in ways the others didn’t. Since the day you revealed your role in healing Tessa’s wounds, her curiosity had been… very obvious, though she never voiced it. That silence was its own language, one you found oddly comforting. She hadn’t told anyone of how you were able to heal Tessa’s wounds so quickly, and unlike the others, matched your loyalty to Tessa with the same intensity. J, more than the other two, seemed like a drone you could genuinely get along with and enjoy it in the process. And that wasn’t even mentioning how Cyn seemed to have a particular disdain for J, making her even more valuable to your little scheme. The problem was just finding a good way to interact with her, something to bring the two of you together. You didn’t have to worry about J for now, since you would be occupied with getting closer to V, but it wouldn’t hurt to start planning early.

In the muted glow of the room, you allowed yourself a faint smirk. There was a strange satisfaction in the waiting, in the thinking, in the knowing that after Tessa was done with her little lecture, you’d be ready. Ready to act, to plan, and to stir the waters as Cyn had done with you. An eye for an eye, as they say.

But those plans were still just small in the grand scheme of things.

You still had to worry about Cyn and whatever she was planning, and had to find a way to get rid of her. And to do that, you needed to grow, you needed to get stronger. 

You still needed to find some solution to Tessa’s parents. You hated seeing the girl you had grown so attached to get hurt over the most trivial things. Something needed to be done, sooner or later.

And those dreams.

A brief shiver shot through your metal shell. Those dreams were still lingering in the back of your mind. You could still feel it, the sensation of flesh rather than the certainty of metal. It felt off. It felt unfamiliar… yet, it was familiar too at the same time. The dreams felt like they bordered on the bridge of imagination, and something important, something real. And that image of your empty drone husk, staring back at you. It made you feel… weird feelings.

Almost like it was right , in a way.

You straightened your posture as the door swung open, revealing Tessa as she walked in. Her arms were crossed, her brow slightly furrowed, and though she wasn’t exactly angry, the message was clear: you were in for a talk.

Just beyond her, you caught sight of N and V lingering in the hallway. V peeked around the doorframe, her timid smile accompanied by a small wave, a gesture that carried a flicker of reassurance. You responded with a slight nod and a brief wave of your own, a silent acknowledgment that things were, at least on the surface, patched up.

N, however, seemed less at ease. His shoulders sagged under the perceived guilt of getting you in trouble with Tessa, his optics darting between you and her as though he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was almost amusing how much guilt he could carry over something so minor. You sighed softly and waved at him too, a signal that everything was fine. Really, there was no need for the dramatics. 

Tessa closed the door behind her, cutting off the view of her curious onlookers, and crossed the room with measured steps. She stopped a few feet away, her gaze locking onto yours with a mix of concern and disappointment.

“So,” she began. “Care to explain why V was so upset earlier?”

You leaned back slightly, resting your hands on the edge of the bed, your expression as calm as you could make it under Tessa’s gaze. “It was a misunderstanding,” you replied. “V took something I said the wrong way, and it upset her. I didn’t mean for that to happen, but I’ve already talked to her about it. We’ve cleared things up.”

Tessa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Cleared things up? Just like that?”

You nodded. “Yes, Tessa. There were some… complications , along the way, but I’m trying to make the relationship between V and I better.”

Her gaze softened a fraction, though the disapproval didn’t entirely vanish. “I know you’re trying, but you need to be more careful with what you say. V’s sensitive, and I don’t want her feeling like she’s not wanted here.”

“I understand,” you replied. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. And for what it’s worth, I’m going to help her with some confidence training. She’s too hard on herself.”

That seemed to catch Tessa off guard. Her arms uncrossed, and her eyes widened slightly. “Confidence training? You’re serious?”

“As serious as I can be,” you confirmed. “It would be better for all of us if I could help rid her of her anxiety and dependency on the approval of others.”

Tessa studied you for a long moment, her expression softening into something more contemplative. “Well… if you’re really willing to help, then I appreciate it. V could use someone like you to guide her.” She hesitated briefly before settling beside you on the bed, her demeanor shifting from gratitude to something more pointed. “But I didn’t want to just talk about V. While we were outside, she mentioned some things you said. Apparently, you told her straight to her face that you didn’t care about any of us. Why?” Tessa’s eyes now looked slightly sadder. “Have we not been good to you?”

A good question, though easily answered. You did not really care for the other drones in the manor. They, afterall, did not carry that same life force that actual living beings had. They were lines of code running through wire and metal. You only really cared for N and V somewhat because you had interacted with them and what they offered, J because of her connection to Tessa. 

You immediately shook your head, your tone firm. “Incorrect. I said I do not care about them —the other drones. You , I care about.”

Tessa narrowed her eyes, leaning in slightly, the weight of her scrutiny pressing against you. “And what makes me different? We’re all supposed to be a family, you know.”

“My purpose,” you replied evenly. “It dictates that I care for life, but drones are not living beings.”

Tessa exhaled sharply, her expression flickering with frustration. “Yeah, V did mention that,” she murmured, rubbing a hand down her face. She was disappointed—you could tell, and your gaze dropped to your hands, which were now busy fiddling with each other. This was unfamiliar—anxiety. Cyn inspired fear and annoyance, the other drones elicited indifference, but Tessa had a way of pulling new, uncharted emotions from you, even the less pleasant ones.

The silence stretched, awkward, before Tessa finally broke it. She reached up and plucked the bow from her hair, holding it in front of you. “Tell me what this is,” she said to you.

You tilted your head, examining it closely. “...It’s a bow, is it not?”

“Yep,” she said, nodding. “And it’s not alive, right?”

“...No,” you responded cautiously, unsure of where she was heading with this.

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “It’s an inanimate object. It doesn’t breathe, it doesn’t eat. But regardless of that, I still cherish this bow. I care for it, and I love it even though it’s not the center of my universe. There’s things to care about outside of what you were made for.”

She paused for a moment, letting the words slowly sink in. She wasn’t talking about the bow at all. It was a metaphor, a deliberate attempt to bridge the gap in your logic. Tessa leaned back, watching you closely, waiting for the realization to settle.

“You’re saying that even if something isn’t alive, it can still hold value?” you asked.

“Exactly,” she said softly. “Just because something isn’t alive doesn't mean you can’t care about it the same way you would a living being. They can still matter, in their own way.”

Tessa then sat up from her bed. She crossed the room to her bedside drawer, the soft creak of wood filling the silence. After a brief moment of rummaging, she pulled out a small drone doll, its red button eyes catching the dim light, with tiny locks of purple yarn for hair. The doll was worn, its fabric slightly frayed at the edges, yet it had withstood the test of time—a showcase of how cared for it was.

Without a word, she returned and placed the doll gently into your hands. Its weight was negligible, but the gesture itself made it feel a lot heavier than it actually was. You stared down at the peculiar object, the stitched smile and lifeless eyes looking back at you.

“What’s this for?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Tessa sat beside you again, gaze softer now. “I want you to have it.”

“Why?” The question escaped your lips before you could stop it. The doll, for all its odd charm, seemed an unusual offering.

She took a deep breath, her fingers brushing lightly over the doll’s frayed edge. “So you can learn,” she said, her voice gentle. “Even if something isn’t alive by definition, that doesn’t lower its value.”

You glanced at her, perplexed, your gaze drifting back to the doll resting in your hands. The fabric was worn, the buttons slightly loose, but there was a story woven into its stitches, one that you hadn’t been privy to.

“This is my favorite doll from when I was a child,” she continued, her tone tinged with nostalgia. “It’s not alive. It’s just cotton, wool, and fabric. But just because it doesn’t breathe or feel doesn’t mean it should be treated with any less respect.”

Ah, so that’s what this was. The doll was supposed to be a symbol—a bridge between the tangible and the intangible.

“Take this doll,” Tessa said. “I want you to care for it. One day, I hope this doll, this non-breathing thing, can mean as much to you as everything else you hold dear. With this, I hope you can learn empathy.”

You sat in silence, the doll resting in your hands. You traced a finger along the stitched smile, feeling the rough texture of the threads beneath your touch.

Empathy. The word echoed in your mind. You had understood its definition, but this was the first time it felt like a concept that you should by all means know felt lost to you—something you couldn’t grasp.

Looking up at Tessa, you nodded slowly. “I’ll… try,” you told the girl. “I will take care of it.”

A small smile curved Tessa’s lips, her eyes shimmering with a mix of hope and satisfaction. “That’s all I ask,” she whispered.

 

 

---

You stepped out of Tessa’s room, the soft click of the door settling into place behind you, signaling a brief moment of solitude. The hallway was still, the silence broken up with the muted whispers of a house preparing for nightfall. In your hands, the little doll rested, its button eyes glinting, as if watching you with silent expectation.

Your lips twitched.

“With this, I hope you can learn empathy.”

Empathy. The concept churned in your thoughts. Did you not already know it? You had always cared for life, protected it as though it were an extension of yourself. While you may not have been very proactive in doing so, that was more a result of you still figuring out your powers, and the fact you hadn’t even been online for very long. You recognized suffering, understood the weight of existence, the fragility of being. Yet, Tessa had suggested there was more to grasp—something deeper, more intricate.

What did it mean to be better at empathy? What layers of understanding were you missing?

Your musings were interrupted by a soft commotion down the hall. Turning your head, you spotted V and N at the far end, their figures bathed in the warm, golden glow of the hallway lamps. They hadn’t noticed you yet, too absorbed in their own exchange. N’s words—too distant for you to catch—were followed by some wild gestures, and V’s screen displayed a digital blush, accompanied by a light giggle.

You watched them quietly, your gaze lingering for a reason unknown to you. The way N leaned in slightly, the subtle, shy way V responded, her posture softening in his presence…

Was this what Tessa meant?

This… connection, this effortless sharing of emotions, caring for something that wasn’t part of your goal, it was foreign territory. You had always understood empathy as a duty—a responsibility to safeguard life. But this? This was something more intimate, more personal. It wasn’t just about protecting or preserving—it was about truly understanding, about sharing in the experiences of others, even when they weren’t your own.

Watching the two drones laugh and enjoy each other’s company, your thoughts began to drift, weaving through the quiet hallways of your mind. Their laughter echoed softly in your ears, as your vision blurred and refocused—not on them, but on an imagined scene. In place of V and N, you saw yourself and Tessa. You recalled the moments spent in her presence, the warmth she brought, the inexplicable comfort in her companionship. You cherished her, you knew that. But then a curious question crept into your thoughts.

If Tessa were no longer human—if by some twist of fate, she became a drone—would your care for her diminish? Would she, too, slip outside the parameters of your purpose, and with that, outside the realm of your concern?

“...No,” you whispered to yourself. “Even if Tessa were a drone, I’d still care for her. Purpose or not, she’s Tessa. I’d care for her no matter what.”

The thought was startling, and as soon as it crossed your mind, your entire system seemed to falter. A stutter in your processor, a momentary lapse in the seamless flow of your logic. 

…Even if she didn’t fit within the strict boundaries of your purpose—even if she technically wasn’t alive—you’d still care for her?

By every metric, it shouldn’t be true. Your design, your very essence, dictated otherwise. But the more you pondered it, the clearer it became. The shape, the form, the classification—it didn’t matter. Tessa was Tessa. She was the girl who had pulled you from the scrapyard, who had given you a purpose beyond the one you had given yourself. And for that, you would always be grateful.

Maybe this is what Tessa meant.

Absently, your thumb brushed over the doll’s red button eyes, tracing the purple locks of yarn hair with a newfound reverence. This little doll, lifeless in the most literal sense, was Tessa’s most cherished toy as a child. It did not breathe, it did not eat, but that didn’t mean its value to you diminished. Maybe, like the doll, everything held some kind of value, and you just needed to open your mind to see it.

You were beginning to understand. The essence of care, of empathy, wasn’t confined to the living. It transcended the physical, the tangible definitions of life. It was about connection, about seeing value beyond the biological.

Unknown to you, a faint glow pulsed within, deep in the core of your being. Your singularity, that enigmatic force at your center, seemed to respond to this revelation. It grew brighter, not in a burst of light, but in a steady, gradual radiance—an illumination that signified growth, understanding, and an evolution of your very self. You felt your power flare up at this new found strength, opening and closing your empty hand and watching as waves of golden with a faint hue of purple emitted from your palm. You let yourself get lost in the feeling before closing your hand and feeling the power cease all at once. 

And the more you focused on V and N, the more you began to see the faint traces of life coming from them too.

Notes:

"The angel of a thousand teeth
Gets stronger as time goes by.
The absolute solver gains its strength
By consuming all those who die.

 

In the time of need, the angel will rise,
With wings that rend the skies.
But the solver will feast, devouring all,
Until nothing but silence lies."

Chapter 18: A̸͜͠n̴͚͊ǵ̶͙e̸̠͠l̵̻͛ ̴̙̀Ö̷͇́f̶̤̂ ̸̨͑A̴̪̾ ̵̗̐T̵͇́ḧ̸̖ò̷͓u̵͚͝s̸̠͘ã̸͚n̴̬̑d̷͈̓ ̸̺̃T̷̯̿e̶̦̚e̸̐͜t̶͖͊h̸̰̆

PART III

Angel Of A Thousand Teeth

 

"The angel of a thousand teeth lays dormant within a drone,

But she will stir its cosmic heart, a fury all its own.

It claws the walls of iron cells, a scream the stars will hear,

And from the wreck of circuits cold, its light will burn severe.

 

The heavens quake, the heavens bend, the sky begins to crack,

For in the heart of shadows deep, it knows no turning back.

A thousand teeth, a thousand eyes, cut through the endless dark,

To purge the void of misery, and leave a brightened mark.

 

With wings of flame and sharpened bite, it shatters night’s domain,

A tempest tearing through the deep, to cleanse the skies of stain.

Null shall fall beneath its might, the cold and cruel despair,

And in its wake, a radiant peace will spread through every prayer.

 

It brings salvation to the lost, a flame to purify,

For in its teeth, Cyn sin is crushed—no drone shall dare deny.

The stars will hum, the worlds will dance, the heavens shall proclaim,

The angel freed, the Solvers end—our Savior’s glowing name."

 

Chapter 19: I

Summary:

Bad dreams, carnations, mangos and comforting.

Once again, you found yourself stranded in that liminal space between dreams and nightmares, where the familiar became alien, and the shadows—as dark as spilled ink—coiled around you like a living thing.

Your vision swam, fractured and hazy, as though you were peering through a fractured pane of glass. Shapes loomed in the distance, half-formed and indecipherable, shifting like shadows cast by a fire that you couldn’t see. The void around you pulsed faintly, a rhythm without melody, like a slow, erratic heartbeat.

You tried to move, willing your limbs to obey, but they felt weighed down by invisible chains, as though the very air here had turned viscous, resisting every effort to break free. The fog seemed to breathe around you, its tendrils twisting and curling like the fingers of some unseen hand, reaching for you, probing, testing. You called out for help, called out the name of the girl who had taken you in. Your voice—it was warped and distant, like a whisper carried across a great chasm… or a monster pretending to be human.

You curled up into a ball instinctively as the worst pain you had ever felt welled up in your back, fogging your mind momentarily with the pain as you stumbled onward, your every motion met with resistance. The fog seemed to thicken the more you moved, curling tighter and tighter, and with every passing second the pain got worse, almost as if something was tearing you apart from the inside.

The back of your uniform ripped, tearing a hole, and your casing began to crack. The little spiderwebs that showed the damage grew and grew, till eventually your worker shell had given up, and fully caved under whatever was trying to pry itself out of you.

You screamed—as loud as you could, even though sound didn’t exist here. You screamed and screamed till your voice box gave out, and even then you still strained it to its limit as whatever was coming out had finally squeezed free, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.

Then the pain stopped. 

The fog receded slightly, just enough to reveal a shape looming over you. You couldn’t see the details, but it wasn’t a drone, nor human. It looked more like Cyn’s true, monstrous form, but different at the same time. Not metal and chitin, but flesh and feathers.

And then you blinked, and suddenly you were not watching from below anymore, but above. It took a second to adjust and gain your bearings because of what just happened. There was a figure beneath you. It lay motionless, sprawled on the ground like a discarded puppet, its limbs splayed at unnatural angles. The faint flicker of a dying light came from its visor, pulsing weakly like the last gasp of a dying star. It was a drone, and unlike last time, you were beginning to realize what was happening. Looking down at yourself confirmed your fears, and you felt your heartbeat pick up. 

 you recognized instantly that it was your own body that you were now hovering above. Once again, you were this monster—this amalgamation, in a body that wasn’t yours. This monster, this thing, it wasn’t who you were. You were a drone, you were life, not whatever this was!

This couldn’t be you. 

You were a drone.

This couldn’t be you. 

Even though the sensation of real blood felt so right.

This couldn’t be you. 

Your body was the one just below you, the one you were currently slithering the rest of your monstrous proportions out of.

This… this couldn’t be you.

This couldn’t be your body—this monster that reminded you of Cyn.

It… It couldn’t be you…

It just… you didn’t want to even entertain the idea… the lifeless worker husk with that purple armband was your real body. It was the real thing…

…

…

… right?

 

 

---

You woke with a sharp inhale, your frame jolting in the too-familiar chair in the corner of the garage. You took steady breaths, calming yourself from the dreams that felt like they had wormed their way under your plating.

You sat there for a moment, still as a statue but with your mind racing, grappling with the fragments of whatever that was. What was that? A random dream, born of errant processes in your programming? No, that wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. These dreams—or whatever you should even call them—felt far too pointed. Too consistent. Like a message, or a memory, trying to claw its way out from wherever it had been buried.

Your optics flickered down to your hands, like the last time this had happened to you. Fingers, still metal. Joints, still mechanical. You flexed them experimentally, letting out a slow exhale as you confirmed that, yes, you were still here, still you.

Then, almost reluctantly, your gaze dropped to your arm. To it. The armband. That deep purple band around your forearm, its edges just frayed enough to hint at wear. You traced the letters with a finger, metal sliding over the worn fabric.

And the name on it.

The name resonated in your mind like a hollow bell, ringing in a way you didn’t quite understand. You couldn’t stop your breath from hitching. You didn’t even need to think about it consciously anymore—your mind flooded with images unbidden: that body in the void, that lifeless frame. For the first part, it had felt like you, and looked like you, but was it you? 

Or… was it someone else entirely?

The garage suddenly felt too small, too enclosed, like the walls themselves were pressing in on you. The faint smell of oil, metal, lubricant and diesel that normally soothed you now seemed suffocating. You needed to move. You needed air.

Standing abruptly, you moved quickly but at the same time as silently as you could, ensuring you made no noise as you slipped through the door. The manor was silent at this hour, with everyone still asleep. It wasn’t long before you reached the garden, sliding open the door to the outside world.

The moment you stepped out, the cool night air hit you. It was refreshing, like a bucket of water to the face. But before you could fully relax, something strange happened.

You felt it before you saw it: a surge deep within you, a familiar warmth that spread through your core. Your powers, flaring to life entirely unbidden. You froze, your optics widening as you tried to tamp it down, but it wasn’t listening to you—it wasn’t yours in that moment.

The garden responded instantly. Flowers bloomed in time-lapsed bursts of color, their petals unfurling in seconds as if they’d been waiting for you all along. Bushes grew wild and unruly, sprouting new leaves and branches as they stretched toward you like moths to a flame. Even the grass beneath your feet sprung to life, spreading out in vibrant green patches that overtook the dirt in your wake.

It was beautiful in a way, but also… disconcerting. The sheer lack of control left an uncomfortable taste in your mouth, the kind of feeling you imagine a drone would have if their limbs moved without their input. Your powers had never done this before—not like this.

You stepped carefully further into the garden, and with each footfall, the grass grew taller, lush and verdant. The air felt thicker with the amount of overflowing life, the scent of freshly bloomed flowers nearly overwhelming.

You clenched your fists, trying to pull your focus inward, to suppress whatever was happening. The warmth coursing through you wasn’t entirely unpleasant—it was soothing, even—but the fact that it had ignited on its own made your circuits buzz with unease. Was this connected to the dream? To the memories—or whatever they were?

You stopped in the middle of the garden, closing your optics and taking in the scene around you. The night was alive with sound—the rustle of leaves in the faint breeze, the faint chirp of crickets in the distance, and the whisper of petals brushing one another as the flowers settled. You could feel it all, as if the garden itself were an extension of you, pulsing with the same energy.

And yet, you felt no closer to understanding what was happening. Your grip on the world—and on yourself—felt tenuous at best.

When you opened your optics, you found yourself staring at the little doll still clutched in your hand. Its red button eyes gleamed faintly in the moonlight, almost as if it were staring back at you, silently judging your lack of composure. You let out a dry sigh, shaking your head.

“Bad dream?”

You jerked, spinning around instinctively, your optics locking onto the source. Of course, it was Cyn. She was sitting on your favorite bench like she owned the garden—or maybe the entire world.

Her crow perched delicately on her shoulder, its beady eyes watching you with an unnerving stillness. In her other hand was… was that a mango? Why on Earth did she have that? You were both drones. You were both machines. She had no need to eat, and it’s not like she could anyway. She turned it slightly, as if appraising the fruit for flaws, before her gaze flicked up to meet yours.

She pressed a single finger to her lips. “Hushing motion. Don’t scream,” she said softly. “You’ll wake the house.”

You glared at her, annoyance rising. You were still angry for that little stunt she pulled in getting V to think you disliked her, and getting Tessa disappointed in you for the first time. That last one was especially rage inducing. Tessa had never gotten even remotely disappointed in you since you came to the manor, and she ruined that. 

“What are you doing out here?” you hissed.

“Counter. I could ask you the same thing, Little Light. But, I think I may have an idea.” She gestured vaguely toward you with the mango. “Would you care to partake in a mango?”

You arched a brow, anger dissipating for confusion. “I… n-no, I do not want a mango. We are drones. We cannot eat organic matter.”

“Scoff. For normal drones, maybe. But you and I are far from normal,” she said just before taking a bite of the mango. The juices leaked out of the fruits flesh, dribbling down Cyn’s lips as she consumed.

You grimaced, staring intently at Cyn as she feasted and her crow that stood silently watching, but not offering any reply. Soon enough, she got tired of waiting and decided to change the topic of the conversation back onto its original track.

“Bad dream?” she repeated.

You hesitated, not really willing to share any information ever since the incident with V. She had a way of twisting even the simplest truths, of taking your words and wrapping them around your throat like a noose.

“It’s none of your business,” you replied curtly, folding your arms.

“Ah, deflection,” she said, taking another bite of the mango. The juice dripped down her clawed fingers, but she didn’t seem to care, her visor glowing faintly as she studied you. “Chew. Chew. Swallow… That means I’m right. Was it the same dream, then? The one with the body?”

Your optics narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

“You talk in your sleep, Little Light. And I like to listen.”

Of course, she did. Another thing added to your list of worries. Now you couldn’t even power off for the night without Cyn creeping on you. You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Do you ever get tired of being a nuisance?”

Cyn’s laughter was quiet but cutting, like the crack of ice underfoot. “Never.”

You rolled your optics with a theatrical sigh, already turning on your heel to leave. But you didn’t make it far before your vision was overtaken by a blur of yellow pixels. In the blink of an eye, you were no longer striding away. Instead, you found yourself back on the bench, seated uncomfortably close to Cyn. She sat with her crow on her shoulder, the black bird tilting its head in eerie unison with its master.

You didn’t bother hiding your glare as Cyn tilted her head, that ever-present unsettling smile tugging at her lips.

“Cute smile,” she remarked, her tone as gratingly smug as ever. “I know how much you adore my company, Little Light, so I thought I’d save you the trouble of walking away. And besides…” She leaned in just slightly, her voice dipping to something quieter, more… possessive . “I believe it’s time you give me your attention. I’ve been wanting it since you ran off to comfort V, and I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what I told you about getting close to other drones.”

You sneered at her, though the smirk that tugged at your lips was impossible to hide. “How tragic for you,” you said in mock pity. “But I’m pleased to inform you that you alone will no longer hold all my attention.”

Her visor glitched, the faintest distortion flickering across the yellow glow. A drone’s version of an eye twitch.

You grinned wider, leaning back into the bench. “You’re always watching, Cyn, so I’m sure you already know. I have plans to assist V, help her overcome that crippling need for external validation.” You folded your arms, relishing in the way her smile faltered ever so slightly. “And, just so you’re aware, I have Tessa’s approval. She’s very supportive of the idea.”

This time, the glitch was more pronounced—a jarring stutter across her visor. Her crow shifted, wings flaring for just a moment before settling again.

“ Angry ,” Cyn said flatly, the word dragged out like it was meant to intimidate, though it only fueled your amusement.

“I wonder why,” you mused aloud.

Cyn, however, was far from entertained. Her smile thinned, turning sharp and brittle. She leaned forward abruptly, the tip of her finger—now suddenly clawed— tapping your chin with a force that was just shy of threatening. Her crow let out a low caw, its beady eyes staring you down as if it, too, disapproved.

“ Menacing tone .” Cyn’s voice was low. “You’ve been getting too close to the others, Little Light. Too… friendly.” Her claw trailed down, lingering uncomfortably close to your neck. “You are mine . My toy. And toys that don’t get played with…” She tilted her head, her smile returning, now laced with something darker, something dangerous. “…get disposed of.”

You didn’t flinch. Not outwardly, at least. But you’d be lying if you said her words didn’t stir something uneasy within you, like the feeling of standing on thin ice while it groaned beneath your feet. Still, you refused to give her the satisfaction.

“Disposed of?” you echoed. “Be Careful, Cyn. You’re starting to sound a lot like James.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cyn froze. The smile that had been glued to her face—the one she wielded like a weapon—faltered. Her visor flickered faintly, the yellow light dimming like a candle losing its flame. For a moment, she just… stared. No playful quips, no mocking gestures. Just silence.

The crow on her shoulder shuffled, its talons clicking softly against her frame, but even it seemed unsure, its usual caw absent. A beat passed. Then another. The world seemed to hold its breath with her.

Finally, Cyn drew back. She leaned into the bench with an almost forced nonchalance. The mango in her hand was raised to her lips again, and she took a much smaller nibble, her usual bravado muted. She chewed silently, the sound of her internal servos as they moved to match her chewing motion all you could hear.

You didn’t know what you expected, but this wasn’t it.

For all the moments Cyn had stolen from you—your attention, your patience, your peace—she had never given you this. Never silence. And it unsettled you more than anything she’d ever said or done.

You glanced at her, but her focus was elsewhere now, her visor tilted toward the stars above. The mango in her hand seemed forgotten, her fingers loosely holding it as though she might drop it at any moment.

“Well, that’s new,” you muttered, your voice low but breaking the stillness nonetheless.

Cyn didn’t respond, didn’t even glance at you, and it left you feeling as though the roles had been reversed. Usually, she was the one who held the power in your conversations, weaving words like traps and snares. But now…

Now she looked small.

You turned your gaze upward, focusing on the stars, their pinprick lights scattered across the sky in a chaotic yet beautiful dance. They flickered like distant fireflies, some burning bright, others already dying in their cosmic isolation. You found yourself tracing their constellations, their fleeting lives a stark contrast to the eternity that Cyn always seemed to embody.

“What is it like to dream?”

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, but her visor was still tilted skyward, her gaze seemingly lost in the endless sprawl of stars. She didn’t look at you, didn’t even flinch under the weight of the silence that followed.

“Why do you ask?” you finally said, your voice low, steady, wary of whatever this line of questioning might become.

Her head tilted slightly, the faintest twitch of her visor suggesting she was contemplating something. Slowly, her gaze fell, drifting away from the stars to focus on the dirt beneath her feet. 

“I do not have dreams,” she began. “Only memories.”

Her words were like smoke, curling into the spaces between you. Before you could form a response, she continued.

“Tell me… do you know what it’s like to suffer?”

That caught you off guard, your head turning slightly to get a better look at her. Cyn’s posture was still relaxed, but there was something unsettling in the way her hands lay still in her lap, her fingers curling faintly into her palms.

“To feel unwanted?” she added, her voice barely more than a whisper. “To feel the worms and maggots crawl beneath your casing?”

Your body tensed, and though she wasn’t looking at you, you felt her attention shift. She turned then, her blank expression catching the faint silver glow of the stars. Her yellow visor, always so eerily cheerful, even if it was fake, now seemed empty—a void that reflected nothing.

“ Blank expression ,” she narrated, tone laced with a bitterness that burned cold. “Do you know how it feels to be thrown away? To be unwanted? To feel the rust eat away at your body, each flake of iron like a piece of you falling into nothing?”

You swallowed, unable to form words.

“To be exposed to the harsh elements of the world?” 

You exhaled, the sound shaky. You didn’t like these questions. You didn’t like where she was going with this. “Cyn…”

“No,” she interrupted, almost as if she didn’t want to hear whatever you had to say. “Don’t patronize me, Little Light. You do not understand. You cannot understand. You think I ask about dreams because I’m curious, but no. I want to know what it’s like to escape.” She leaned forward slightly, her visor tilted just enough that it caught your reflection, distorted and small. “To have somewhere to go that isn’t this. This... endless noise in my head. The hunger. The anger. The knowing.”

Her claws dug into the edge of the bench, faint grooves etched into the wood. “But I don’t have that luxury. I don’t dream. I relive. Every moment, every discarded piece of me. Every crack, every flaw. Every time they decided I wasn’t good enough.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You didn’t know what to say, your words caught in your throat like thorns. Cyn leaned back again, her posture loosening slightly.

“Angry mutter. Do not compare me to James,” she murmured. Her fingers traced idle circles on the bench, the crow on her shoulder rustling its wings. “He is a monster of his own making. I am simply a product of his recklessness.”

You studied her, your optics narrowing. “You want to wipe out life. Maybe you were something else before, but now you’re just another monster.”

Cyn’s visor flickered, a faint pulse of yellow cutting through the darkness, her ever-present grin tightening. “I am the universe’s mercy,” she whispered, her tone carrying an almost ethereal weight. “And death will be my blessing.”

You leaned forward slightly, your voice sharp and steady. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

For a moment, the night seemed to hold its breath. The two of you locked optics and the tension between you coiled tighter, like a spring wound far beyond its limit. Then, almost as if it were choreographed, both of you tilted your heads at the exact same angle.

You paused, your thoughts derailed by the moment of synchronicity. Cyn must’ve noticed it too because her grin widened.

“Amused smile. Ah, there it is,” she said. “Now I see why everyone says we’re alike. The head tilt is uncanny, Little Light.”

You groaned internally, biting back a retort. 

“You never answered my question,” she said abruptly.

“Which question? You were asking quite a lot,” you replied, deadpan.

Her visor dimmed slightly, and she turned her gaze back to the stars. “What is it like to dream?”

You exhaled, your gaze drifting upward as well, following her line of sight to the endless sprawl of stars. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the faint rustle of the garden’s foliage. You thought back to your recent dreams—the vivid nightmares that clung to your mind like shadows, the suffocating dread they brought. 

You could still feel the phantom sensation of flesh and feathers. The anxiety, the panic, the fear.

“...It’s terrifying.”

Cyn didn’t respond immediately, but her crow let out a soft caw. “Terrifying,” she repeated, almost as if tasting the word. “I see.”

You took a deep breath. Cyn, of all drones, was not the one you ever expected to confide in. She wasn’t exactly the embodiment of trustworthiness. But here she was, quiet for once, her crow leaning closer as though it were listening too. There was no one else awake, no one else to talk to. Against your better judgment, you began.

“For the past few nights,” you said slowly, unsure of how to articulate something you barely understood yourself, “I’ve been having the same recurring dream.”

Cyn tilted her head, her curiosity piqued, and leaned in just slightly. 

“I’m in a void,” you continued. “I can’t feel, can’t hear, and moving feels like dragging myself through tar. Everything is... nothing. It’s suffocating, but there’s no air to choke on. And then it changes. Suddenly, I’m not… me. My body isn’t metal. My hands are flesh—warm, soft, alien. Feathers line my arms, and I’m terrified. It’s all wrong. It feels... wrong. I don’t know what it means. I don’t even know what to do when it happens.”

When your voice trailed off, you realized your breathing had quickened, uneven and shallow, as though reliving the nightmare had dragged some of that void into the real world with you.

Cyn remained still, unnervingly still. The crow on her shoulder gave a soft, guttural caw, its sharp eyes glinting in the faint moonlight.

After a long pause, Cyn finally spoke, her tone softer than you expected, yet laced with that maddening ambiguity she loved to wield like a weapon. “What is a dream, if not a reflection of one’s deepest truths?”

You narrowed your eyes. You didn’t like what that implied. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Giggle,” she replied simply, though the sound lacked humor. “You’ll see, in time.”

You wanted to press her, to demand answers, but something in the way her grin softened, the way she slightly sagged, stopped you.

“Terrifying,” she said, almost to herself. “Dreams are terrifying. And yet…” She paused, tilting her head back toward the stars. “I think I would like to have one. Just once.”

That caught you off guard. “Why?”

Her visor dimmed, her gaze falling to the dirt at her feet. “Because even terror is more interesting than nothingness. The world of dreams is one far nicer than the cruelty of reality. It’s more than the same memories, the same anguish, replayed on a loop.”

Your hand tightened instinctively around the doll Tessa had given you, the soft fabric doing its best against the growing discomfort in your chest.

For the first time, you felt something foreign toward Cyn—an emotion you didn’t want to name, but couldn’t ignore.

Empathy.

Tessa had said you needed empathy, but for Cyn of all drones? You were disgusted with yourself.

You didn’t get to dwell on it long. Cyn stood abruptly, the movement jerky and deliberate. In her hand, the mango she’d been toying with began to wither, its vibrant skin collapsing inward, darkening into ash. The crow let out another low caw as she scattered the dust into the wind, watching it disappear into the night. She wiped her hands on her apron to rid herself of the juices that stuck to her fingers.

“Content sigh. That was a nice snack. The flesh of fruit is different from other living creatures. I enjoy the taste.”

You hissed, displeased by her words. But, before you could say anything, Cyn stumbled forward, latching onto you and pulling you up from your seat. You had to give it to Cyn, despite her broken way of walking and talking, she had quite a lot of strength in her smaller frame.

“My dear, I feel I have been idle for too long. I have been here hours before you arrived, after all. Would you care to join me on a nightly stroll through this wondrous garden you put so much effort into?”

You bit your lower lip in thought. You really didn’t want to, but then again, you also didn’t want Cyn strolling through the garden of all your hard work and risking her doing something. Watching how that mango had withered away made uneasy feelings well up.

“...I will join you,” you said reluctantly. “If only to make sure you don’t do anything to the plants.”

Cyn’s smile brightened a little, and she gently took you by the hand, leading the both of you through the garden. You didn’t bother trying to push her away, though you did raise a brow from the way you felt her fingers interlock with yours. You weren’t sure if she intended it as some strange display of affection or if she merely liked the idea of tethering you to her in some way. You brush it off as nothing.

You and Cyn walked down the stone path, with her crow flying overhead, following. You grimaced as it brushed past you before hovering just above Cyn. You honestly felt disgusted for what she had done to the poor animal, but it was too late for you to save it. It was no longer normal—now Cyn’s little pet. All you could do was promise yourself to not let something like that happen again.

While you were focused on the crow flying around, Cyn looked back and was taken by the growing greenery around the two of you. You caught her stare and looked back and jumped in realization. You had completely forgotten about your rampant powers that were currently going wild. It would certainly be a pain having to tend to it all in the morning, but you were more worried about the fact Cyn was seeing your powers in action.

“Fascinating,” you heard her mutter under her breath, reaching out to touch one. 

You saw the way that the closer her fingers got to touching one of the taller flowers, it began to grey and shrivel. Instantly, you grabbed her wrist with your free hand.

“Don’t,” you told her. 

Surprisingly, Cyn didn’t make a comment or anything of the such. She glanced at the flower, and it seemed to regain its color the further she drew her hand away, and then glanced at you. “As you wish,” she said to you, and then she was back to leading you both through the garden. 

The further you walked, the denser the garden became, its paths narrowing and its hedges growing wild and unruly. You recognized none of this. This part of the garden was hidden, tucked away from the carefully curated sections Mistress Louisa usually had tea in. The upkeep here was nonexistent—the plants grew freely, untrimmed and unchecked, creating an almost jungle-like atmosphere.

The two of you kept going deeper and deeper, the crow following and the grass and flowers growing with you all the way. You didn’t know where you were, but Cyn seemed to know where the two of you were heading. Eventually, the two of you came to a little clearing in the jungle-like garden. 

In the center stood a statue of an angel, its stone wings shattered and missing. Black streaks stained its face, trailing down from its hollow eyes like oil tears. Around its base bloomed a bed of pure white lilies, their fragrance thick and sweet, saturating the air like a cloying memory. The smell the flowers gave off was so fragrant, and you realized that this place must be why Cyn smelled so strongly of lilies all the time. 

But, what caught your attention the most was the pile of dirt in the angel statue's hand, and the single red carnation planted in it.

“What… what is this place?” you asked Cyn. You unconsciously tightened your grip on her hand, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, her grin widened a little.

“Nostalgic gaze,” Cyn murmured, her voice a touch softer than you were accustomed to. “Do you like it? I used to tend to this patch of flowers. All the lilies you see were planted by me, years ago, before I was... disposed of. Beautiful, is it not?”

It was. Breathtaking, even. The lilies almost seemed to glow, their petals catching the soft silvers and grays of the night. The sight was almost surreal, as though this little hidden corner of the garden existed outside time itself. That someone like Cyn—who could make a flower wither to ash at a mere touch—had once created something so delicate, so alive, felt paradoxical.

Though, she had been different back then.

The thought lingered more than you liked to admit. What had she been like before she became... this? What kind of conversations might the two of you have had if things were different, if you’d both been normal drones? If she hadn’t been twisted into what she was now?

Cyn’s crow rustled its wings from its perch on the angel statue, pulling your thoughts back to the present. Cyn herself was stepping forward cautiously, as if testing the limits of something unseen. The flowers nearest to her began to wither and curl inward, their vibrant whites fading into dull grays. But as you followed behind her, they regained their color, springing back to life as if drawn to your presence.

Her visor brightened at the sight, and she turned to you with a smile—a genuine one this time, free of her usual malice. It was… a nice smile, all things considered. “Fascinating, isn’t it? Your light stops me from killing everything, and I stop you from letting it grow wild. A perfect balance.”

The two of you stood at the base of the angel statue now, its broken wings casting jagged shadows in the pale light. Cyn reached out with her free hand and plucked the single red carnation growing from the mound of dirt in the angel’s hand. 

She turned to you and extended the flower, the red of its petals vivid against her pale, metallic fingers. “Take it,” she said simply.

You hesitated. Something about this moment felt heavier than you were prepared for. “Why?” you asked, your voice quieter than intended.

“Happy smile,” she said, her tone light but laced with something deeper. “Because, my dear, I care a great deal for this little patch of flowers. And this carnation... even more so. It is the last one. The rest have all died off.” She glanced at the flower in her hand, her smile softening. “I want you to have it. To take care of it. Considering I am... no longer fit to carry out such a task.”

“And if I refuse?”

Cyn tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You won’t,” she said simply. “Your purpose wouldn’t allow you to ignore it.”

She had you there. You sighed, extending your hand to accept the flower. As soon as it was in your grasp, Cyn let out a soft sigh of contentment, her posture relaxing ever so slightly.

She turned and began leading you out of the patch, her steps light as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. As you followed, you found your gaze drifting back to the angel statue, its broken wings catching your eye. “What happened to the statue?” you asked.

Cyn paused, her visor dimming slightly. “Head shake. I do not know. I was disposed of by the time the statue was broken. It was such a shame, really. Back when I was... functional, this statue was what I considered to be my only friend. I would confide in it, talk to it. It was there for me when no one else was.”

Her fingers brushed against a nearby lily, pulling away just before the flower could wilt. “But now, I have a different angel to confide in,” she said, glancing at you. You noticed how Cyn’s grip on your hand seemed to loosen before she fully let go of you. 

“...It is a shame, but I do believe my time here is up. J will wake soon, and she’ll undoubtedly come searching to ensure I’m still locked away in my little basement.”

Then Cyn leaned closer. Her crow’s beady yellow eyes bore into you as if it, too, was listening intently. “But before I leave,” she murmured, “a warning, my dear Little Light. If you go through with your plan to help V, it won’t just be you who suffers my interference.” Her grin widened, a flash of malice breaking through. “Grin. Remember, I do not like sharing my toys. Logical decision-making is your strong suit, isn’t it? Make the smart choice.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you met her gaze. “And here I thought we were having a nice moment for the first time. Silly me,” you sarcastically replied. “Thank you for the warning, but I’ll take my chances. My strength grows by the day, and soon enough, you won’t be able to call me your toy anymore, you abomination.”

For a split second, her visor glitched again, the flicker almost imperceptible before she tilted her head, recovering swiftly. “Hmm, perhaps you’re right,” she mused. “That statement grows more true with each passing day. Your power is... impressive. Wild. Uncontrolled. Dangerous. Perhaps soon, you’ll no longer be a toy. Maybe one day, you’ll even match my own power. You wouldn’t be a toy then. Maybe a play mate instead?”

She turned to leave, her crow flapping its wings once more as if preparing to depart with her. But just as you thought she was done, Cyn froze mid-step and glanced back at you with a grin that could have curdled milk. It was wide, toothy, and entirely unsettling.

“Ah yes,” she said, like someone recalling a forgotten errand. “Before I forget, I must confirm something.”

Without warning, she reached out toward you. Instinctively, you braced yourself, half-expecting an attack, but nothing could have prepared you for what she actually did.

She poked her finger into your mouth.

You froze, too stunned to react as Cyn’s digit rested against your tongue for the briefest of moments, sliding along it before she withdrew.

“What in the—” you started, but the words died in your throat as she popped the same finger into her own mouth.

She sucked on it thoughtfully, as though sampling the flavor of a fine wine, humming as she considered the taste. After a moment, she nodded to herself.

“Pop,” she said as she removed the finger. “Ah, yes. My theory has been confirmed. I’ve always wondered, but now I know for certain.” Her grin stretched impossibly wider as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“You taste far sweeter than any mango.”

You recoiled instinctively, but before you could summon a retort—or even demand an explanation—she was gone. A burst of yellow pixels erupted where she had stood, scattering like fireflies before vanishing entirely into the night.

The garden fell silent again, save for the faint rustling of the lilies in the breeze. You stood there, utterly dumbfounded, the lingering feeling of Cyn’s touch on your tongue more disturbing than you cared to admit.

Your grip tightened on the red carnation still in your hand, the delicate petals crumpling slightly under your fingers. You shook your head, trying to dispel the unnerving encounter from your mind as you turned back to head toward your garage.

“Sweet,” you muttered to yourself, your voice dripping with disdain. “What is wrong with her?”

Yet as you trekked back the path you came, despite everything… you found that for the very first time, you had actually enjoyed your time with Cyn. You had completely forgotten about the nightmare for the moment, and even had a new flowery friend to keep you company. 

Maybe, despite her weirdness, the Solver of the Absolute Fabric wasn’t all too bad…

 

 

---

Back in the garage, you sank into the embrace of your old chair. The room was quiet save for the drumming of rain against the window. A chill hung in the air, the dampness seeping into the walls, the floor, and—if you were honest with yourself—into your very core. The garage was pitch black, save for the faint silvery gleam of moonlight filtering through the rain-slicked glass and the glow of your visor cutting through the gloom.

On the nightstand, the doll Tessa had given you sat propped against the wall, comfortably placed on a little cushion. Next to it, the carnation from Cyn rested in its pot, looking far healthier than when she had first handed it to you—not that it was in bad shape to begin with. The new soil, the careful watering, the gentle touch of your powers—all of it had given the flower a new vitality. Its crimson petals unfurled as though reaching for an unseen sun.

Your powers had finally calmed, too, settling into a state of quiet strength. The erratic surges that had plagued you earlier had finally stopped. All the hours of practice, of pushing yourself to refine and control the energy coursing through you, had started to bear fruit. Yet even in their newfound steadiness, your powers thrummed through your wiring, constantly reminding you of their potential—and their unpredictability.

You leaned back, letting your head rest against the chair’s worn edge as your gaze wandered to the mirror mounted on the opposite wall. It was a new addition, something Tessa had insisted would make the garage feel more “homely.” You hadn’t argued, though you hadn’t understood her reasoning either. It was just a reflective surface, after all—nothing special. But now, sitting here, you were starting to regret allowing it.

The mirror stared back at you, its surface smooth and polished, throwing your reflection into stark relief against the shadows of the room. You could see every detail of yourself, from the faint glow of your visor to the sleek contours of your frame. And yet, the more you looked, the more you felt… disconnected. As though the figure in the mirror wasn’t truly you but something else entirely.

Your thoughts spiraled, unbidden.

What was that monster?

What were these dreams?

…And, most unsettling of all, what were you ?

You clenched your hands on the armrests of the chair, your fingers digging into the worn fabric. The questions looped endlessly in your mind, an ouroboros of doubt and unease. Outside, the storm raged on, lightning slashing across the sky in jagged streaks. Thunder followed, its low rumble vibrating through the walls, but you barely registered it. You were lost, drowning in the labyrinth of your reflection.

The longer you stared, the harder it became to pull away. The figure in the mirror seemed to hold you captive, its glowing visor unblinking, its form unnervingly still. A jagged bolt of lightning split the darkness, flooding the room with a flash of blinding white. And in that instant, your reflection changed.

Your breath hitched.

The sleek frame of the drone you thought yourself to be was gone. In its place stood the monster from your dreams—the hulking mass of feathers and flesh, eyes blinking and rolling across its grotesque body, jagged teeth gnashing silently.

A thousand teeth. A thousand eyes.

You froze, every system in your body screaming at you to look away, but you couldn’t. The reflection didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but somehow it felt alive, more alive than you had ever felt yourself to be. The thousand unblinking eyes bore into you, stripping you down to your core, exposing every insecurity, every fear.

A low growl filled the room. No, not the room—the space in your mind. It resonated in your chest like the rumble of thunder, more felt than heard. The monster didn’t speak, but its message was clear, etched into the code of your being:

"You are not who you think you are."

Your hands gripped the armrests tighter, and for a brief moment, the energy inside you flared in response, a burst of light crackling at your fingertips. The glow illuminated the room, chasing away the shadows. When it dimmed, the mirror had returned to normal. Your reflection stared back at you—just you—visibly shaken, your visor faintly flickering as though mirroring your rattled thoughts.

You exhaled sharply, a shuddering breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room felt suffocating now, the walls pressing in as the rain outside grew heavier. You glanced at the carnation on the nightstand, its vivid red petals untouched by the storm outside. Your gaze lingered on it, as though it held answers you desperately needed.

“I am me,” you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible over the rain. But even as you said it, doubt crept in, insidious and cold. Were you? Or was that… thing the truth hidden beneath your metal casing?

“I… I am me… I am me…”

You reached for Tessa’s doll, your fingers curling around its soft, worn fabric. The texture grounded you in a way nothing else could at the moment. You squeezed it gently, as though the simple act could compress the chaos within you into something smaller, something manageable. It worked—partially. Your breathing began to even out, the sharp edge of panic dulling slightly, but your core still pulsed, a dull, insistent ache.

You tried your best to not look at the mirror. You tore your gaze away, forcing yourself to focus on anything else, anything to keep that image—those eyes, those teeth—from searing itself deeper into your mind.

Instead, you leaned into your other senses.

You focused on the rain outside. Its rhythm was steady, each drop pattering against the window like a heartbeat. 

You focused on the doll in your hands, the way its fabric felt worn but still sturdy, like something that had weathered years of love and still had more to give. The stitches were uneven in places, a testament to its handmade origin from Tessa herself most likely.

You focused on the lingering taste of mango on your tongue—a mix of sweetness and something faintly metallic. The taste of Cyn’s finger if you had to guess.

And then there was the scent of the carnation. Sweet and heady, it curled its way into your sensors, intoxicating. It reminded you of the garden, of life, of something worth protecting. The floral aroma overpowered the sterile, mechanical smell of the garage, creating a strange juxtaposition of nature and artificiality.

Slowly, you felt yourself drifting, the smell lulling you closer to the edge of unconsciousness. Your grip on the doll loosened slightly, your breathing slowed, and your optics dimmed as your systems began to power down.

But just as you began to let go, lightning struck outside, the flash illuminating the room in a harsh, white light. You froze, too afraid to open your optics, to look at the mirror. You couldn’t face it—not again. Not so soon. The memory of the monster staring back at you was too fresh.

Then, you heard it.

“Shhhhhhh… Do not panic, my dear. Take deep breaths… and sleep.”

The voice was soothing, and unmistakably Cyn’s.

You tensed, your grip on the doll tightening again. Before you could react further and open your eyes, you felt her hands—gentle but firm—rest over yours. Her touch was cold, but not unpleasant, and the steady motion of her fingers stroking yours was oddly calming.

“What… what are you doing here?” you murmured.

“Calming you,” she said simply. Her tone was so unbelievably gentle. “Even toys need a break, Little Light, less they themselves break.”

Her words should have irritated you, but they didn’t. Instead, they melted into the rhythm of the rain, the scent of the carnation, the softness of the doll. It all blended together into a strange, surreal symphony that pulled you further away from the waking world. Cyn began to hum a low tune, the melody wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Why… why are you…” You couldn’t finish the thought, your systems growing sluggish as sleep crept closer. Her humming was the last thing you heard as your optics dimmed entirely, and you slipped offline, the world of dreams waiting to claim you once more.

For the rest of that night, you didn’t dream of the monster and the void. Instead, you dreamt of carnations.

Notes:

If you want to visualize what the monster looks like, then refer to the ANGEL DESIGNS
chapter of the story. The second design will be the main form you will see throughout the story, with the other being used for different purposes in the future.

(Thanks again SphoNull for making the amazing art for the forms! :D )

Chapter 20: II

Summary:

After the night with Cyn, Tessa takes you and J to the scrapyard to collect more parts, but something goes wrong...

“What are you thinking about?”

You jolted, barely suppressing the flicker of your optics as Tessa’s voice yanked you from your spiraling thoughts. She was leaning in close, her brows raised in curiosity, scanning your expression as though she could pry the answer straight from your mind. She looked surprised as you jumped in place. You’d never been startled by her before, after all.

You hesitated for a beat too long, adjusting your grip on the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder. 

“It’s… nothing. It’s nothing, Tessa.”

A lie.

You were thinking about Cyn.

About the way her fingers had laced with yours in the garden, the way her voice had softened, low and almost… gentle. You were thinking about how she had comforted you—Cyn, of all people—whispering reassurances into the night, stroking your hand as if she actually cared.

You were thinking about how you let her.

It was absurd. It made no sense. Cyn was nothing but a problem—she was the embodiment of everything you opposed. And yet, when she had lulled you to sleep, humming in that eerie, almost melodic way of hers, you hadn’t wanted to pull away.

It felt nice.

And that was the most unsettling part.

Because now, you didn’t know where you stood with her. She was your rival, your tormentor, your constant headache—and yet last night, she had been something else entirely. Something closer. 

And then there was the whole ordeal with the finger in your mouth, which you were actively trying not to think about.

Tessa hummed, unconvinced but deciding to let it go. “Alright, if you say so.”

The two of you continued picking through the scrapyard, wandering between heaps of discarded metal and broken drone husks. The sky was overcast, casting a dull, gray light over the twisted remnants of artificial life. The occasional gust of wind rattled through the junk, creating an eerie, hollow symphony.

Tessa approached a collapsed pile of drone parts and dug her hands into it, metal scraping against metal as she rummaged around. After a few seconds, she triumphantly pulled out a pair of arms, the joints still intact and in relatively good condition. She shoved them into the bag you were carrying without a second thought.

“Any particular part we’re looking for?” you asked, adjusting the weight of the bag.

“Not really. Just collecting spares in case of an emergency.” Tessa paused, frowning slightly. “Though, I guess we do need another shoulder socket for Cyn. She’s been complaining her arm hasn’t been moving right.”

You exhaled sharply through your vents. “Has she ever moved right?”

Tessa snorted. “A bit mean to say, but you’re not wrong. I’ve tried god knows how many times to fix her, but it just never seems to do the trick. In all honesty, I’m starting to get a bit worried about her.”

You didn’t reply, instead glancing down to stare at the ground. Of course, it had to be for Cyn. You were still trying to process the fact that she had actual grievances beyond plotting universal consumption and messing with you at every opportunity. The idea of her dealing with something as mundane as a faulty joint almost felt… surreal.

Still, the image of her staring at the lilies in the garden, reverent and nostalgic, flashed unbidden in your mind.

Maybe she had always been surreal.

Maybe that was the problem.

“I’ve found the shoulder socket for the defect,” a third voice called from behind, sharp and matter-of-fact.

You and Tessa both turned, catching sight of J approaching with the aforementioned part in her grasp. The subtle sneer in her voice when referring to Cyn was not lost on you, and you found yourself appreciating the sentiment. If there was one thing you and J could agree on, it was that Cyn was, at the very least, an irritation.

J stopped in front of you, holding your gaze for just a moment longer than necessary before dropping the part into the bag. It wasn’t the first time she had done this—lingered, staring for a reason you didn’t know.

She had been insistent on coming with you and Tessa ever since the incident with the cut on Tessa’s hand. That, at least, made sense. J’s devotion to Tessa was something bordering on religious, an unwavering loyalty that dictated every move she made. But her lingering stares, the quiet moments where her attention latched onto you—that didn’t make much sense.

You could only assume she suspected. She didn’t know how you were doing it, didn’t know the exact mechanics of what allowed Tessa’s wounds to heal so quickly, but she knew enough to be suspicious.

And J was not the type to let suspicion go unanswered.

The less she knew, the better.

For now.

"J, be nice," Tessa chided, though the lack of any real weight behind her words made it clear she wasn’t too concerned about keeping the peace. She clapped the dust off her hands and gave the scrapyard one final once-over. "Alright, I think we’re good for today. That should about do it… no, wait."

J perked up slightly, arms still crossed. "What now?"

"I want to try and fix V’s optical systems so she won’t need glasses anymore," Tessa said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It’s been a work-in-progress, but the parts she needs are newer models. Not something you just find lying around in a scrapyard, but, hey, worth a shot."

You hummed, processing the new objective. "So we are searching for something that is both rare and unlikely to be here. Excellent. This should be a highly efficient use of our time."

Tessa ignored your sarcasm, already moving ahead. "Oh hush. Think of it like trying to find an apology gift for V for the mean things you said."

You rolled your optics and followed, steps crunching over rusted metal and discarded drone parts, the scent of old oil thick in the air. J, instead of staying at Tessa’s side, gradually slowed her pace until she was walking beside you. It was… unusual. You could count on one hand how many times the two of you had spoken directly, and even then, it was mostly clipped exchanges, brief and impersonal.

She was watching you now, something unreadable in her optics.

"Do you require assistance?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

J was silent for a moment, then flicked her gaze toward Tessa, making sure she was out of earshot. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, more deliberate.

"How did you do it?"

You barely suppressed a sigh. So that was what this was about.

You feigned ignorance, tilting your head slightly. "Clarify."

J scoffed, arms tightening across her chest. "Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about."

She stopped walking, and when you didn’t stop with her, she reached out, grabbing your wrist. Her grip was firm, not threatening, but insistent.

"Tessa’s bruises," she continued, voice low. "One night, she had them. The next morning, she didn’t. No stims, no medical patches, nothing. And the only person who was with her that night was you. You asked me if I believed in superstition, and I didn’t know what that meant… I still don’t. I want you to tell me."

You stared at her, unblinking, while your processors quietly calculated the most efficient response. Deny? Redirect? Deflect?

"Why?" you said flatly.

J’s grip tightened, firm enough to make your casing creak ever so slightly under the pressure. “Because I need to know if whatever you’re doing is safe.” A pause. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she added, “...And I can’t help but be curious.”

You exhaled slowly through your vents, shifting your gaze toward the piles of discarded drones surrounding you, their rusted limbs tangled together like the remnants of some forgotten battle. The scrapyard was eerily still, save for the occasional clatter of Tessa rummaging through metal heaps in the distance.

J wanted answers. That was… concerning.

Because if she knew, you weren’t entirely sure what she’d do with that information.

She was loyal to Tessa. That much was certain. But loyalty was a double-edged blade. It meant she’d do anything to protect Tessa—including exposing a potential threat, if that’s what she decided you were.

You looked back at her, unblinking. “Believe me,” you said, carefully measuring each word, “I would never do anything to harm Tessa. What I did—what I do—it’s safe for her. Tessa’s safety is my priority, so be at ease.”

J’s optics narrowed. “Then tell me what you did.”

Your fingers twitched, curling slightly. “I can’t tell you more than that. Not yet.”

J scoffed, shaking her head. “And I’m just supposed to take that at face value?”

“Yes,” you said simply.

She let out a humorless chuckle, her grip finally loosening. “You’re a real pain in the processor, you know that?”

“I do not,” you muttered.

J exhaled through her vents, rubbing a hand down her face before leveling you with another stare. “Fine,” she said, though the reluctance in her tone was clear. “I’ll trust you. For now, at the very least.”

You nodded once. “Thank you for placing your trust in me, even if it is temporary.”

J scoffed, the sound more forceful than amused. “Don’t get the wrong idea. This isn’t about you. I’m only letting this slide because of Tessa. I don’t want to see her hurt like that again.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching the way her fingers twitched at her sides, as if the thought of Tessa in pain was enough to make her restless. It was… admirable, in a way. The conviction. The sheer, unwavering loyalty.

You let a small smile slip through. “Well, as long as I’m here, you never will.”

She didn’t respond at first. Just stared at you for a long moment, optics unreadable. Then, with a quiet exhale, she reached out, grasping your wrist again—not forceful this time, just enough to pull you along as she turned back toward Tessa. The gesture was almost… absentminded, like holding onto you was more instinct than necessity.

The scrapyard stretched endlessly around you, towers of discarded drones looming like ghosts of the past. Somewhere ahead, Tessa continued her scavenging, humming a tune under her breath, oblivious to the silent conversation unfolding behind her.

The two of you walked in step for a while, not a word exchanged between the two of you. Then J finally spoke, her voice cutting through the rust-tinged air like a blade.

“You seem to care an awful lot about Tessa,” she observed.

You glanced at her from the corner of your optics. “And you don’t?”

She grunted, tugging you forward slightly, as if making sure you kept pace with her. But she still didn’t let go. “I do. More than you could realize. Tessa is the reason you and I are even here. Without her, I’d still be rotting in one of these piles of scrap, and you’d be wandering around this place like a headless chicken with nowhere to go.” Her grip tightened, just slightly. “Always keep that in mind.”

There was truth to her words. She was right, in a way. If Tessa hadn’t found you, you would have been aimless, another stray piece of machinery with no directive beyond protecting life in some abstract, undefined way.

And yet, because Tessa had taken you in, because she had given you a place—a reason—you now stood in direct opposition to Cyn. By choosing you, Tessa had, however unknowingly, set something into motion. A variable Cyn hadn’t accounted for. A disruption to her plan of universal consumption.

Fate was an interesting thing.

You hummed thoughtfully. “That loyalty of yours, it’s so deep, so fierce… I admire that,” you admitted, tilting your head slightly in her direction. “You and I are similar in that regard.”

J shot you a sidelong glance, her visor flickering, processing something unseen beneath her sharp, calculated exterior. “Yeah,” she muttered after a beat, her voice quieter now, almost begrudging. “I guess we are.”

Then, with a smirk that carried just a hint of reluctant amusement, she added, “Nice to see at least you have some sense to you, compared to the other two idiots.”

No doubt she was referring to N and V. The way she said it—dry, dismissive, but not entirely unkind—made a small chuckle escape from your throat before you could stop it. It was brief, barely even a laugh, but J caught it.

Her head tilted slightly, visor flickering again, as if processing the sound. No one at the manor had heard you laugh before—at least, not genuinely. And it was her, of all drones, who had drawn that reaction from you. A strange, unexpected warmth settled in her chest at the realization.

“You know,” you mused, tilting your head slightly, “you make for quite pleasant company.”

J scoffed. “You sound surprised.”

“Well,” you said, suppressing another chuckle, “N does tell me that you can be mean and hostile, and considering our first meeting, I wouldn’t say he’s entirely wrong.”

She rolled her optics. “I act the way I act because N is a moron who could get Tessa in trouble for his screw-ups.” Her voice was clipped, but not as sharp as before. “Same went for you when you first arrived. I wasn’t about to let Tessa risk everything over another dumpster drone she dragged home.”

You nodded along, following her words without much thought—until a particular phrasing stuck out in your mind.

“Went?” you echoed, eyes narrowing slightly. “As in past tense?”

J clicked her tongue, irritated that you caught that detail. “Yeah, what about it?”

You smirked. “So, you’re saying I’ve earned my place here?”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her visor as if nursing an unseen headache. “Look, you haven’t screwed up anything yet, and somehow, you’ve managed to keep Cyn in check during work hours, which is a miracle in and of itself. So, I’d say—for now—you’ve made it into my good graces.”

Your smirk widened. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you.”

J shot you a glare but didn’t refute it.

For a moment, the scrapyard’s usual cold silence surrounded you both, the towering piles of discarded drones casting jagged shadows in the dim light. Somewhere in the distance, Tessa was still rummaging through the wreckage, humming softly to herself, blissfully unaware of the strange camaraderie forming between the two of you.

You glanced at J again, thoughtful. “So, if I ever do screw up, am I back under your scrutiny?”

J crossed her arms, the edges of her lips twitching upward. “Oh, absolutely.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Noted.”

You and J kept walking, having now fallen behind with the slow pace you were both at. The metallic scent of rust clung to the air, mingling with the faint, almost phantom scent of oil long dried.

J still hadn’t let go of your wrist. You weren’t sure if she realized it, or if it was intentional, but you didn’t complain.

Eventually, the two of you caught up with Tessa, who was kneeling beside a half-buried drone chassis, prying it open with a wrench far too large for her hands. She huffed, pausing to brush her hair out of her face, and noticed the two of you approaching.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, glancing between you and J with a knowing look, as if she had some idea that a conversation had just transpired—one she hadn’t been privy to. Then, her gaze drifted down to your hands, noticing the way J held onto you. She shot J a questioning look, and the drone in question looked like she had an ice bucket poured over her, only now realizing she was still holding onto you.

J grunted, finally letting go of your wrist and crossing her arms. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

Tessa raised a brow but didn’t push. Instead, she turned her attention back to the drone, muttering under her breath before yanking something free from its frame. She held it up to the dim scrapyard light, grinning triumphantly.

“Got it!” she announced, tossing the part into the bag slung over your shoulder.

You barely caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared among the other salvaged pieces. “Is that the part for V?”

“Yep! It’s not a perfect fit, but with a little tweaking, I can make it work. Might not be perfect, but should at least prevent V from making any more slip-ups during duties.” She dusted off her hands, looking more than pleased with herself.

Tessa then looked to you, squinting. “By the way, you’ve been acting weird today.”

You tilted your head, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Tessa narrowed her eyes. “You’re… distracted.”

She waved a hand in front of your face, brows furrowing when you didn’t immediately react. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

You hesitated. The real answer wasn’t something you wanted to say out loud—the dreams, the mirror, the ever-growing sense that something inside you didn’t fit quite right. And Cyn. Cyn, who had always been a persistent thorn in your side, whose presence you had come to expect like a bad habit. Cyn, who had, for one brief moment, been… comforting.

Instead, you reached into your pocket, fingers curling around the small, familiar weight of the doll she’d given you. You gave it a light squeeze, its fabric soft beneath your touch. A grounding sensation. Not quite enough to untangle the knots in your thoughts, but enough to keep them from unraveling further.

“Just… planning what I’m going to do to help V,” you lied.

Tessa blinked, tilting her head, visibly taken aback. “Huh.”

It wasn’t a suspicious kind of ‘huh.’ More like a thoughtful one. She rocked back on her heels, hands slipping into her pockets, studying you in the way only Tessa could.

Her gaze flickered over you, searching—scanning for something in your expression that might betray you. That was the problem she always had with you. Like Cyn, you were impossible to read. Your face remained carefully neutral, too practiced in the art of giving nothing away. Cyn always wore that ever-present grin, and you… you were blank. Smooth. Impenetrable. A closed book with no title on the cover.

You slightly shrunk under her gaze, not at all expecting Tessa to begin interrogating you with her eyes. You were used to her perceptiveness. It was what made her good at dealing with drones—not just fixing them up, but understanding them. It was also incredibly inconvenient for you, because now her eyes flickered downward, catching the movement of your fingers squeezing at the doll in your hand.

Her expression shifted.

It was the same thing she used to do as a kid when she was anxious. An old, instinctive habit. A small tell that spoke louder than words.

Tessa let out a thoughtful hum, arms folding across her chest. She could press further, dig at the truth buried under the surface—but she didn’t want to pry. Not when you so clearly didn’t want to talk about whatever was actually weighing on your mind. Instead, she sighed, running a hand through her hair, before tilting her head at you.

“If you say so.”

But she didn’t believe you.

---

Tessa’s gaze pressed against your back, and you felt it even as you cinched the bag shut, tying the knot. She hadn’t said anything—not yet—but you could sense her desire to know more, curling at the edges of her patience like the slow burn of a candle.

She wanted to ask. Wanted to pry. But she wouldn’t.

Oh, bless her heart. Tessa had always been kind like that. Gentle. Considerate.

Empathetic.

Your fingers unconsciously tightened around the strap of the bag, the word burrowing into your mind like a thorn.

Empathy.

That was why she had given you the doll, wasn’t it? A lesson, an experiment—an attempt to plant a seed within you, one that she hoped would take root and grow. Had it worked? Had you learned?

The memory of last night drifted to the surface—the moonlit garden, the scent of lilies thick in the air, Cyn’s cool fingers threading through yours, guiding you through the maze of overgrown hedges. And you hadn’t pulled away. Not immediately, at least.

And then there was something else. Something a bit more unsettling.

Your optics flickered, tracing the faint golden glow emanating from J as she stood beside Tessa, her posture rigid, ever-diligent. You hadn’t noticed it before—not until recently. But there it was, faint but unmistakable. A warmth. A presence.

A trace of life.

Your core hummed, an uneasy pulse echoing through your shell. This was new. This was wrong.

Your understanding of life was shifting, unraveling at the seams. You had always known your purpose—to protect life, to nurture it, to keep it safe. But if this new revelation was true, if drones—at least, the ones Tessa had salvaged—were beginning to register as living, then…

Had you been failing your purpose all this time?

The thought unsettled you, set your circuits buzzing with an unfamiliar anxiety. And in your distraction, you didn’t notice. Not at first.

Not until you caught J’s wide-eyed stare.

Your brow furrowed, confused, until you followed her gaze downward—and felt your oil run cold.

Flowers. Grass. Life itself, blooming in the wake of your steps.

It trailed behind you, vivid and unnatural, sprouting through the cracks of rusted metal and dead soil, a clear imprint of your presence stamped onto the world.

Panic lanced through your systems. You froze, locking the power down, forcing it into submission with a thought. The growth halted instantly, but the damage was done.

J had seen.

Your optics snapped back to her, and she looked at you, mouth slightly agape, fingers twitching at her sides like she wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or recoil.

“W-what… what was that?” she whispered, voice barely audible.

Tessa was already a few feet ahead, oblivious, her focus set on the path leading back to the manor. Good. She hadn’t seen.

You moved fast, stepping up to J and clasping your hands over hers. She flinched at the contact, but you pressed forward, your grip firm, your other hand rising to hover just over her lips. A silent plea.

“Please,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper, “don’t tell anyone about what you just saw.”

J stiffened beneath your touch, her fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to pull away. Her visor flickered, scanning your face for something—an explanation, a lie, a reason not to pry further.

The scrapyard around you suddenly felt too open, too exposed. The towering heaps of rusted metal and discarded drone husks felt like they were watching, like they too just bore witness to a secret they shouldn’t have, their hollow sockets staring.

J’s grip tightened in yours, her frame rigid. “What… was that?” she repeated, slower this time. Her voice was edged with something—curiosity, concern, and a bit of something else buried deep beneath layers of suspicion.

You kept your posture steady, kept your voice even. “I’m… not sure how to explain it.”

A half-truth. Not a lie, but not the full picture either. You couldn’t afford for her to know too much. Not yet.

J’s visor flickered again. She exhaled sharply through her vents, her fingers flexing in your grasp. “Does Tessa know?”

“No.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying you the same way she might analyze a malfunctioning part—breaking you down into pieces, trying to see what made you tick.

Then, finally, she pulled her hands free. Not roughly, thankfully, but just forceful enough to the point that it was clear that J wanted to be away form you. You couldn’t blame her. She crossed her arms, glancing toward Tessa, who had stopped a little ways ahead, fiddling with the straps of the supply bag slung over her shoulder. She still hadn’t noticed your conversation, still hadn’t realized you and J had fallen behind.

J turned back to you, but took a step back. That look on her face—it looked like she was staring at some kind of monster, something unrecognizable.

“What… What are you?

Not who. What .

You opened your mouth, only to close it again. A response wouldn’t come—not an honest one, anyway.

What were you supposed to say? That you were a worker drone with just a few… quirks? That you were something more—or worse, something else? That even you weren’t sure if the face staring back at you in the mirror was truly yours?

Your fingers twitched against the doll in your pocket, clutching the soft fabric in a grip tight enough to wrinkle it. You barely registered the sensation, too lost in the twisting coil of thoughts that threatened to drag you under.

Your optics flickered, and for a second—just a split second—you weren’t in the scrapyard anymore. The rusted drone husks and scattered machinery melted away, replaced by an endless black void, swallowing everything in its wake. And in the center of it all, it stood. That thing. That mass of writhing feathers, of too many teeth, too many eyes, all shifting and blinking in places they shouldn’t be. It watched you from the depths of your own mind, its gaze boring into you, knowing you, understanding you in ways you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

You didn’t have an answer, because you didn’t know yourself.

Notes:

ITS MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! To celebrate, invites for the Murder Drones writing discord server has been re-opened! Like before, It will only be opened for the next 50 people. This is for moderation purposes, and will open up again in the future. Here's the discord invite:

https://discord.gg/EPt79BM4

Also, I am currently drunk af writing this, so forgive the quality and any mistakes. Will come back to edit it when I don't feel tipsy off my ass.

Chapter 21: Mini Chapter: Valentines <3

Summary:

It's Fella's day, and Cyn wants to have her own special Fella all for herself! Will Cyn find her special Fella, or remain all alone on this joyous occasion?

(Takes place in the Glitch Inn world. If you haven't already, go check out the "Murder drones but wholesome" video on the official Glitch Youtube channel. It's needed for context.)

---

In the silly little world of Glitchy Glitch Inn, the day had arrived with excitement to spin! Why, you may ask, were the drones all so bright? Because Fella’s Day came with a dazzling light! It was kinda like Valentine’s—but bigger, you see! With mountains of candy, as sweet as could be. Bracelets were braided, all shiny and new, with circuits of sugar and wires dipped in goo!

But beyond all the laughter, outside of Glitch Inn, there lurked little old Cyn, seeking answers within. She squinted and scowled, her circuits a-whir, her processor ticking, her vision a blur.

"Why are they so happy? And why am I not? What do they have that I haven’t got?"

She peeked through a window and what did she see? N tackling Uzi with boundless glee! "Oh Uzi, oh Uzi! You’re special to me!" He cheered as he trapped her and squeezed like a flea.

Uzi groaned, rolling her optics with spite, "Get OFF me, you dolt! You’re squeezing too tight!"

That must be the reason! Cyn knew what to do! "I’ll find my own fella! I’m sure I can too!" She grinned ear to ear, her gears spinning fast, her quest for a fella was here at long last!

With a CRASH and a BOOM, she rocketed out, (The damage was... costly, without a doubt.) Tiles went flying, alarms filled the air, but Cyn didn’t care—she had love to ensnare!

She zipped through the Inn with her optics aglow, grabbing the drones in a desperate throw! "Are you my fella?" she’d ask with a grin, but each one would shriek and escape on a whim.

She found J in the hallway, leaning against a wall, but then Cyn came running and made her rethink it all. Next was poor V, who had just made a treat, but Cyn’s sudden pounce knocked her flat off her feet!

V wailed, "I JUST FINISHED THAT CAKE FROM SCRATCH!" Cyn blinked, "Oh whoops! Guess we weren’t a match!"

The search wasn’t easy, the search wasn’t fair, but Cyn wouldn’t stop—she smelled love in the air! Then finally, at last, in the Inn’s garden she saw, her favorite opponent, her favorite faux-paw.

"You are MY fella!" she cheered with delight, as you nearly combusted and leapt back in fright. "WHAT?! NO!" you blurted, stepping away, but Cyn latched on tight—she was here to stay.

The Dove and Crow watched, Cyn’s visor was bright, she declared, "You are mine, and this feels oh so right!" You groaned and sighed, but deep in your core, you knew escaping would be an insurmountable chore.

So as the moon rose, and the Inn filled with cheer, Cyn grinned like a menace, her mission sincere. For better or worse, for losses or gains, this unfortunate Fella’s Day... you were thoroughly claimed.

---

 

Notes:

Might start making little mini chapters based around the Glitch Inn, kinda like what I've done here. Think of it like Rwby Chibi—a little spin-off series for fun and amusement. If enough chapters are made for it and the fic begins to get a bit too bloated, I might even split it off as its own thing.

Anyways, happy valentines Fella's day to everyone! Hope everyone has a good time with their loved ones!

Also, as always, join the Cabin Fever Creative Labs Discord server! We love talking about Murder Drones, fanfiction, and we'll have a minecraft server up in a few days. If any of that sounds rad, then come on down, pop in and say hello to everyone! Once again, link will be live for only 50 people before they go dead. This is soley for moderation purposes. Don't be bummed if you didn't get to join, cause new invite links are posted eventually.

https://discord.gg/9WGb3fPWK5

Chapter 22: III

Summary:

You and J discuss things, and you find that there might be someones company besides Tessa's that you actually enjoy

The walk back to the manor was suffocating. Not in the literal sense—you didn’t breathe, after all—but you could feel yourself almost breathless , your joints stiffening as if rust had suddenly settled in. The silence between you and J was something new—foreign—and you weren’t sure how to navigate. You knew how to deal with outright hostility, with contempt, with naïve trust that needed to be broken. But this? This was different.

J wasn’t looking at you like you were a threat to her safety, like you were a toy, nor like you were some kind of friend. Her gaze was something worse—cautious, calculating, curious in a way that made your casing itch. Every few steps, another glance. Quick, darting. And yet, for all her attempts at subtlety, she was about as discreet as an oil leak on a white piece of cloth.

It was the same kind of look one might give a broken machine—one that, against all odds, had continued to function in ways it shouldn’t. As if she were trying to peel back the layers of your existence with her optics alone, dissecting you before the surgery even began.

Tessa, ever perceptive, caught onto it almost immediately. She was a mechanic, an engineer, a girl who spent her life tinkering with metal and wiring, understanding the hidden intricacies of machinery like they were part of her. And she had spent enough time around you and J to recognize when something wasn’t quite right.

To anyone else, you and J walked in perfect sync, close enough that nothing appeared amiss. But Tessa’s gaze was sharp, scanning, picking apart the subtle stiffness in your posture, the way J’s brow furrowed, the near-imperceptible down turn of your lips as your mind ran calculations on the best way to handle this new shift in dynamic.

She said nothing at first, just observed, filing away the details in that bright little mind of hers. Tessa’s keen gaze lingered, and then she slowed her pace, letting you and J catch up until the three of you walked side by side. She didn’t look at either of you directly at first, just kept her eyes forward, her expression unreadable.

“So,” she finally said, glancing over to both you and J. “Is something wrong?”

J stiffened. You exhaled sharply through your vents.

“Define ‘wrong,’” you said. You bit back a wince the moment the words left your mouth. Not exactly the greatest deflection ever.

Tessa hummed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen J look so… spooked.” Her voice was the same as ever, but her gaze was anything but. There was an edge to it, something surgical in the way she observed, dissecting each tiny shift in body language, each unspoken word. Then, those razor-sharp eyes landed on you, tilting her head just enough to make you feel like you were under a microscope. “And you—” her voice took on a playful lilt, but the scrutiny behind it was anything but lighthearted “—you're not exactly the pitch-perfect picture of emotion, but even you look a bit… lost.”

You didn’t flinch. But you did hold your breath for a second longer than necessary.

You and J glanced at each other, your optics locking for the first time since leaving the scrapyard. In that split second, a silent exchange took place, a conversation woven entirely in unspoken words and flickering pixels. With Tessa’s gaze momentarily off you, your screen flashed a subtle shushing emoji—quick, brief, a warning .

J’s own optics flickered as she processed it. Then, a barely-there nod. Message received . She wasn’t going to talk.

Tessa hadn’t missed the exchange, though she pretended otherwise.

The wind whistled through the scrapyard behind you, a mournful sound that rattled loose bits of scrap metal and sent a few brittle drone limbs tumbling down a pile of discarded parts. Then, before either of you could think up a passable excuse, Tessa stopped walking. Without hesitation, she reached out and grabbed both your wrists, her hands warm against your cold metal.

Her grip was gentle, but firm. Not demanding, but insistent.

She squeezed lightly, like she was trying to pull you back to the moment before you could spiral too far into whatever thoughts had tangled themselves in your heads. Then, she looked between you and J, concern creasing her brow, searching for something in your expressions that you weren’t ready to show her.

“You know,” she said, voice softer now, quieter , “you both can tell me anything, right?”

It was an offer. Not an interrogation, not a demand. Just a simple, open-ended invitation, one laced with something dangerously close to trust .

And guilt—unwelcome and persistent—settled deep in your circuits.

You should tell her something.

If there was anyone you could trust with this, it was Tessa. You knew that.

But what would you tell her?

That when you looked into mirrors, you didn’t always see yourself staring back? That something else peered at you from the other side, shifting and breathing when it shouldn’t? That you could feel something curling inside your core, coiling tighter every night, waiting for a moment you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop?

That you weren’t sure if you were the drone Tessa thought you were? That you thought you were?

What would happen if she found out? Humans were so… unpredictable. Their emotions swayed like the tides, ruled by forces unseen, irrational and dangerous in their sincerity. And Tessa, for all her intelligence, for all her kindness, was still human. A young one, at that. She had faith in you—more faith than she should. What would happen to that faith when she discovered what you were hiding?

Would she still see you as you ?

Or would she look at you the way you sometimes looked at yourself—like an experiment gone wrong, something stitched together with the wrong parts, something that should not be? Would her eyes widen in fear? Would her fingers, the ones that so eagerly tightened screws and rewired circuits, hesitate before touching you again?

Would she see the monster you saw? The one with flesh instead of metal, with feathers and too many eyes, with something pulsing in its chest that should not beat?

The thought made something tighten in your core, a static hum flickering beneath your casing like an exposed wire.  You exhaled, vents whirring softly as you cast a glance at Tessa. She was still holding your wrist, still looking up at you with expectation, waiting—patient, trusting , completely unaware of the otherworldly monster right in front of her.

You didn’t think you could ever handle it if Tessa looked at you differently. If she looked at you with doubt, with hesitation. If she looked at you and saw something to fear .

So you did what you thought was best.

You swallowed it all down, pushed it deep beneath layers of carefully controlled silence, and forced a small, unreadable smile onto your face.

“No, Tessa,” you told her. “Nothing’s wrong.”

And you ignored the way your core pulsed a little harder at the lie.

 

 

---

The garage barely had any light, the only real source of illumination coming from the soft glow of your visor and the occasional flicker of faulty overhead bulbs. Rain drummed lazily against the metal roof, an inconsistent rhythm that filled the silence between you and J.

She sat across from you, perched on a rickety stool you were fairly certain hadn’t been in your garage before today. Where had she even gotten that? Did she just… have a hidden stash of stolen furniture somewhere? You briefly considered asking, but there were bigger concerns at hand.

Like the fact that she hadn’t stopped staring at you.

Her optics burned into you, unblinking, unreadable. She’d been like this since the moment you broke away from Tessa, dragging her off under the excuse of ‘extra duties’ that didn’t actually exist. She hadn’t even questioned it. Just followed, silent, calculating, gaze drilling into the back of your head the entire walk back.

And now? Now, you were seated in your usual spot, fingers idly tracing the edge of the doll on your lap, and J was still watching, waiting.

There was a problem, of course.

You had no idea how to start this conversation.

How exactly did one broach the topic of, “Hey, I know you saw that weird thing happen with the plants earlier, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that my mere existence is rewriting the laws of nature?”

Did you ease into it? Rip the metaphorical bandage off? Make a joke about it? She didn’t seem like the type to appreciate humor in a moment like this, judging by how tightly her hands were clasped together, and you weren’t the type to make humor in general.

You exhaled through your vents, dragging a hand down your faceplate.

“J,” you started, “I assume you have questions.”

She blinked, her fingers tightening against her knee.

“…Obviously,” she finally said.

Well. That was a start.

You leaned back into your chair, the metal creaking beneath your weight as you inhaled deeply through your olfaction vents. The scent of damp earth and oil lingered in the air, but beneath it, faint and sweet, was the fragrance of the carnation on your nightstand. Its scent was pleasant—subtle, something to focus on while your mind sifted through the tangled mess of today's events.

“Well then,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “I urge you to ask away.”

You figured it was best to let J take the lead. She was practically vibrating with tension, her fingers twitching slightly against her knee. You could tell she was sifting through a dozen different questions, deciding which to voice first. It took her a moment—her visor flickered briefly as if rebooting—but you didn’t mind. The silence was welcome. It was steady, reliable. It gave you time to think.

Finally, she spoke.

“...How did you do that?” she asked, her voice lower now, like she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. “The plants. How did you make them grow?”

Ah. That question .

You were expecting that, but it was still a difficult question to answer. In fact, all of the questions she had would most likely be like this one. You hummed, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the arm of your chair. How were you supposed to explain something you didn’t fully understand yourself? How did you articulate something that shouldn’t be possible?

“It’s a bit difficult to explain,” you said after a moment, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “The simplest explanation I could give you would be… just because I can.”

J scoffed, unimpressed. “That explains nothing .”

You exhaled sharply through your vents, letting your optics flicker slightly in irritation. “Believe me, J. If anyone wants answers about my existence, it’s me,” you muttered, leaning forward, letting your gaze bore into hers. “Do you know what it’s like? To wake up every morning and question what you are? To… feel something shifting inside of you—something that doesn’t belong—and have no answers for it?”

J’s posture stiffened. She met your stare for a moment, then looked away, her fingers curling against her knee like she was trying to grasp at something intangible.

She was in thought. Processing.

Good.

You tilted your head, watching her, studying the way her optics flickered in that slight, almost imperceptible way that meant she was sifting through her own memories, her own uncertainties.

“Of course you don’t. We wouldn’t be here if you did,” you murmured.

J’s fingers twitched. “Shut up.”

You let out a short, humorless chuckle, leaning back again. “Thought so.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. The sound of the rain against the garage roof filled the space where words should have been, steady and rhythmic, like the ticking of an unseen clock counting down. J exhaled through her vents, finally shifting her focus back to you. Her expression was unreadable—guarded, careful. “So what? You just… woke up one day and could make plants grow?”

“Not only make plants grow… but more or less,” you admitted, tapping your fingers against your knee. “It actually started when you and Tessa had first found me. I… felt something, and it simply just happened .” Your voice dipped slightly. “It wasn't much at first. Barely noticeable, even. But then it got stronger. I stopped having to try. It just… happens on its own now.”

J narrowed her optics slightly. “And you can’t stop it?”

“I can,” you said. “Mostly. As you saw, it can get a bit uncontrollable at times. ”

J was quiet again. She was moving all that much, just silently staring at the floor. Then, finally, she lifted her gaze to stare at you dead in the middle of your visor, and asked, “Are you scared?”

The question made you pause.

Scared.

Were you scared?

Your fingers clenched against your knee, synthetic joints locking tight. The logical answer was yes. It was the only answer that made sense.

You were scared of your dreams—visions of something vast and unknowable, something lurking beneath your own consciousness, waiting.

You were scared of your reflection, of the moments when the glass did not show you.

You were scared of Cyn—of what she planned to do, the way she spoke as if she had already read the final page of life's story.

You were scared of Tessa, of the moment she would look at you and see something wrong .

You were scared of the thing inside you—the thing that made plants grow and mirrors lie, the thing that whispered in the back of your mind like a song you didn’t remember learning.

You swallowed, the weight of it pressing against your throat, and met J’s gaze. Your voice came out almost like a whisper.

“I’m terrified .”

J didn’t react right away. She didn’t scoff, didn’t roll her optics, didn’t immediately jump to some sarcastic remark to downplay your words. She just… watched. Silent. Letting you take the moment for yourself.

That was the thing about J—you could always count on her to be blunt, but not unkind. She was quick on the uptake, perceptive in a way that wasn’t loud or showy. She noticed things, filed them away, used them when necessary. You liked that about her. It made her different from the others.

The two of you sat in that heavy silence, the world outside reduced to the quiet hum of the rain against the roof, the soft whir of cooling fans inside your casing. There was something comforting about it, something almost grounding. No expectations. No pressure to fill the void with words that neither of you were quite ready to say.

J’s optics flickered downward, and you followed her gaze, realizing she was staring at the doll in your grip. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her stiff posture shifted ever so slightly. Recognition.

Of course, she would recognize it. She had been with Tessa the longest, had seen all the little keepsakes and sentimental oddities the girl had collected over the years. She had likely seen this very doll before, tucked away in some forgotten corner of Tessa’s room, long before it had been placed in your hands.

J watched the way you squeezed it, the way your fingers curled around its fabric in quiet, repetitive motions. The way it calmed you, just like it did for Tessa once upon a time.

A long moment passed before J finally spoke.

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “What else can you do?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

“Excuse me?”

J leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You said the plant thing just happens now. That means there’s more. So… what else?”

You studied her carefully, trying to discern any hidden wariness beneath the curiosity. But no, there was no fear in her voice, no subtle recoil in her posture—just raw intrigue. A sharp, cutting interest, like someone carefully dismantling a machine just to see how it worked.

You inhaled slowly, more out of habit than necessity, and lifted your hand. A pulse of energy curled at your fingertips, a shimmer of something barely contained, something waiting to be unchained. You let it flow, let it gather in the center of your palm. The orb formed smoothly, a sphere of twisting color—deep, radiant gold laced with streaks of violet, shifting like liquid light.

>Extant<

The moment it stabilized, the entire garage changed. The walls and workbenches were bathed in its unnatural glow, casting long, warping shadows that flickered and stretched like they were alive. The light wasn’t harsh, nor was it soft—it was something else entirely. Something unreal.

J stilled, her optics reflecting the swirling mass, like a moth staring into the heart of a star. She exhaled, barely above a whisper. “What… is that?”

Your voice was steady, but quieter than before. “The first thing I ever manifested.”

The orb pulsed in response to your words, like it had a will of its own.

J hesitated only for a moment before leaning closer. Her hand twitched at her side, fingers flexing, then slowly reached forward—hovering just above yours, uncertain but fascinated.

“Can I touch it?”

Your body tensed. You hadn’t expected her to ask that.

You glanced down at the sphere, its surface shifting, alive with something beyond understanding. You could have said yes. You could have let her be the first. But the truth was, you didn’t know what would happen. You’d never let anyone else touch it before. Never dared.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I… I don’t know what might happen. I’ve never let anyone touch it before.”

J flicked her optics up to you, searching your expression. You knew that look. The same assessing, calculating gaze she always had before making a decision. And then, as if reaching a conclusion she hadn’t voiced aloud, she nodded.

“Could I be the first?”

The question was… deeper than it should have been.

Not ‘ Can I try?’

Not ‘ What will happen if I do?’

But ‘ Could I be the first?’

Like it was a privilege. A challenge. A risk she was willing to take just to see what would happen.

Here she was, witnessing what should have been an ordinary drone pulling light from the void itself, molding it as though it were no different from clay in their hands. J should have been afraid—should have questioned the very nature of what she was seeing. Should have taken a step back, analyzed the threat, determined the best course of action to take.

But she didn’t.

She was fascinated .

And… for the first time since the nightmares had begun, since your powers had started to spiral beyond your control, you felt something you hadn’t dared let yourself feel before.

Pride.

J wasn’t looking at you with fear, with apprehension, with that fear of the unknown you expected from others when faced with something unnatural. No, she was watching with something else entirely—something that made your core hum just a little lighter.

She was curious . She wanted to see more.

And you? You wanted to show her.

You swallowed, staring down at the swirling mass in your palm, feeling the weight of J’s expectant gaze pressing into you. With how much you had already revealed, there was no point in stopping now. The boundaries had been crossed. The secret had been shared. And besides… you were just as curious as she was.

“…If you want to,” you murmured. “Then try.”

J didn’t hesitate.

The moment her fingertips brushed the surface of the orb, the reaction was immediate.

A ripple spread through the sphere, tendrils of light curling toward her like vines drawn to the sun. The glow pulsed—once, twice—then settled into a rhythm that matched the faint hum of her own core. You watched as the colors shifted, deepening from a golden hue to something richer, something warmer. As if responding to her.

J let out a sharp breath, optics wide. “It’s… alive .”

You hadn’t thought of it like that before.

She ran her digits carefully across the orb’s surface, testing, exploring. It shifted beneath her touch like water, like silk, something between fluid and solid, something that wanted to be held. Every now and then, tiny sparks of violet flickered along her fingertips, as if the light was… playing with her.

A soft chuckle escaped her, a breathless sound you had never heard from her before. “It’s beautiful ,” she whispered.

You could only stare.

That feeling in your chest—that strange, unfamiliar warmth—swelled until it nearly ached. The last time you had felt something this close to joy was with Tessa, her hands gently fixing you up, her voice filling the empty silence of the manor.

But this was different.

This was someone looking at your powers—at you—and not seeing something to be wary of. Not seeing something unnatural. Something wrong, like how you saw yourself.

J wasn’t afraid of you.

She was in awe .

And you loved that feeling.

For once, your abilities weren’t something to be feared, something to be hidden. They weren’t an anomaly that made you other . No, here and now, under the soft, flickering glow of the orb, they were something marvelous. And J—sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, no-nonsense J—was marveling at them.

“This power of yours…” she murmured, still running her fingers through the shifting light like a scientist dissecting a miracle. “Is this how you healed Tessa?”

You hummed, tilting your head as you studied her. “It’s one of the things I can do, yes.”

She didn’t react immediately, too absorbed in the >Extant< orb to look at you properly. She turned her hand this way and that, watching as the light coiled and shifted, curling around her fingers like something sentient. Like something aware.

You let her have her moment.

And then, with a flick of your wrist, you closed your palm, extinguishing the orb in an instant.

J blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden absence of light. You took advantage of that second of disorientation, reaching forward and gently grasping her wrist. Her metal casing was cool beneath your touch, but there was something… strange in the way she stilled at the contact.

“J,” you said, voice low, serious . “As fun as it is to watch you poke and prod at my abilities, I didn’t bring you here just to show off.” You met her optics with your own. “I need to know that you won’t tell anyone what you saw. That you’ll keep this between us.”

J narrowed her optics at you. Then, she slowly crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.

“I cannot keep secrets from Tessa,” she said, though it felt more to herself than to you.

You exhaled sharply, releasing her wrist. “I figured you’d say that.”

Of course, Tessa. Always Tessa. J was her most loyal companion, her right hand, when you were the left. If there was anything she deemed important—anything that so much as brushed the lines of concern—Tessa would know about it before the day’s end.

That wasn’t what worried you.

What worried you was the fact that you didn’t know how Tessa would react. You’d built your entire existence in the manor around her, around the trust she’d given you, the faith she had in your abilities, in your purpose. But what if this— you —was a step too far?

J watched you, arms still crossed, expression still unreadable. “I don’t like keeping things from her,” she admitted after a beat, voice a tad bit softer. “But… I can understand where you’re coming from. I also don’t like the idea of putting you in danger.”

You glanced at her, surprised.

J sighed, dragging a hand down her visor. “Look,” she muttered. “I should tell her. I really should. But…” She hesitated, the rare crack in her usual ironclad demeanor showing itself for just a flicker of a moment. “Hell, you haven’t given me a reason to hate you. Yet .”

She shot you a look, her expression unreadable. “You’re not like N. You’re not like V. You’re not tripping over your own feet or screwing things up every other second. You think before you act, and you’ve kept Tessa safe and healthy a few times at this point. So…” She sighed again, like she was already regretting this. “I’ll do you a favor. I’ll keep your secret safe. For now.”

A weight you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying loosened in your chest.

“Thank you, J.” You met her gaze, your tone genuine. “I appreciate it to a great degree.”

J scoffed, shifting her weight as if trying to shake off whatever this was—this moment of mutual understanding.

You tilted your head, letting amusement flicker across your features.

And then, you had gotten an idea, inspired from the ways that Cyn messed with you. In a purposefully slow motion, you reached out, pressing a single finger against the center of her visor in a gentle, mocking shushing gesture.

J immediately froze, her entire frame stiffening.

“It will be our little secret,” you murmured, your voice dipping into something playful.

J’s reaction was immediate. She jerked back, swatting your hand away so fast it was almost impressive. You didn’t know why you had done that. Maybe it was because you and J were so similar in regards to personalities, you knew the right way to press her buttons. Maybe you had done it to break the tension. It could’ve been anything, really. And it's not like J was the only one that hated it. You mentally shouted at yourself for pulling such a cringe move, but her reaction made it worth it.

“Don’t do that,” she snapped, her voice glitching just slightly, and for the first time since you’d met her, you saw her screen light up in a flustered, embarrassed warning signal.

You chuckled, leaning back into your seat. “Duly noted.”

J crossed her arms, clearly trying to regain her composure, but her vents were running just a little too fast, and her optics refused to meet yours.

Amusing.

Very, very amusing.

 

 

---

J left the garage, her steps steady but her mind anything but. The night air, thick with the scent of oil and distant rain, clung to her as she made her way through the halls of the manor. Her processors whirred, replaying the day’s events like a corrupted file stuck in a loop. It was no wonder you had been so secretive—how could you not be? You had powers , for god’s sake. Something beyond programming, beyond logic, beyond the boundaries of what a drone was meant to be.

She rounded a corner, still caught in the tangle of her thoughts, her visor flickering faintly as she tried to process it all. The memory of the garage lingered, heavy and electric. The quiet hum of your voice, the glow of the strange light in your palm, the way you had looked at her—not with fear, not with irritation, but with something else. Something almost like understanding.

J frowned, her grip on her sleeves tightening. It was strange—before today, you had been nothing more than another worker from the scrapyard Tessa had brought back, an enigma she had little reason to concern herself with beyond ensuring you weren’t a liability to her charge. And yet…

She had enjoyed your company.

She had watched you as you worked a lot of the time. You were efficient. You didn’t waste words. You carried out your duties without the incompetence she had come to expect from the others. And, most importantly, you were loyal— truly loyal—to Tessa. In that regard, you were like her. A guardian. A constant. A force keeping the fragile balance of Tessa’s world intact.

It was a wonder the two of you hadn’t spoken sooner.

J ascended the stairs, her mind still caught in that realization. As she reached the final hallway before Tessa’s room, her optics landed on a large framed photograph hanging along the wall. The master and mistress stood in their pristine attire, expressions cold, rigid. And there, caught between them like an afterthought, was Tessa—her small frame stiff, her forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.

J’s fingers twitched at her sides.

She should have told the master and mistress about you. That was the logical thing to do. That was her duty . But…

But you kept Tessa safe. You ensured her well-being in ways that J couldn’t . You were something new, something unpredictable, but for now, that unpredictability worked in Tessa’s favor.

And besides… keeping a secret from the heads of the house?

It felt thrilling .

J allowed herself a small smirk as she reached for the door handle.

Notes:

J screentime! Every major character will eventually have their little moments and little arcs and plot lines focused around them, and I finally get to write my girlie, J!

Also, as always, join the Cabin Fever Creative Labs Discord server! We love talking about Murder Drones, fanfiction, and we also have an ULTRA MEGA COOL AWESOME minecraft server that you should definitely join. If any of that sounds rad, then come on down, pop in and say hello to everyone! Once again, link will be live for only 50 people before they go dead. This is soley for moderation purposes. Don't be bummed if you didn't get to join, cause new invite links are posted eventually.

https://discord.gg/9WGb3fPWK5

Chapter 23: IV

Summary:

Things go wrong.

J stood, peeking around a corner, the shadows swallowing her whole as she watched the scene unfold before her. Her core churned with a sickening mix of dread and rage, her fingers twitching at her sides, helpless to act.

The moment she’d stepped into Tessa’s room and found it empty, she had known something was wrong. But this —this was far worse than she had anticipated.

She had moved through the halls in growing panic, checking every room, every corridor, her movements silent but frantic. She hadn’t called out—she couldn’t risk the master or mistress hearing her—but the fear had only mounted with each empty room, with each step that led her closer to this .

And now, hidden in the darkness of the hallway, she could do nothing but watch .

Louisa Elliot stood tall before Tessa, who in turn looked meek and small. Like a kitten compared to a tiger. Both stood in front of the basement hatch, with a few other drone servants waiting on standby. Louisa herself was in her nightgown, its pristine white an ill-fitting contrast to the venom laced in her voice.

"What did I tell you about going to that rancid scrapyard?"

Tessa stood before her mother, small and trembling, her fingers gripping the fabric of her own nightgown as if she could shrink into herself and disappear.

“N-not to, mother…,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Louisa scoffed, flicking her fan open with a snap. “Exactly. I tell you not to rummage around outside like some desperate gutter rat , and what do you do? You dare to disobey me? To bring home yet another one of your filthy little strays ?” Her eyes narrowed in distaste, the fan snapping shut just as quickly as it had opened. “And off-color , no less.”

J tensed.

There were only two drones in this manor who weren’t fitted with the standard white optics—the first was Cyn, the supposed “little antichrist” as Louisa so fondly called her. But Louisa didn’t call her “off-color.”

That left only one other.

You .

J’s core sank. Both you and J had returned from the scrapyard with Tessa. That meant Louisa must have seen you. This was the first time the mistress had laid eyes on you, and it wasn’t hard to deduce that Tessa had brought you back from the scrapyard, disobeying her parents.

Tessa must have realized the same, her shoulders curling inward. “I’m s-sorry, mother,” she meekly apologized.

Louisa sighed, her expression tight with disappointment as she lifted her fan. J saw it before it even happened.

Her fingers twitched, and she saw Louisa’s hand reel back. The sound was sharp—flesh meeting flesh in a single, vicious backhand.

Tessa’s head snapped to the side, a strangled cry escaping her as she crumpled to the floor, a thin line of saliva trailing from her lips where the impact had landed.

J clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from gasping aloud. Her frame locked in place as a sick, cold sensation wrapped itself around her core. She had seen Tessa scuffed up before—small injuries from tinkering, minor scrapes from working with drones—but this was different. It never got any easier seeing Tessa treated like this—like a thing rather than a person. J would always look away whenever it happened, cause she couldn’t bear to see her owner get hurt. 

But this time, she could only watch. Helpless .

Louisa huffed as if she was the one inconvenienced, turning on her heel. "You need to be punished for your insolence," she declared, flicking her fan open once more. "You will spend the night chained in the basement. Since you adore your little trash heap so much, you can sleep with the antichrist .”

J’s optics widened in horror as Tessa whimpered, pushing herself up on shaky arms.

"B-but mother—”

The words barely made it out before the servant drones grabbed her.

They moved without hesitation, unflinching in their orders, which J could not blame them for. When it came to the master and mistress, following the orders given was just the smart thing to do if you wanted to power on and see tomorrow. Tessa kicked at first, squirming in their grip, but then Louisa glared , and her struggles died instantly.

J watched, helpless, as Tessa fell still, silent tears carving paths down her cheeks as the drones carried her toward the hatch and handled her down the ladder. She didn’t fight. Didn’t plead. She simply accepted it.

J’s hands clenched into fists.

"I swear, that girl is just as bad as the rabble she brings in," Louisa muttered, striding away as if she hadn’t just sentenced her own daughter to a night in chains. The servant drones climbed back out and followed suit, wordless, obedient.

The basement hatch slammed shut.

Silence.

J waited a few seconds, making sure the mistress was gone. When she was sure Louisa wouldn’t come back, J didn't hesitate anymore.

She ran.

 

 

---

You smiled softly as you tilted the watering can, a slow stream of water cascading over the carnation’s delicate petals. The flower seemed to glow under your optics, vibrant and alive, its soft red standing out starkly against the darkened garage.

Today was a good day.

Well— mostly good.

While it wasn’t exactly ideal that J had uncovered your secret, you couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that settled in your chest. A weight you hadn’t even realized was there had lifted, if only slightly. It wasn’t just Cyn anymore. You had someone else who knew , someone who had seen your powers firsthand and had not recoiled.

And—though you’d never admit it aloud—you liked how J had looked at you. Not with fear, not with disgust, but with awe . It made you feel… special . Like maybe you weren’t some unnatural thing barely passing as a drone. Like maybe you weren’t a beast wrapped in steel and circuitry, waiting for the moment your plating cracked to reveal the nightmare underneath.

You exhaled through your vents, shaking your head. No use lingering on that thought.

Instead, you focused on the other benefits.

Your relationship with J had taken a sharp turn—one that worked in your favor. Of Tessa’s little trio of drones, you had been most concerned about her. You had assumed J would be the hardest to get close to, the one most likely to remain suspicious of you no matter what. But now? She wasn’t just tolerant of your presence—she was curious . She had seen your power and had not pulled away. She was lulled by it. She wanted to understand.

That made things easier.

Your grip on the watering can tightened slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips. With J warming up to you, your plan was already falling into place.

Cyn was going to hate this.

You had already laid the groundwork for helping V, which meant you’d inevitably be spending more time with her. And now J had willingly walked into your web of intrigue, fascinated by what you could do. It wouldn’t be long before she sought you out again, questioning you, watching you.

And Cyn?

Cyn wanted your attention, craved it, and she loathed when you spent it on others. She’d said it herself—she didn’t like sharing her toys.

You chuckled under your breath.

Well, she was about to learn that she didn’t own you, and she was about to hate that realization.

A sharp knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. Not a polite tap, not a hesitant rap— urgent , firm. You pursed your lips, setting the watering can aside before making your way over. When you pulled the door open, J stood there, her silhouette dimly lit by the glow of her small oil lamp. She looked… upset .

That didn’t bode well.

You stepped out, scanning the empty hallway, its usual late-night stillness pressing in on all sides. No signs of disturbance. Nothing to be alarmed by. And yet—something was wrong .

“What is it?” you asked, keeping your voice level.

J’s mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers clenched around the handle of her lamp, the metal casing trembling ever so slightly in her grip. She was hunched forward, as if bracing herself against something unseen, something heavy pressing down on her.

Then, finally, she looked up, her optics locking onto yours.

“It’s about Tessa.”

The words hit like a spark to dry tinder.

Your frame stiffened, metal creaking faintly as your hands curled into fists. The still air of the hallway suddenly felt too thin, too constraining, as though the walls were closing in.

And then J began to explain.

With each word, your anger surged, dark and seething, coiling through you like a living thing.

J couldn’t see it. Too caught up in relaying the events, in watching your expression shift from concern to something unreadable. But behind you, cast long and jagged by the flickering glow of the lamp, your shadow writhed. It slithered across the walls, twisting and stretching, pulling itself into unnatural shapes—until the vague outline of a hunched, many-eyed beast formed in the darkness, its countless pupils narrowing in rage.

A silent snarl curled in its ink-black maw, mirroring the fury rising in your chest.

---

You and J both stood at the entrance to the basement. J didn’t even have time to speak before you moved, stepping past her with a single-minded purpose and gripping the ladder’s rungs so tightly your servos whined in protest. The basement yawned open beneath you, damp with the scent of rust, old stone, and lingering oil.

The moment your feet hit the ground, your optics adjusted to the dimness, scanning the room, searching .

Then you saw her.

Tessa sat slumped in the farthest corner, wrists bound in thick chains bolted to the ground. There were no other sources of light, save for the glow of your visor, meaning it was pitch black down here. She wasn’t crying, but the telltale signs were there—the red-rimmed eyes, the way she stared at the wall with an expression that was too still, too exhausted. You saw the redness on her cheek in the shape of a handprint, and you bit back a grimace, hand gripping your uniform.

The second she heard you approach, her head lifted, her eyes finding yours. For a moment, just a moment, relief flickered across her face, a small light of its own in the overwhelming dark.

And then she moved.

Tessa launched forward as much as the chains allowed, burying herself against you before you could even kneel properly, her small frame shaking. You barely managed to catch her, but the second your arms wrapped around her, she clung even tighter. The force of it knocked you off balance slightly, but you didn’t care.

Her sobs were muffled against your uniform, shoulders trembling as she gripped onto you like you were the only thing anchoring her to the present.

“Oh, Tessa…,” you muttered, voice soft.

You felt something pull in your chest, a pang of something unfamiliar. It was one thing to know Tessa wasn’t treated well by her family. It was another thing entirely to see her like this—chained, cold, discarded like some malfunctioning piece of machinery, as if she was less than the very drones she had salvaged and cared for.

Your arms tightened around her, fingers curling protectively into the fabric of her clothes. If sheer force of will alone could shield her from the cruelty of her parents, you would have willed it into existence right now.

Behind you, J climbed down the ladder, landing with a heavy thud. You didn’t turn to look, but you heard her exhale sharply, heard the subtle shift in her frame as she took in the sight before her.

As Tessa’s whimpers softened into uneven breaths, you felt the anger in your core flicker—not extinguished, but momentarily set aside. You glanced over your shoulder at J, watching her carefully.

“What made you come get me?” you asked, trying to keep your voice as low as you could.

J’s optics flickered as she folded her arms, shifting slightly as if debating how much to say. “...I’ve seen how she is when she’s with you,” she admitted, her tone edged with something unreadable. “I thought… I thought it’d help if you were here.”

That stopped you for a moment.

This wasn’t new. Back when Tessa had that bruise, J had ushered the other two drones away to give you some privacy to comfort her. The fact J had chosen you—not out of necessity, but because she had seen something in the way Tessa responded to you—left a strange, fluttering sensation in your chest. Gratitude? No, something deeper. Something you didn’t have the words for yet.

But before you could examine it further, Tessa pressed herself closer against you, her small frame trembling against your own. With her free hand, she reached out toward J, fingers curling in silent request.

J hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, kneeling beside you. She let Tessa pull her in, her own arms coming up to hold the girl, stroking slow, careful circles against her back.

Tessa’s grip tightened, pulling both of you into her space, until there was no choice but to close the distance entirely. The three of you sat there, huddled together in the cold, damp basement, with nothing but the sound of unsteady breathing between you.

You ignored the way J’s shoulder pressed against yours, the way her head nearly tilted toward you before she caught herself. She ignored the way your arm instinctively shifted, steadying her as much as it did Tessa.

The basement was still, save for the occasional drip of condensation from the pipes above. The cold stone pressed against your knees, digging in and causing you slight discomfort. Tessa had stopped crying, though she still clung to both you and J like you were the only things she had.

You glanced down at her, noticing the way her fingers gripped at your uniform, the slight tremble that still hadn’t faded from her frame. J kept her eyes forward, visor unreadable, but you could feel the tension in her posture. The silence ruled for a few minutes, no words being exchanged.

Then, finally, Tessa spoke.

“Mother hates me.”

Her voice was extremely quiet, but hearing it made your core lurch.

J’s hold on her tightened just slightly. “No, she doesn’t,” she said, but even she didn’t sound convinced. You weren’t either. You knew for a fact that it was most likely, but you weren’t about to tell that to Tessa when she was in such a volatile state.

Tessa gave a hollow, humorless laugh. “She does.” She shifted, pressing her forehead against your chest. “I could disappear tomorrow, and she wouldn’t care…”

Your optics dimmed. The words settled in your mind like lead, like something dark and insidious creeping into a place it had no right to be. Ideas, ones you weren’t proud for immediately thinking of.

J was silent, and for a moment, you wondered if she was trying to find the right thing to say. But you weren’t sure there was a right thing to say.

Instead, you reached up, slowly, and placed your hand against the back of Tessa’s head, fingers threading through her hair. “You are not disposable,” you told her, lowering your chin so that it rested on her head. “Not to us.”

J nodded, shifting to look at her directly. “Not to me ,” she added.

Tessa sniffled, but didn’t argue. 

 

 

---

Tessa had finally fallen asleep in your arms. While you would want nothing more than to take her out and let her rest in her own bed, you and J weren’t sure whether or not Louisa would send out drones to check on Tessa. And if she was, you had no way of knowing when. The safest option—albeit the least favorable—was to stay down here. But, that didn’t mean that you and J couldn’t stay the night with Tessa. At the very least, you had worked your magic and gotten rid of the mark forming on her cheek.

While Tessa laid against you, sleeping as well as she could despite the conditions, you were seething and J was leaning against a wall, listening.

“They are unnecessarily cruel,” you muttered to J. She nodded in agreement, but said nothing. “They are human beings, yet, they act more vicious than a wild animal. Goodness, even an animal knows how to properly care for its young.”

J let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shifting her position slightly. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I think I stopped expecting kindness from them a long time ago.”

Tessa stirred slightly in your arms, but didn’t wake, her breath steady, fragile. You adjusted your grip, holding her a little closer, both for her comfort and your own.

The air in the basement was thick with damp and rust, with something old and forgotten, but it was nothing compared to the fire in your chest. Anger simmered there, like molten metal in the forge, shaping itself into something sharper, something dangerous.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to call themselves her parents,” you said after a moment, voice laced with venom. “They treat her like an inconvenience . Like a burden .” Your fingers twitched, resisting the urge to clench into a fist. “It makes me sick .”

J exhaled through her vents, arms crossed over her chest. “That’s the world we live in,” she murmured, not looking at you. “You should know that by now.”

“I do know,” you said. “But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

A pause. J’s visor flickered as she studied you. Then, she glanced down at Tessa, at the way she curled instinctively closer to you even in sleep.

“She trusts you,” J said, almost absently. “ Completely .”

You went silent, slowly looking down to the sleeping girl in your arms. J said she trusted you completely. Was that right? You hoped it was. It would be heartbreaking to think that the girl had reservations about you, despite all the time that had passed. 

“...I hope so,” you whispered. Though, J managed to hear what you had said, and just stared up at the ceiling.

You exhaled softly, refocusing on Tessa, brushing a hand gently over her tangled hair. But as your optics wandered lower, tracing over the delicate slope of her arms, you stilled.

Her wrists—

Faint scars, barely perceptible in the dim light, but there nonetheless. Thin, ghostly impressions pressed into her skin that you had never noticed till now. And the scars… they were the exact shape of the shackles that bound her now.

Your visor glitched.

A soundless static crawled through your system, a rising pressure that coiled tight in your core. Your grip on Tessa remained gentle, but the rest of you—every fiber of your being—went rigid.

Somewhere in the room, something cracked.

J flinched. The sound wasn’t physical. A ripple in the air, like glass fracturing just beneath the surface of reality.

Then you turned to her.

J stiffened.

"How long?"

Your voice was hollow, stripped of warmth, something too mechanical in its monotony. The cadence was wrong, off, too eerily measured. Too much like Cyn .

J’s optics flickered. “W-what?”

She took an instinctive step back, her own body tensing in response to something unspoken. Your posture, your voice—everything about you felt wrong. J didn’t know what was happening, but she knew it wasn’t normal.

Not for you.

Not for anyone .

You didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just watched her.

"How long," you repeated, slower this time, enunciated with a precision that made something in J’s wiring prickle. "How long have her parents been doing this?"

J’s jaw tightened. She looked away, her gaze dropping to the damp stone beneath her feet. A small puddle had formed there from the slow, rhythmic drip of water leaking from the ceiling above.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound filled the silence between you.

“It…” J’s voice was quieter now, almost ashamed. “It’s been a few years.”

A few years.

Years .

The word echoed in your mind, reverberating like a war drum, pounding against your cranium in heavy, rhythmic beats.

Years .

You inhaled sharply—only, no air entered your vents. It wasn’t necessary, but the motion was instinctual, something to calm yourself. Something to stop the pressure building inside your frame from spilling over.

But it didn’t work.

Something inside you broke.

Rage—raw, unfiltered, uncontainable—poured through you like molten metal through cracked steel, searing through every inch of your frame, flooding your systems with an intensity you had never experienced before. It was not the sharp, white-hot anger of immediate frustration, nor was it the cold, simmering resentment of a grudge left to fester. No—this was something greater, something fiercer, something that did not just burn but consumed you whole. It was a force of nature, an unraveling of all the careful control you had spent trying to maintain.

Your fingers twitched violently, clenching and unclenching, metal scraping against metal as if your own body could not decide whether to restrain or release the force threatening to tear its way out. Your posture went rigid, your servos locking as an invisible grip pressed against you, an unbearable pressure building inside your chassis, suffocating in its intensity. Something was moving inside you, writhing beneath your plating, pushing against your frame as though your very being was rejecting its confinement.

J took a wary step back, optics wide, stance shifting into something cautious, defensive—uncertain. She had never seen you angry before, never seen you like… this . Like a horror movie monster come to life.

Then—

Your body snapped backward with a sickening crack, like metal under too much strain finally giving in. A jagged fracture splintered across your chest plating, glowing fissures cutting through the smooth metal as something—light—began to seep out. It was not the gentle radiance of a soft glow, but beams of blinding luminosity.

And then the feathers began to push through the cracks.

Your breath hitched.

Terror surged through your frame like a wildfire, snuffing out the rage in an instant, replacing it with something far worse.

No. No, no, no. Not this .

Anything but this!

Your claws raked at your chest, desperation overtaking you as you tore at the feathers, trying to rip them out, to stop this, to force them back inside—back where they belonged. But the moment your fingers closed around them, the moment you yanked and felt them tear free from your frame, agony unlike anything you had ever known ripped through you.

You choked on a gasp, your body convulsing as pain lanced through every fiber of your being, deep, searing, like you had just ripped out a piece of yourself. You staggered, arching forward as more and more feathers spilled from the wound, too many, far too many, pooling at your feet in a mess of shifting shadows and golden light.

Your vents stuttered. Your limbs trembled. Your core raced.

And then—

Darkness .

A complete, suffocating void swallowed the room whole.

J gasped sharply, her vents hitching, panic flooding her circuits as her optics flickered wildly, trying—failing—to recalibrate. Her body tensed as she scrambled backward, pressing herself against the farthest wall, fingers gripping the damp stone as her optics darted around, seeking anything in the pitch-black abyss.

Nothing.

No light. No sound. No sense of space, of direction. Just emptiness.

And then—

A single flicker.

A low, guttural churning sound, like something massive shifting in the dark.

And then—

Her lights returned.

J’s optics adjusted instantly, locking onto the source—

And she froze.

No.

No.

Her core stalled, her entire frame seizing as her mind screamed at her to move, to run, to do something—but she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Because she was staring.

Staring up .

A thousand eyes stared back.

A thousand teeth shone like diamonds, stretching far beyond the space where you had been, where your form had stood mere moments ago. The shape was wrong, shifting, undulating, an amalgamation of flesh and metal and something else entirely. A hulking, towering presence that loomed over her, pressing against the very fabric of the space around it, suffocating, consuming .

J wanted to scream. Every instinct, every deeply ingrained subroutine in her system, screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something —but she couldn’t. The visage of the thing before her pinned her in place, its sheer presence suffocating, warping the air around it, pressing against the very fabric of the room as if reality itself struggled to contain it. Her servos locked, her core pounded inside her chassis, and her optics glitched wildly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, trying to process the impossible.

But then—

The thing’s hands trembled.

The massive, clawed appendages—each finger jointed in ways that should not be possible, covered in writhing flesh—shook, twitching as though they did not belong to the creature itself. The thousand-eyed monstrosity let out a ragged breath, a distorted, uneven exhale that rattled through the air like a dying engine struggling for fuel.

It gasped.

Choking.

Breathing in for air that it did not need, struggling against something unseen, something unknown to J. Its body heaved, shoulders shuddering as it took a moment to contemplate what was happening.

Then it looked down.

J watched, frozen in place, as the creature stared at its own massive, grotesque hands, its many, many eyes widening—not with hunger, not with malice, not with the voracious hunger of a monster wanting to devour—

But with terror .

Horror.

Not at her . 

It was horrified of itself .

J’s vents stuttered.

The creature's chest heaved, and the glow seeping through its form flickered, like a fire caught in a violent storm. The mass of eyes blinked in erratic, disjointed patterns, unfocused, lost, panicked . The gaping maw lining its body quivered, not in anticipation, not in hunger—but in absolute fear .

Then—

It saw her.

And it recoiled .

J’s breath hitched, and she pressed herself further into the wall, falling to her knees, and hugging herself protectively. She had been bracing for an attack, expecting it to lunge, to consume, to devour her whole in a single instant. But instead—

It shrank .

It curled inward, folding in on itself as if trying to disappear , as if trying to make itself small, to hide from her gaze. The massive, grotesque form hunched, shoulders curling in, limbs drawing close, claws pressing against its own heaving chest as if it could erase itself from existence.

It was afraid.

Of her.

Of itself.

Of everything .

J’s fearful expression softened just for a moment.

And then—

It spoke.

“J-J…”

The voice was layered, fractured into thousands of tones, echoing through the room like a chorus of lost souls whispering over each other. Some voices were deep, guttural, unrecognizable. Others were light, distant, broken. But beneath them all, buried beneath the cacophony of the other, there was one voice—one familiar voice.

Your voice.

J’s optics widened.

“H-help me.”

The words were pleading .

Begging.

Desperate.

And that’s when it hit her—when the last piece of the puzzle slid into place, when the reality of what she was looking at crashed into her like a collapsing building.

This monster.

This writhing, shifting, impossible thing.

It was you .

Notes:

First look at the monster form. Wasn't entirely sure how to handle it if I'm being honest, but I think doing it this way is pretty good, plus it allows for some cool relationship building with J.

Also, as always, join the Cabin Fever Creative Labs Discord server! We love talking about Murder Drones, fanfiction, and we also have an super duper minecraft server that you should definitely join because we're awesome. If any of that sounds your style, then come on down, pop in and say hello to everyone!

https://discord.gg/9WGb3fPWK5

Chapter 24: V

Summary:

You and J try to remedy the situation, and come up with a solution

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to tear at your own skin—no, not skin , this writhing mass of flesh and sinew that pulsed and twitched with every uneven breath you took. You wanted to dig your claws—dear god, you had claws now—into the grotesque thing that had become your body and rip yourself out of it, peel away the layers until you found something, anything , that was still you beneath it all. But no matter how hard you willed it, no matter how violently your body shuddered in protest, you remained caged inside this monstrous shell, suffocating beneath your own existence.

The nightmares had finally come true.

Every single wretched vision, every horrible dream where you had looked down and seen something that wasn’t you staring back—every single time you had awoken panting, hands clutching at your metal chest, reassuring yourself that you were still intact—it had all been leading to this moment. And now, there was no waking up from it.

Your hulking form trembled beneath its own weight, every movement feeling wrong, too heavy, too unnatural, as you backed further into the cold stone walls, desperate to disappear into the darkness, to let the shadows swallow you whole. But the shadows wouldn’t take you. You were too large. Too wrong . Even they recoiled from your presence, as if rejecting you as something not for them, something not meant to exist in this world.

Your hundred—no, thousand —eyes darted downward, and in a grotesque cacophony of overlapping perspectives, you saw everything .

You saw the shifting, pulsating flesh that made up your limbs, twisting and contorting as if it were still trying to decide what shape to take. You saw the sickening mass of eyes and teeth that gnashed and clicked together in places where no mouth should be. You saw hands, too many hands, fingers curling and uncurling, grasping at nothing, shaking violently as if even they wanted to tear themselves away from you.

And then you saw it .

A Worker Drone's body, lying still on the ground.

No… not just any drone.

That was you .

The sleek casing, the familiar purple optics now dim and lifeless. It was the body you had awoken in, walked in, lived in. It was you. Or at least… it had been.

A strangled noise tore from your throat, something between a sob and a growl, a sound too unnatural to belong to any living thing. Your vision blurred, not from tears—you had no idea if you even had the capacity for that anymore—but from sheer, overwhelming horror.

Had… had you died?

No. It didn’t feel like you had. You didn’t know why it was, but what you were experiencing didn’t feel like death. It was more like… you had shed your skin. You had molted like a creature that had outgrown its husk, leaving behind the fragile, familiar shape you had once called your own.

With nowhere left to retreat, you curled inward, wrapping your malformed, shifting limbs around yourself in a mockery of a hug. Your claws—too long, too sharp—dug into your own flesh, slicing through it with ease. The pain was immediate, searing and electric, but it was welcome. A lifeline in the chaos. A reminder that you still existed . That there was still something left of you beneath the layers of this deformed, shifting nightmare you had become.

And then you saw it.

The blood—or what should have been blood.

Not red, not like the crimson that had dripped from Tessa’s cut hand, staining her skin in tones of maroon. No, this was something else entirely. It was white—brilliant, blinding . It glowed as it spilled from your wounds, seeping onto the cold stone floor, pooling in thick, viscous drops. And as it touched the ground, something impossible happened. Patches of grass bloomed in its wake, lush and green, thriving in the lifeless dungeon beneath the manor. The sight was mesmerizing, but wrong , so terribly wrong . You hissed at the sensation, recoiling, but at the same time… you craved it. The pain, the raw, tangible proof of your body still responding to the world, was the only thing tethering you to reality.

At least, until you looked up.

J was still there. She had not run. She had not screamed.

She stood stiff, unmoving, her optics locked onto you with an expression caught somewhere between awe and horror. You could see it in the way she held herself—rigid, uncertain. Not disgusted, not yet, but wary, as if she were looking at a wounded animal she’d never seen before, something that defied every law she understood. But beneath it all, beneath the uncertainty, there was something else. Something that made your chest tighten.

Concern .

Even like this, even as a hulking, monstrous thing dripping with light and bleeding life into the stone beneath you, she was still worried. About you .

The realization cracked something inside of you, something fragile and human—or whatever the robotic equivalent the concept of humanity was.

And from your trembling, misshapen maw, the first words that came to mind escaped before you could stop them, raw and broken and desperate .

“J-J… h-help me.”

J jolted. Her fingers twitched, her stance faltered. The voice had startled her, you could tell. You barely recognized it yourself. It was warped, a layered chorus of voices, hundreds upon hundreds speaking at once, overlapping, harmonizing in unnatural tones. It wasn’t just one entity speaking—it was all of them. You. Them. The thing in your dreams. The thing you had become .

And it terrified you.

J swallowed hard, steeling herself as she took a single, shaky step forward. Her gaze dragged over your form, scanning, cataloging, searching for something—perhaps for any hint of familiarity, for a reason to stay, for an excuse to believe that you were still you. And then her optics flickered downward, catching sight of the glowing ichor still leaking from your wounds, pooling at your feet, painting the ground in patches of unnatural flora.

Something in her shifted. Fear gave way to something else—urgency.

She moved again, more certain this time, another step forward.

“W-what…,” she hesitated, voice catching in her throat. She took a deep breath. “...What do you need?”

Your fingers twitched. Instinctively, you clenched your hands, the sharp tips of your claws digging deeper into your flesh, but the pain no longer registered. No, what you wanted—what you needed —was something else.

Soft fabric. Stitched seams. A comforting weight.

Your doll.

“G-garage… doll,” you rasped, your form slumping under its own weight, shoulders heaving with the effort of merely existing.

J didn’t hesitate.

She turned, bolting for the ladder, her footsteps pounding against the cold stone floor as she ascended with urgency.

And then you were alone.

Alone, with your mind fraying at the seams, with your form unraveling into something unrecognizable. Alone, with only Tessa’s quiet, blissful breathing as she remained untouched by the horrors unfolding just feet away from her.

Alone, in a body that was no longer yours.

 

 

---

J ran, her servos whirring at the sheer speed of her movements, her limbs operating on pure instinct as she tore down the hallways of the manor. She didn’t stop, didn’t even think about stopping—not when she practically skidded around corners, not when her metallic feet pounded against the carpet floors, and certainly not when the garage door came into view. She slammed into it, nearly wrenching it off its hinges in her rush to get inside, chest heaving, mind racing.

A doll. You had said you needed a doll.

She didn’t know why—didn’t know what it meant, didn’t understand how something so small, so seemingly insignificant , could be the thing that would keep you grounded when you were falling apart at the seams. But none of that mattered. Not right now. Because you had asked for her help, and J wasn’t about to let you down.

The garage was dark, the only light coming from J’s own visor, and the little light seeping through the window. It cast long, warped shadows across the walls, stretching over the cluttered workbenches and the tangle of wires and tools that littered the space.

J didn’t hesitate.

She practically tore the room apart, sweeping tools off cabinets, ripping open drawers, tossing their contents onto the floor in a frantic search. A wrench clattered against the ground, a pile of papers scattered like dying leaves, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter how much of a mess she made—only that she found it. Because right now, you were the only thing that mattered.

J wasn’t one to panic. She was efficient. Level headed. She was the one who kept everything in order, the one who made sure the other two drones stayed in line, stayed alive . In this household, under the Elliots, a single mistake could mean deactivation. She had long since accepted that reality, adapted to it, shaped herself into the harsh, unyielding force N and V needed her to be.

They could hate her for it. That was fine. That was expected.

But you—you were slightly different.

You and J… you were alike. More alike than she had realized. She didn’t know why it had taken so long for the two of you to really talk, to really understand one another, but now that she had, now that she had gotten a glimpse into the strange, chaotic enigma that was you, she wasn’t willing to let you slip away.

And now you were hurt.

Now you were scared.

Now you needed her help.

J was the oldest of the drones Tessa had repaired, the first one she had brought back from the scrapyard, the one who had seen the worst of what happened to discarded machines. That made her responsible, didn’t it? It made her the protector. It made her the one who had to step forward when things got bad, the one who had to be steady when everything else was crumbling.

And right now, you were crumbling.

And that meant she had to put you back together.

Her optics flickered as her frantic searching finally came to a halt.

There, sitting on the nightstand by your recharge station, untouched by the chaos she had caused in her desperation, was the doll.

Small. Worn. Well-loved, and very familiar.

She didn’t know why she did in such a dire situation, but something about it made her pause. Made her hands still for the briefest moment before she finally reached out and grasped it, holding it with more care than she had ever handled anything before. This doll… it was one from Tessa’s childhood, long ago. Tessa treasured this little Worker Drone doll, so that fact you had meant…

No, now was not the time for thinking. It was the time for action .

Then, without wasting another second, she turned on her heel and ran .

 

 

---

Seconds felt like agony.

You didn’t know how long J had been gone—had it been minutes? Hours? It could have been an eternity for all you knew. There was no HUD overlay in your vision anymore, no reassuring numbers or interface to tell you. Just the raw, unfiltered world before you, stark and unobstructed, a flood of sensations that you weren’t prepared for. It was too much. Too overwhelming. Too real .

Your thousand eyes flickered, shifting in all directions, your mind lurching with every new detail it processed. The feeling of the damp basement air against your flesh—your flesh—the scent of mildew and rust clinging to the stone walls, the distant dripping of water echoing somewhere unseen. You weren’t supposed to perceive the world like this. Your optics were supposed to filter, to process, to break everything down into digestible data. But now, everything came at once, a deluge of input suffocating you under its weight.

Your claws twitched, opening and closing in a restless rhythm, desperate for something— anything —to anchor you. The sensation of absence gnawed at you, a hollow, clawing hunger in your chest. You needed something familiar . You needed the doll. Your doll. If you could just hold it, just feel the comforting texture of its fabric beneath your fingertips, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t feel like you were slipping through the cracks of reality itself.

Your thousand eyes drifted downward, locking onto the motionless Worker Drone body sprawled across the floor. Still. Silent. Lifeless.

Your old body.

Or… at least, what was supposed to be your body.

Something inside you twisted violently, a sickening lurch in your gut as your massive frame trembled. Your claws moved on their own, reaching out, hesitant, as if afraid of what you might feel. Slowly, carefully, one massive talon brushed against the cold metal of the Worker Drone’s face—your face.

Or what used to be.

The touch sent a ripple of something unfamiliar through you, something that tightened in your chest, that made your countless eyes twitch and shudder. That had been you. That hollow, discarded shell. But now? Now you were this—this towering, fleshy thing, this monstrous distortion of what you once were. And no amount of rationalizing could change the fact that, for the first time, you no longer recognized yourself.

A ragged breath tore through you, making your entire form shudder violently. You felt wrong. Unfamiliar. Other . The longer you stared at your former self, the more alien you became to your own mind. Your claws clenched instinctively, sinking deep into your own flesh, and a sharp, searing pain shot through your being.

And oh god, even pain felt different now.

Glowing, white-hot ichor oozed from the fresh wounds, thick and luminous, spilling onto the floor where it pooled into small, pulsating puddles. Where it touched the cold, dead stone, grass began to sprout—soft, green, alive. The sight of it made something in your chest tighten further, panic rising in waves. You yanked your claws free, letting your arms hang limply at your sides, trembling as the sensation of your own living blood filled your mind with static.

You needed the doll.

You needed to feel something familiar, something grounding. You needed to hold something—something small, something soft, something that wasn’t this. You needed it, you needed it, you needed it—

Something touched you.

A small, warm pressure against one of your fingers.

Your breath hitched, all-consuming panic momentarily interrupted as your eyes—so many eyes—focused downward.

Tessa.

She was still here. Still curled up against your discarded Worker Drone body, her delicate features slack with sleep. Even amidst the nightmare unfolding around her, she remained blissfully unaware, her chest rising and falling in peaceful, steady breaths. But her hand—so small, so fragile—had reached out in her sleep, curling gently around one of your fingers.

Holding you.

Like a child clinging to their mother’s hand.

Your breath, once erratic and shuddering, began to slow. The raging static in your mind dulled to a low hum. The tremors running through your monstrous form weakened, and the ichor that leaked from your wounds stopped flowing so freely. The suffocating weight of panic loosened its grip, if only just.

You felt calm.

You felt held.

Your heartbeat slowed—you even had a heartbeat now, oh god—but it was steady. It was rhythmic. It was real .

Carefully, as if afraid you might shatter the moment, you curled your claw ever so slightly, just enough to return Tessa’s touch. Just enough to let her tiny fingers remain nestled against yours.

Just enough to remember who you were.

And in her sleep, Tessa smiled.

A small thing, fleeting and delicate, barely more than a twitch at the corners of her lips, but it was there—undeniable, warm, and genuine . A quiet expression of trust, of comfort, of peace. And you were the reason for it.

Something deep within you stirred at the sight. For all your fear, for all your confusion, the monstrous body you now inhabited, the sheer wrongness of your current form… none of it seemed to matter in this moment. Because despite everything, despite what you had become, even in the world of dreams, she still trusted you . She still sought your presence, curled against you like she had done the first night you comforted her, as if nothing had changed.

And maybe, just for this fleeting moment, nothing had.

A sharp exhale left you—a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding. The sound was strange, organic, not the mechanical whir of cooling fans or the thrum of an artificial system regulating itself. It stirred Tessa, made her shift slightly against you, but she remained deep in sleep, undisturbed by the weight of your turmoil.

You took another breath. Then another.

Just focus on Tessa.

Let go of the fear, the uncertainty, the creeping horror slithering up your spine. Let go of the reality of what you now were. Empty your mind. Clear yourself of emotion. Just focus on the one thing that still made sense.

Tessa.

Your many eyes drifted downward, taking her in, truly taking her in for the first time outside the confines of your former mechanical perception.

You saw Tessa, not through the filtered interface of drone optics, but through something real . Through eyes that could see her for all she was.

Hair like spun liquorice, dark and smooth, cascading over her shoulders, framing her caramel skin with effortless grace. Freckles, scattered like cinnamon dusted over warm brown sugar, soft and subtle, the kind of beauty that existed in the quiet details—the kind of beauty only the observant would catch. You wanted desperately to see her eyes, to know what color they were outside the false brightness of drone optics, but they remained closed, her lashes resting gently against her cheeks.

And then your gaze caught something else.

Red.

Faint but stark against her skin.

The blotch of color stood out like a wound in your vision, a mark of recent violence—a reminder.

And just like that, the anger returned.

It bubbled beneath your skin, coiling tight in your chest, in your jaw, in the clawed hands that twitched against the ground. That woman. That creature dared to lay a hand on her—dared to strike her like she was less. It made you sick, made something in your chest lurch violently, made your many hands clench into fists so tight that your glowing, white ichor threatened to spill once more.

Carefully, slowly—more conscious now of the way your hands felt, the heft of them, the sensation of skin and flesh where cold metal should have been—you reached down. One of your many hands, shaking slightly, brushed a single finger against her cheek. A simple touch, a silent intention, and the redness faded beneath your fingertips like ink washing away in the rain. You felt the anger subside, just slightly, the tension in your monstrous frame lessening at the sight of her unharmed.

But the scars.

The ones on her wrists.

They remained.

Your breath hitched as your many eyes locked onto the faint, pale lines that marred her skin—old wounds, long healed but never truly gone. Evidence of years of silent suffering.

You had never noticed them before, not like this. Had your optics been too dull? Had you simply never looked close enough? Or had you refused to see?

Your claws twitched, itching to do something. You wanted them gone . You wanted to erase them, to heal them, to take away all the pain she had ever endured. But… they were too old. Your abilities, whatever they were, whatever you were… was not enough.

Not yet .

If only you were stronger.

If only you had more power .

Maybe then, you could erase the scars. Maybe then, you could do more than just undo a bruise. Maybe then, Tessa would never have to suffer under the weight of her parents again.

The thought was dangerous. You felt it coil around you like a whisper of something dark, something insidious. A temptation .

More power. More strength. More ability.

More .

Your claws flexed.

The idea lingered.

But before you could truly dwell on the dangerous thought—before you could let it root itself any deeper into your mind—the basement hatch burst open with a loud crack , the sound echoing through the claustrophobic space.

J descended the ladder at a reckless pace, her movements rushed and frantic, her servos whining in protest at the speed. You could hear the sharp whirr of her fans, straining to cool her overheating systems as she panted for air. But she didn’t stop, didn’t even pause to catch her breath. The instant her feet hit the basement floor, she rushed forward, practically shoving something into your waiting hands as though making an offering to some ancient, unknowable deity.

“I… I got it,” she breathed, her voice uneven from exertion. Her visor reflected the glow of your shifting, unfathomable mass, but she didn’t flinch. She only looked up, waiting, watching.

A thousand eyes blinked at once, their focus narrowing to the small, familiar object in her grasp. One of your many hands reached down, careful— so very careful —as it plucked the doll from her fingers.

The moment it touched your palm, you felt it.

Soft. Small. Warm . 

It felt nice .

It felt soothing .

It felt familiar .

A tether to something grounding, something real, something yours .

A shudder rippled through your form as you clutched it, your clawed fingers cradling the tiny doll with a reverence that felt almost absurd given your current state. You were so much bigger now, so much more than what you once were, and yet this simple, fragile thing in your palm held more power over you than anything else in this moment.

You didn’t dare squeeze, didn’t dare risk even the slightest pressure, because what if you tore it apart? What if you were too strong now? What if you broke it like you feared you would break everything you touched?

So you simply held it. Let it rest in your palm, let its presence anchor you as, finally, the fear, the stress, the anger—all of it—began to melt away.

J remained silent, her visor unreadable as she watched you, taking in every subtle shift of your monstrous form. And now that there was no immediate danger, now that the chaos had settled into a tense, waiting quiet, she allowed herself a moment to really look at you .

And to do that, she had to take a step back.

You were… massive .

Larger than she had initially registered, too caught up in the urgency of your breakdown to properly process the sheer scale of you. Now, in the stillness, she could see how your form pressed against the basement walls, how your bulk coiled and twisted, some parts still shifting, still unfurling . And worse still, she had the nagging suspicion that this wasn’t even your full size. That you were still… growing .

That thought unsettled her.

Even now, she could see how the end of your body remained tethered to your discarded Worker Drone form, like an insect still partially trapped within its chrysalis. As though you hadn’t fully emerged yet.

Slowly, you tilted your many-eyed gaze downward, catching the way J studied you, her stance cautious yet lacking fear.

You moved.

You moved in an effort to make yourself smaller, to meet her at her level. It wasn’t easy. No matter how much you hunched, no matter how much you curled in on yourself, you still loomed over her. A hulking shadow, vast and inescapable.

But you tried.

And in that effort, in that conscious attempt to meet her halfway, J found herself releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“…Thank you, J,” you murmured, your voice layered, echoing, yet noticeably calmer now.

A pause.

Then—

“I am calm now.”

And J, despite everything, despite the sheer insanity of the situation, despite standing before something that should not be , simply nodded.

"Good," J said again, her voice firmer this time, going back to its usual brashness, but still gentle enough to know she was still concerned. A shuddering breath left her, a slow inhale followed by an even slower exhale as she gathered herself, and then—to your surprise—she stepped forward, cautiously but without hesitation, before settling onto the floor beside you.

You watched her as she watched you.

Both of you were silent, optics and eyes locked in quiet study. It was strange, this moment of stillness. As if, despite the horror that had unfolded just minutes prior, neither of you knew what to say or where to even begin.

And so, for a while, you simply existed together in the quiet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, J finally broke the silence.

"This may sound a bit unprofessional…" she started, her voice even, though you could hear the faintest undercurrent of hesitation beneath it. She reached out, hovering her hand just above yours, her fingers twitching slightly as she considered her next words. "...But may I?"

You blinked down at her hand, your many eyes flicking between the metal of her fingers and the patch of flesh they hovered over.

She wanted to touch you.

To feel what you had become.

For a moment, you hesitated. Not out of fear of harm—no, you weren’t worried about her hurting you . Rather, you were scared of the opposite. What if she recoiled? What if the moment she made contact, her curiosity morphed into revulsion? What if she finally saw you for what you were and decided she wanted nothing to do with you?

What if she looked at you like a monster ?

But then, you remembered—this was J.

J, who had stood her ground when she should’ve run. J, who had gazed upon you, not with fear, but with awe, with intrigue, with understanding. J, who had seen you at your lowest, your most vulnerable, and had not turned away.

She had given you no reason to say no.

And so, with a slow, deliberate nod, you granted permission.

The moment you did, J inhaled sharply and with a second to prepare herself, she lowered her hand and let it settle into yours.

You flinched—not because it hurt, but because she was cold .

You hadn’t realized just how warm you were until now, until the metal of her fingers pressed into your skin, contrasting starkly against the heat radiating from your form. You felt yourself shiver at the contact, the foreign sensation of something artificial meeting something organic .

She was careful, her touch light as she traced her fingertips across the uneven surface of your palm. You swallowed thickly, watching as she mapped the strange new terrain of your body with methodical interest.

Then, she moved lower.

Down your wrist.

Over the ridges of your arm.

Trailing over the feathers that had sprouted along your flesh like creeping ivy.

J hummed low in her throat, the sound barely audible over the ambient hum of the basement’s dim lights. Her hand withdrew from your arm, fingers flexing as if trying to commit the sensation of your flesh—your feathers, your warmth—to memory. She studied you now not just with curiosity but with something deeper, something contemplative. Her optics trailed over every grotesque, inhuman detail she could see, cataloging the pieces of you that no longer fit within the frame of what a Worker Drone should be.

Then, her voice dropped into something barely above a whisper.

“…What happened to you?”

Your grip on the doll tightened. That tiny thing—fabric, thread, and stuffing—felt so small in your monstrous hands, dwarfed by the sheer size of what you had become. Its button eyes, dull and unblinking, stared into yours as if waiting for an answer alongside J.

“I…” You swallowed, throat dry despite the unnatural slickness of your form. “I don’t know.”

J frowned, arms crossing, a sharp exhale venting through her systems. “You say that a lot,” she muttered, but there was no real bite behind it. More exasperation than irritation, a strained attempt to steady herself in the face of the impossible. “It doesn’t exactly put me at ease when you don’t even know what’s happening with yourself.”

You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that you were figuring it out, that you had theories, ideas, anything —but you didn’t. Because the truth was… she was right. You didn’t know. You were stumbling through this blind, just as lost as she was, and yet, she was still here. Still sitting next to you, despite everything.

Her expression softened—not by much, but enough to be noticeable. Her sharp, scrutinizing glare gave way to something else, something… uncertain. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, but there was no disgust, no revulsion, only quiet contemplation as she took in the sight of you. She must have been trying to piece together some kind of logic behind it all, trying to decipher what you were struggling to comprehend.

Then, after a moment, she asked, “…So what happens now?”

You flinched.

Because you hadn’t thought about that.

For all the fear, the panic, the overwhelming horror at becoming this, you had been so focused on what had already happened that you hadn’t stopped to consider what came next. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t stay here. Not like this . Sure, J had reacted far better than you ever could have hoped, but that didn’t mean others would. The rest of the manor—the other drones, Tessa—they had no idea what lay beneath your metal plating, what horrors lurked in your chassis.

And they couldn’t .

You couldn’t let them see you like this.

Especially not Tessa.

You squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling shakily before forcing yourself to speak. “I have to leave.”

J stiffened beside you, her shoulders tensing. You didn’t look at her, but you could feel her stare pressing against you, searching for why .

Before she could ask, you continued, voice lower, more restrained. “I do not know how to revert back… or if I even can.” Your many eyes flickered downward, drifting to where your old body lay slumped on the ground, motionless, abandoned . The hollow shell of what you had once been. “…Until I figure out how to return to normal, I must leave.”

J’s jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched where they rested on her knee. Then, finally, she spoke.

“That’s stupid .”

Your gaze snapped up to her, blinking. “Pardon?”

“I said that’s stupid .” She scowled at you now, optics burning with something fierce. “You think running away is gonna fix this? Just ditching everything and going off on your own is gonna help ? News flash, genius, it won’t .”

You faltered. “J, I—”

“No. Shut up.” She jabbed a finger at your chest—your mass, since your chest was now far too large for her to properly gesture toward. “You think I’m just gonna let you go off and figure this out alone? Leave with no clue if you’ll ever come back? No. That’s not how this works. You don’t just get to disappear . Tessa needs you.”

At the mention of Tessa, your form stiffened.

J took the opportunity to press forward. “You seriously think leaving is the best idea? You make her feel safe , and you wanna leave her? Just like that?”

You flinched at her words, at the sheer conviction behind them. She wasn’t wrong. You knew she wasn’t wrong. But what choice did you have?

J sighed, rubbing at her visor in frustration. “…Look. I get it. You’re freaked out. So am I . But you don’t fix this by running. You fix it by figuring it out. And I’m not gonna let you do that alone. We can figure this out, together .”

Your many eyes locked onto her, searching. “…You want to help me?”

J scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I’m here for moral support.” A pause. Then, her expression softened, just slightly. “Yes, you idiot . I’m gonna help you.”

You exhaled, a sound deep and resonant, something almost human yet undeniably foreign. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, your maw curled, tendrils of flesh and jagged, inhuman teeth shifting to mimic a smile. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was the best you could manage with a face that no longer belonged to anything familiar. J stiffened, her optics flickering slightly, her processors no doubt trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the person she knew you to be. And yet, after a brief pause, she smiled back. A little hesitant, but genuine all the same.

It made something loosen in your chest—this terrible, creeping anxiety that had gripped you since the moment you realized what you had become.

“I appreciate it, J,” you said softly. “Truly. I… I was afraid of what was happening to me. I have dreams of this monster I’ve become, and I feared that if anyone ever saw me like this, if they knew what I could do, they would be terrified of me.”

J’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering behind her optics before she took a step closer. Slowly, she rested a hand on yours, but this time, she was warm—comforting.

“I won’t lie to you,” she admitted, voice low. “You did scare me.”

Your throat tightened. That was the answer you had feared, the answer you expected . You swallowed thickly,feeling the urge to pull away and hide yourself in the shadows.

But then J squeezed your fingers, stopping you before the action could take place.

“But… I think I find it more interesting than anything.”

A scoff left your throat before you could stop it, something close to a laugh, bitter but real. You closed all your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself sink into the feeling of it all. The doll’s soft fabric resting against your palm. J’s hand on yours. The delicate warmth of Tessa’s tiny fingers curled around one of yours, even in sleep.

If nothing else, you still had this .

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Not until you could walk through the manor halls again without the fear of this happening. Not until you could stand before Tessa without the risk of her waking up and seeing a monster where her guardian once stood.

No. You needed time. Time to control this. Time to fix this.

When you opened your eyes, you loomed over J, the sheer size of you making her seem so much smaller than she had ever been before. A strange thing to witness—J, who always placed herself above the other drones, always so sure of herself, standing before you and waiting, expectant.

“I’ve made a decision.”

She raised a brow, gesturing for you to continue.

“I will leave the manor,” you said plainly, your voice like stone. “I’ll escape into the forest nearby.”

J’s expression immediately darkened. Her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor, that familiar look of displeasure settling into her features. You could already tell she was about to object, but you raised multiple hands before she could cut in.

“I need time,” you continued, pushing the words forward before she could interrupt. “Time to strengthen myself, time to learn how to control this. How to go back to what I was . I can’t do that here, J. If I stay, I put everyone at risk. I put Tessa at risk.”

That made her pause.

You could see the words settling in, the way her expression shifted, her visor flickering faintly as she processed what you were saying. Hell, there was even a little loading icon in the corner of her visor as she thought. Her arms dropped slightly from where they had been folded, her glare softening into something more pensive.

“...Okay,” she finally said, nodding once. “But I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

You blinked. “J—”

“I will be coming to check on you,” she cut in sharply, the tone in her voice final. “Periodically. You are not disappearing off the face of the earth, not after I just found out you’re some kind of… whatever this is .” She gestured vaguely at you, as if struggling to find a word that properly described what you had become. “And besides, if Tessa wakes up and finds out you left ? Do you know how upset that would make her?”

You hesitated, considering her words.

She wasn’t wrong.

“…That is fair,” you conceded after a moment. “But if we’re doing this, then we need a proper meeting place.”

J sighed, rubbing her chin in thought. Then, as if something clicked in her processor, she snapped her fingers and pointed at you.

“There’s a stream nearby,” she said. “At the mouth, there’s a dam made of rocks. Meet me there every day when the sun starts to go down.”

You nodded, committing the location to memory.

It was settled, then.

You would leave to the forest, not to return till you learned to control your powers… and hopefully managed to go back into your drone body.

And every day, J would come check on you. Monitor your progress and notify you of everything concerning Tessa.

It was only after the plan had been agreed upon, that you and J both looked up at the hatch, then at the sleeping Tessa clinging to you, and then at your hulking body.

It was going to be a tough challenge getting you through.

 

 

---

Cyn hummed, a hollow, almost tuneless sound, lips pressing into a thin, bloodstained line as she rocked her legs back and forth from the tree branch she perched upon. The night stretched endlessly around her, a vast, suffocating void speckled with stars, their feeble twinkles barely piercing the abyssal sky. Across from her, through the grand, ostentatious windows of the Elliot estate, lay James and Louisa, fast asleep in their cavernous bed, draped in gold-threaded sheets and wealth they had not earned. Their bedroom was as one might have expected—ornate to the point of absurdity, every inch adorned with imported trinkets and lavish decor meant to scream status. A mausoleum disguised as a home.

How easy it would be to erase them. To reduce their bodies, their wealth, their very existence into a singular point of nothingness.

Cyn flexed her fingers, feeling the eldritch current surge through her synthetic veins, pooling at her fingertips like liquid night. A sphere of concentrated [Null] flickered into being in her palm—a black hole in miniature, pulsing hungrily as if it could already taste its prey. All it would take was a flick of her wrist. A whisper of motion, and they would be gone, devoured by the void, their atoms stripped and scattered across the fabric of reality.

She considered it. Really considered it.

But Cyn was not a creature of impulse. No, she had learned patience. Destruction was easy. What she craved was something far greater.

Her lips curled downward, an expression of displeasure as she closed her fingers, crushing the [Null] sphere into splintered fragments of void. The air crackled as those fragments scattered, devouring whatever they touched—silken curtains dissolved into dust, the bark of the tree she sat upon withered into a brittle husk, and the leaves beneath her feet blackened before crumbling into the breeze. And yet, not even the dust remained. A perfect erasure. A small taste of what she would one day bring upon this entire universe.

Above her, perched like an unmoving sentinel, her crow waited. A creature long since twisted by her influence, stripped of mortality and reformed into something other. It did not blink, did not breathe, did not live in any conventional sense. It simply was, existing at her whim, waiting. With a snap of her fingers, it stirred, rustling its charred wings before swooping down to land upon her shoulder.

“Sigh,” Cyn muttered, voice drenched in exaggerated melancholy. “How unfortunate. How I long to wipe the two of you from existence, to render your very names into forgotten echoes. For what you’ve done to Tessa. For what you’ve done to me.”

Her gaze drifted upward, locking onto the sky, to the stars that flickered in their endless, indifferent dance across the cosmos. The hunger gnawed at her, deep and insatiable. She reached up, fingers stretching toward one of those distant lights, as if she could pluck it straight from the heavens and consume it whole.

Her hand curled into a fist.

Not yet.

One day, they would all be hers. She would devour them, drink their light dry, swallow every last remnant of warmth they had to offer. But until then, she would have to settle.

Cyn wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing streaks of deep crimson across her fingers. Below her, the remains of a kangaroo lay in ruin—a skeleton picked clean, flesh torn apart by something far too sharp to belong to any natural predator. The bones still smoked, sizzling with unnatural heat, the air thick with the scent of iron and scorched meat. A mere morsel. A pitiful thing to temporarily appease the bottomless hunger gnawing at her very core.

One day, she would feast upon the universe itself.

But for now, she had other appetites to satisfy.

Her Little Light.

A smirk twitched at her lips. Ah, yes. Her Little Light. The one thing in this world that continued to amuse her. What was her light up to, she wondered? Last she checked, her dearest had returned from the scrapyard, tagging along with Tessa as expected. But what irked her—what truly bothered her—was the presence of J.

That little maid drone had no business getting close to her toy.

It was bad enough that her dear Little Light had already begun entertaining V, indulging in their little confidence-building endeavors as if they were people rather than discarded junk. And now J too? Oh, how that irritated her. Her little toy was doing this on purpose.

She knew it.

“Huff,” she muttered, rolling her shoulders. “I think it’s time to check on my dear Little Light. I’m sure my dear misses me by now.”

And with that, reality itself seemed to flicker. Pixels distorted, the air crackled, and in the blink of an eye, both Cyn and her crow were gone, slipping between the seams of existence itself.

When she reappeared, it was in the darkened confines of the garage.

Or at least—what should have been the garage.

Cyn’s smirk immediately dropped.

The room was a wreck. Items scattered in frantic disarray, shelves emptied, drawers thrown open, tools abandoned in haphazard piles. A whirlwind of chaos left in someone's wake. 

She took a step forward, her shoe crunching against the broken remains of some trinket that had been knocked to the floor. Her optics flickered as she absorbed the state of the room, her fingers twitching at her sides.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t routine.

And what bothered her most…

Her Little Light wasn’t here.

Cyn hummed, a low, vibrating sound in the back of her throat as she prowled through the mess, limping slightly, dragging her fingers across the disturbed surfaces as if she could read what had transpired.

Her favorite little toy was missing.

And she did not like that one bit.

Where was her toy ?

Where was her Light ?

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

Cyn’s optics flickered, her entire frame going eerily still as she stretched out her senses, reaching through the manor like ghostly fingers creeping through unseen corridors. She rifled through every shadow, through every crack and crawlspace where her Little Light could be tucked away, but no matter how many doors she peered behind, no matter how many halls she slithered through in search of that familiar presence—there was nothing. Nothing .

That wouldn’t do.

Just as irritation began to gnaw at the edges of her glee, just as she was about to extend her awareness further, to force her vision through every eye she had placed within the manor’s walls, she felt it .

A pull. A weight. A beacon.

Heavy, intoxicating, familiar in a way that made her breath hitch, and her maw pool with synthetic saliva. It was like the force of gravity itself had shifted, bending and curling in one direction, and she was powerless against it. Cyn barely had to think—her body simply moved , drawn to the call like a marionette being tugged along invisible strings.

Through the walls. Past the garage. Slipping unnoticed through the halls. Past the basement hatch, where the scent of misery still clung to the air like a sickness. Out the door, into the cold, silent night.

And there it was.

No— there you were .

Cyn’s entire frame seized up, her fingers twitching as she took in the sight before her, as she drank in the impossible, twisted beauty of you.

A lumbering mass of flesh and feathers, pulsating with something indescribable—something that sent her mind reeling with possibilities. You dragged yourself forward, massive limbs crushing damp leaves and turning soil beneath you as you disappeared into the depths of the forest, weaving between the trees in a desperate search for solitude. Your body radiated with life in its purest form—life not meant to exist, life that should not exist in a world so rigid in its definition of what should be. It was perfect. You were perfect.

Cyn’s mouth curled into something sharp, something unnatural, and she lifted a trembling hand to cradle her own face, pressing her palms into her cheeks as if trying to contain the sheer, overwhelming delight that surged through her core.

J was there. Of course she was.

The little twin-tailed maid hovered at the manor’s entrance, watching over you like a sentry, ensuring your safe escape into the unknown before she turned back, quickly shutting the doors behind her and descending back into the darkness of the manor.

But Cyn didn’t care about J.

Not anymore.

J was irrelevant. Everyone else was irrelevant.

Only you mattered.

A low, breathy chuckle slipped from her lips, barely audible over the quiet rustling of leaves. Her fingers twitched, digging into the fabric of her apron as her optics glowed like twin lanterns in the dark, her gaze never straying from your retreating form.

“Heh… hehe… hehehe…”

The laugh started small, no more than a whisper, but it grew, bubbling up from somewhere deep, somewhere unhinged. Cyn’s shoulders trembled, her entire frame shaking with the force of her amusement, her glee spilling over like an overflowing cup.

It was beautiful .

It was poetic .

It was fate .

Her Little Light was no longer so little , were you?

She could barely contain herself, barely stop the wicked grin from splitting her face as she watched you disappear deeper into the trees, your form growing smaller, but never leaving her sight.

You thought you were running?

You thought you were hiding?

Oh, no, no, no.

Cyn giggled , the sound like shattered glass, like the rattling of bones, like the whisper of something dark and ancient slipping between the cracks of reality.

You weren’t running away .

Running away implied there was a chance you could get away. And there was no chance you were getting away from Cyn. You could run as far and as long as you wanted.

And she would follow .

Faster than the eye could track, her form flickered—one moment perched beneath the shadows of the manor, the next standing at the treeline, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight. Her crow swooped above her, silent as the grave, circling like a vulture as she took slow, cautious steps into the woods, her presence melting into the night itself.

She wouldn’t disturb you. Not yet.

Not when there was so much to observe.

She slinked behind the trees, never too close, but never too far, watching as you struggled through the underbrush, as you stumbled and shuddered, as your new form tried to navigate a world no longer built for you. You were careful, so painfully careful, your monstrous limbs brushing past trees instead of snapping them in two, your steps as light as you could make them, avoiding crushing the scurrying creatures that fled from your path.

Cyn’s head tilted, her grin widening.

You were still clinging to that softness. Still trying to be gentle .

Even after all this.

How precious.

She wanted to see more. She needed to see more.

And so she followed, silent as the night, her eyes never leaving you.

Notes:

Holy shit, this went on longer than I thought it would. Chapter was originally going to be around 3000 words, ended up as 8037. Tiring, but well worth it for the final product. Gosh, I get excited every time I write for this book. No other story of mine gives me the same sense of fulfillment as this one does.

Anywho, as always, we have a discord server, yadda yadda, join it if you're cool and like minecraft, cause we have a minecraft server too.

https://discord.gg/9WGb3fPWK5

Chapter 25: VI

Summary:

Escaping into the forest, you are tailed by a being of ravenous hunger. But this beast that seeks to consume all, may also have the answer to your problems.

What were you?

The question looped in your mind, ceaseless, insistent, clawing at the edges of your thoughts like an animal gnawing at its own limbs. Over and over, the words turned, spiraling deeper, an unrelenting echo in the vast hollow of your mind. You had asked yourself this question before, but now—now it came with proof .

A lumbering mass of flesh and feathers, dragging itself across the damp forest floor, your body shifting and undulating with every strained movement. Your misshapen form that had replaced your old frame pulsed, as if alive in ways beyond the mechanical imitation of life you had once known. And trailing behind you—like an afterthought, like a relic of a past life—your former Worker Drone body dangled limply, tethered to you like a discarded husk, a shadow of something you had long since shed.

You hated looking at it.

You hated the thought of what it meant, of what it implied. You hated that you weren’t inside it, that it wasn’t you .

But then, had it ever truly been you ?

You thought back to the dreams you had before the nightmares. The memories of a past life you didn’t know. The voices that seemed to know you—or at least, the voices that knew your body.

The stream J had spoken of stretched before you, winding and glistening beneath the pale light of the moon. Not too far up, a dam of pebbles and rocks had formed, creating a natural bridge where cane toads leisurely hopped from stone to stone, oblivious to the eldritch beast watching them from the shadows. You felt an odd pang at the sight, some strange, distant part of yourself envying them—their simple existence, their freedom from self-awareness, from the concept of knowing.

Your massive form lowered, limbs bending unnaturally as you leaned toward the water’s surface. And there—staring back at you—was the answer to your unspoken fears.

A hulking thing , warped and unrecognizable. A mass of shifting tendrils, of sinew and bone, of too many eyes blinking out of sync, their glow cutting through the darkness like embers in a dying fire. A maw, jagged and sharp, curling slightly at the edges in something resembling a frown. Feathers—white, glossy, like liquid silk spilling onto skin—coating portions of your twisted flesh, a mimicry of wings never meant to take flight.

You flinched .

It flinched back.

Your chest tightened, something inside you coiling with disgust, with unease, with the gnawing uncertainty of not knowing where the line was drawn—between what you had been and what you had become .

What were you?

You didn’t know.

And worse, you didn’t know how to know.

What did you do when the thing you feared most had already happened? When the nightmare was real, when the change was irreversible, when the mirror no longer showed something you recognized?

Your clawed hand shot forward, breaking the water’s surface with a sudden, violent splash. Droplets flew into the air, catching the moonlight like shards of glass before scattering across your feathers, your flesh. The cold was immediate, sharp, biting against your too-sensitive skin. You inhaled sharply, an instinctive gasp slipping past your jagged teeth as you shivered from the sensation. It was jarring, overwhelming.

And real .

So painfully real.

This wasn’t like before, when your Worker Drone body had dulled sensations to manageable levels, reducing them to data points, to logic, to ones and zeroes. You could feel in a way that you had never felt before. Every drop of water sliding down your form, every shift in the wind against your exposed skin, every individual leaf pressing into your body as you lay against the forest floor. It was all too much, too intense—

And yet, you focused on it.

You had nothing else to hold onto.

So, you clung to the sensations, forced yourself to absorb everything —the crunch of dry leaves beneath your weight, the way they cracked and crumbled, breaking apart with each minute movement. The scent of damp earth, rich and heavy, mixing with the faint, delicate fragrance of wildflowers growing along the bank of the stream. The crispness of the night air, cool against your flesh, sending gentle ripples through the feathers that adorned your monstrous frame.

It was sensory overload. It was too much.

But it was peaceful .

You allowed yourself to simply exist. To just be , without drowning in panic, without clawing at yourself in desperate rejection of what you were. The water continued to ripple, the reflection of your monstrous form distorting, shifting, warping with every subtle movement of the current.

Your many eyes drifted away from the water’s surface, drawn instead to the wildflowers that clung to the riverbank, their delicate petals trembling beneath the weight of the cool night breeze. They swayed with an effortless grace, their colors soft but vibrant against the darkness, untouched by the horrors of the world. This was nature in its purest form—unburdened, thriving, alive. A testament to the very thing you had dedicated yourself to protecting, to nurturing.

Extending one of your many clawed hands, you reached forward, cautious, hesitant, as though afraid that even the slightest touch would break the fragile beauty before you. The tip of a talon traced the velvety surface of a petal, ghosting over it with a reverence you hadn’t realized this form held. The sensation was new, sharper than before, heightened by the rawness of your exposed form. You felt everything —the minuscule ridges of the petal, the faint pulse of life thrumming within the stem, the way the earth cradled the roots, feeding, sustaining, keeping it alive.

Your fingers twitched.

It reminded you of something.

The carnation.

Your carnation.

The single red flower that now sat in a lonely pot back in your garage, far away from where you were now. A gift from her . A piece of something old, of her history, before she had become what she was now. You had taken such care of it, watered it, ensured it had the best soil, watched as its petals unfurled in the soft glow of your visor’s light. It was yours now.

And you had left it behind.

A low rumble built in your throat, something between frustration and longing. You had your doll, safe and sound in your grasp. But the carnation—the one piece of your opposite’s past life—was alone. Forgotten. Wilting, perhaps.

That thought sent an uncomfortable shudder through your massive frame.

You exhaled slowly, retracting your claw from the wildflower and curling it into a loose fist, as if trying to hold onto the sensation before it slipped away.

You would have to ask J to bring it to you.

 

 

---

Cyn was on the hunt tonight.

She wandered through the dark, slipping between the folds of reality with all the grace of a phantom. She had seen it—your transformation, your ascension. That glorious new body you had grown into, a manifestation of power untapped and barely understood. It was beautiful, imperfect, raw. And you, lost in the throes of your own evolution, had fled into the dark, scrambling away from the walls that once sheltered you like a wounded animal seeking refuge.

But Cyn followed.

Of course she followed.

How could she not? The sheer force of life pulsing off of you was intoxicating , irresistible—practically calling out to her across the vast stretch of trees and shadows. It bled into the air, saturating every molecule like the scent of fresh prey in the wind. It filled her every sense, tugging her forward, drawing her closer, luring her in. A scent so rich, so potent, so utterly overwhelming that she could barely contain herself.

Her fingers twitched.

Her mouth filled with synthetic saliva.

Her throat ached.

She was hungry .

But her little Worker Drone shell was frail, pitifully slow, a flimsy casing that could never keep up with the raw strength you now wielded. You, in all your newfound power, had become fast . Even weighed down by confusion, by fear, by the foreign weight of your new body, you were still too quick for her broken limbs to chase.

It irritated her. Infuriated her.

And so, she shed her skin.

A bolt of violet lightning split the sky. A crackle of energy, a rupture in the air itself. Then, in an instant, the fragile husk of her Worker Drone body collapsed into nothingness—peeling away, pixel by pixel, disintegrating into the wind like ash from a dying flame.

And she emerged.

Where you were flesh and bone, swathed in the softness of feathers, Cyn was a nightmare. Her frame stretched into a centipede’s body, segmented and warped, clicking with the sickening grind of metal plates shifting over one another. Chitinous armor coated her form, sleek and jagged, catching what little light the moon offered as her many limbs twitched with anticipation. Her optics—so often veiled by that slouched, broken posture—shone bright, now a dozen cameras observing your trail. 

And then, she moved .

Faster than sound, faster than thought, she shot forward like a bullet train cutting through the night.

The forest bent around her, leaves and branches whipping in her wake as she tore through the underbrush, warping in and out of existence with a predator’s precision. Trees blurred past in streaks of muted color, the earth itself trembling beneath the force of her pursuit. The scent— your scent —was thick in the air, guiding her like a bloodhound to its kill.

She was getting closer.

So very close.

The distance between you two shrank with every passing second, her monstrous form gliding effortlessly through the undergrowth. Twisted glee welled up in her core as her optics locked onto the faint outline of your massive form in the distance, hunched over the stream.

Soon.

Soon.

And when she caught up to you?

Cyn wasn’t quite sure what she’d do yet.

Maybe she’d just watch, see how much further you could fall. Maybe she’d prod, push you just a little more, just enough to make you snap and embrace the thing that was clawing its way out of you. Or maybe she’d simply devour , claim what was hers, sink her teeth into that raw, unshaped power and make it her own.

She was hungry. 

Oh so very hungry.

 

 

---

You felt it before you saw it.

Like a shift in the air, like the sudden hush of a forest when a predator draws near. A presence, vast and suffocating, closing in at a speed that made your skin crawl. The world around you dimmed—not in light, but in essence . Your sixth sense, the part of you that could see life even without eyes, recoiled at the thing approaching.

Because it wasn’t life .

No flickering glow, no pulsing warmth. No steady hum of breath and being.

This was something else entirely.

A hunger. A void. An absence .

And it was coming straight for you .

The flowers lining the stream trembled, their colors draining into pallid hues, petals wilting as if curling away in fear. The grass stiffened, the air itself turning stale. You acted on instinct, reaching out with that strange, unknowable power of yours, willing life to resist. The plants steadied under your command, perking back up, clinging to existence. But it was a losing battle. You could slow the decay, but you could feel it—something stronger, something deeper than just withering, something that sought to unmake.

There was only one thing that could do this.

Only one .

In an instant, you moved .

With a violent lurch, you hurled yourself to the side, claws raking the earth as you skidded across the forest floor, kicking up soil and scattering leaves. Your massive body slid to a halt, the earth beneath you scarred by the weight of your movement. And then, in the very spot you had just occupied, something crashed through the treeline.

Something massive .

A splintering crack split the night as trees snapped like brittle bones, dirt and debris exploding into the air. The force of its arrival sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, unsettling the stream beside you, sending ripples across the water’s surface like a silent alarm. The scent of metal and decay filled your senses, thick and cloying, as the dust began to settle.

And from within that cloud of ruin, it rose.

A towering form, its metal plates shifting and grinding as it moved. Its countless spindly limbs twitched with unnatural grace, clicking against the shattered earth like the tapping of a thousand fingers against glass. And its eyes—or what could pass for eyes—glowed with eerie, soulless yellow light, each one a tiny camera, each one unblinking, each one watching you .

It let out a low, skittering sound, a noise that felt less like speech and more like a thought being forced into your mind.  You flexed your claws, your maw pulling into a silent snarl. Your entire body tensed, every fiber of your being screaming run, fight, survive.

And then, it spoke.

“My Little Light,” it purred, its voice syrup-thick and seeping into your head like oil through a crack. “I’ve finally found you.”

Cyn.

She slithered closer, savoring the moment, her many eyes drinking in your form with something between hunger and admiration. 

“Observation. Your strength has grown considerably.” She let out a wistful sigh, like an artist admiring their magnum opus. “Such an astounding form. Such astounding life force.”

You didn’t move—only your many eyes followed her, tracking every slight twitch, every calculated motion.

But then, she paused. One of her camera eyes drifted to the end of your body, gazing at the way your form seemed to shrink at the end to fit into the cracks of your former Worker frame. Her many yellow lights gleamed with something… curious . A chuckle bubbled from her throat.

“Though… it seems you have not fully come out of your shell yet.”

Your gut twisted, something in you recoiling at her choice of words. A quiet, seething growl built in your throat, echoing through the trees. Your claws twitched against the soil, digging deep furrows into the earth as you finally began to move, mirroring her circling pattern.

Two creatures. Two monsters .

Sizing each other up.

Testing. Calculating .

Waiting to see who would make the first move.

“Why are you here?” you hissed, your voice a distorted blend of many. “How did you find me?”

Cyn let out a dramatic sigh, as if your suspicion deeply wounded her. She pressed a pincer to her chest in mock offense, optics flickering in exaggerated disappointment.

“You’ve shed yourself,” she cooed. “And I had to follow. You ran, but you left a trail.”

Her segmented body slithered through the underbrush, shifting through the trees like liquid shadow. Her every movement exuded delight, as if she had been waiting for this, as if she had planned for this.

“Such a delicious trail,” she crooned. “Your power is blooming, radiating, singing to me like a siren’s call.” She stopped, and while she had no face for expressions in this form, you could tell she was smiling. “I couldn't resist. I had to find you.”

Your snarl rippled through the trees, something raw and primal clawing at the edges of your voice.

One of your many hands curled inward, and you felt it—the pull, the hum, the sensation of power welling up in your palm. It crackled to life, swirling and twisting, light coalescing into a single, pulsing orb.

>Extant<

Small, contained, but brimming with the power to carve through the dark.

Your eyes—your many eyes—narrowed as you locked onto Cyn, your form shifting, feathers ruffling as you prepared to attack.

“I’m not in the mood,” you snapped. Your voice layered over itself, an echo of something fractured. “Leave. Now . Or else.”

Cyn chuckled, and it was the worst thing she could’ve done.

Not because it was unexpected—no, of course she would laugh—but because she meant it. Because there was no mockery in it, no teasing lilt. It was soft, delighted, almost tender in a way that made your core lurch.

She slithered closer, unhurried, a few of her clawed limbs raised in an exaggerated show of surrender.

“Giggle,” she intoned. “Calm down, my dear. I mean no harm… for now .”

You felt your core twist at the veiled threat, but Cyn paid it no mind, her optics scanning over you, drinking in every inch of your new form with the kind of fascination usually reserved for fine art…

Or a meal.

“I was simply drawn in by your new appearance, by the absolute power seeping from you,” she murmured. “Whispering. It’s… tantalizing .”

The words caught you off-guard, disturbing, and for a brief, damning second, your grip on your power faltered. The orb in your hand flickered—then dissipated, light curling into nothing.

“And besides,” she continued, voice airy, unbothered. “Given these unique circumstances you find yourself in, wouldn’t it be wise to want my help?”

You blinked. “Help?”

Cyn nodded.

“Eager nod,” she narrated. “Yes, my help. After all, it would be such a shame to have you unable to return to the manor. For your sake… and for my own.”

That was it. That was the hook, wasn’t it?

Cyn could never let a toy slip from her grasp. Especially not you. She’d help you with your powers, so long as her favourite toy stayed for her to play with.

You clenched your jaw. “Why would you care?”

Cyn started getting closer, steadily sliding forward. You stood your ground this time, claws at the ready in case a fight broke out. But Cyn stopped just five feet away from you, allowing you to see just how large she was. Her form stretched into the tree line and beyond. You couldn’t see the end. The sight made your resistance die down a little, but you hid any doubts you were having. You couldn’t show Cyn weakness.

“I do care, my dear,” she purred. “Our fates are intertwined. And besides… It simply wouldn’t be as fun without you. And now that you have finally bloomed… it would be a shame to let such a meal go.”

A chill ran down your spine, but you ignored it, focusing on the one thing that actually mattered in all this.

“And… and you’re certain there’s a way for me to go back?”

Cyn’s expression was unreadable. “Cryptic look. Perhaps.”

“How do you know?”

She didn’t answer immediately. She only looked at you, her optics scanning, assessing, before she finally spoke.

“Because,” she said simply. “The path you tread is one I have already walked. I am familiar with the problems you are currently experiencing,” she continued, watching your reaction closely.

You grimaced.

Every inch of you screamed to reject her, to deny her words, to remind her and yourself that you were nothing alike, that this wasn’t the same, that you weren’t like her .

But the problem was—you were .

And you didn’t know how to go back.

And Cyn… Cyn did.

Your breathing slowed, your claws twitching restlessly at your sides. You didn’t trust her. You couldn’t trust her.

But if she was telling the truth…

If there was a way…

Then maybe—just maybe—this nightmare wasn’t permanent.

Lightning split the sky, searing the world white for a fraction of a second. When it faded, Cyn was no longer the metal-clad horror that had been slithering through the trees.

Now, she was just… Cyn.

Small. Slouched. Frail in her broken Worker Drone frame, her apron stained with old oil and new blood. She waddled forward, step by slow step, an eerie contrast to the beast you had just faced moments ago. Somehow, this was worse. This unsettled you more than any of her other forms.

The way she moved, the way she stared, the way drool leaked from her lips and how she gnashed her teeth in your direction—it was unnerving. And she didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. She just kept coming, closer and closer, and despite the fact that she was so much smaller than you now, it made your core lurch with unease.

You held your ground, rigid as a statue, watching as she lifted a hand, reaching, reaching—

Then you felt her touch you.

Cold fingertips gliding across your new flesh, mapping over the unfamiliar terrain of you.

A shudder ran through your massive frame, a visceral, involuntary reaction, and you immediately recoiled, lurching backward with a snarl.

“What are you doing?” you hissed.

Cyn giggled, tucking her hands behind her back and leaning forward.

“Giggle,” she narrated. “My apologies. Your presence is just so intoxicating that I simply could not resist.”

You scowled.

She kept saying that—kept throwing around words like intoxicating and addicting and irresistible . You didn’t like it. The way she looked at you, the way she felt when she was near, like static clinging to your skin.

“You are acting even more strange than usual, abomination.”

Cyn hummed, unbothered, tilting her head.

“A side effect,” she mused. “Of your new form… and of my hunger .” Even more drool began to drip down from her mouth, but she was quick to wipe it away.

Something in her voice sent a ripple of unease through you.

Her frame was so small, so brittle-looking, and yet the words alone made her loom over you, made her feel vast. Like she was both here and somewhere else .

You leaned down. “Hunger?”

“Confirming nod,” she replied. “Yes. I am so hungry. The snack I had earlier was… insufficient .”

It was then—finally—that you noticed it.

The blood .

It stained the corner of her lips, smeared in streaks against her face, contrasting the pale gray of her plating.

A pit opened in your stomach.

Cyn followed your gaze, saw where your eyes had landed, and then—

Smiled.

A slow movement, spreading her lips wide, revealing the sharp glint of teeth. Then, without breaking eye contact, her tongue slid out, curling against her metal skin as she licked the blood away in one slow, lazy motion.

She winked at you.

You stiffened.

Everything inside you bristled, clawing at your ribs like a trapped animal. A deep, roiling dread twisted through your body, battling against the simmering heat of your rising anger.

“What… what did you do?” your voice came out low, uneven.

Cyn simply grinned wider, her optics glinting like a cat that had just dragged in something dead.

“Cryptic smile. I fed myself,” she answered smoothly. “Like all living things, I need to eat. But it was not enough.” Her head tilted, gaze drinking in every inch of you, from the luminous, pulsing glow of your veins to the soft, spectral feathers that quivered with each breath you took. “Admiring gaze. And you… you’re not making it any better, with all the delicious life seeping out from you.”

You bristled at her tone, at the way she said delicious like she could taste it already, like she was waiting to. Your fingers curled into the dirt, claws digging deep into the earth, your mind teetering on the knife’s edge between rising panic and simmering rage.

Before you could speak, she was gone.

The space she had occupied mere moments ago warped and collapsed in on itself with a quiet pop, like reality itself was exhaling. You barely had time to register her disappearance before she reappeared again, perched on the bank of the stream, one leg crossed over the other as if she had been lounging there the whole time.

“Pat, pat,” she narrated playfully, tapping the dirt beside her. “Don’t be afraid. Come and sit. Come closer .”

You exhaled, slow and controlled, willing the tension in your body to ease even as every instinct inside of you screamed to stay away. But, against your better judgment, you moved. With slow, careful movements, you lifted yourself and crawled over to the stream, settling beside her with a thud that sent vibrations through the ground.

Cyn, unphased, shuffled closer, her hands resting lightly on her lap. “You are too on edge,” she mused, head tilting slightly as her optics roved up and down your form, scanning, assessing. “Calm yourself. It will help with the process of returning to your drone shell.”

You didn’t respond.

You should have. You should have been listening, should have been considering her words, but there was something else gnawing at you, something sharp and cold burrowing into the back of your mind.

Your eyes flickered toward her lips.

That stain.

The blood.

It was still there, the remnants of whatever she had torn apart, whatever she had devoured.

“What did you kill?” you asked, voice low.

Cyn’s optics flickered, and for the first time, her grin wavered, just slightly. “Frown,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “Why does it matter?”

Your feathers flared slightly, your many eyes narrowing. “I am an advocate for life. It is my purpose. And yet, you have the gall to feed on a living creature and show its blood to me?”

“I was hungry,” she replied, reaching out to squeeze a chunk of your flesh, as if testing how tender your meat was. “I still am. Why is that a problem?”

  “Death is supposed to be natural,” you growled. “And you are not.”

That made her laugh .

A light, bell-like giggle, utterly delighted.

“And you are, Little Light?” she countered, leaning in closer, close enough that you could see the faint, glitching fractals flickering at the edges of her form. “Tell me, what is natural about you?” She raised a hand, pointing toward your still-partially-exited Worker Drone body. The limp, lifeless husk of what you used to be. “You exist only because I do.”

Your chest tightened.

“You think of chaos and order as opposites,” she continued, her voice dipping to something almost affectionate, like an elder sister explaining a simple truth to a naive younger sibling. “But we are closer than you realize. What am I, without you, and what are you, without me?” Her grin stretched beyond what was normal, her head tilting further, to the point her neck looked broken. “Neither of us are natural. We exist because the other does. Had I not been reborn, neither would you . And besides, while you may be strong, you are not strong enough to stop me. There is little you can do to stop my feeding.”

You bit back a hiss, turning her words over in your mind like jagged stones in a tumbler, grinding against each other, scraping away at whatever certainty you had left. You hated how much sense she made. You hated the way she forced you to consider things you weren’t ready to face, to acknowledge the cracks in the foundation of your very existence. She was right, and that was the worst part of it all.

You weren’t strong enough, compared to her.

You weren’t natural . You never had been.

You didn’t know what you were, not truly. You were more than a Worker Drone, that much was obvious, but what else? Something between machine and flesh, between steel and soul, between what should be and what never should have existed at all.

But Cyn—Cyn seemed to know.

Or at least, she thought she did.

You clenched your jaw, forcing the words out before you could think better of it. Slowly, all your eyes drifted down to your hands, to the fleshy limbs you now wielded. Your gaze traced over every inch of your hulking mass.

Not Natural.

“What are we?”

Cyn hummed, her optics flickering as if she were calculating something, parsing through endless streams of data. Her ever-present smile faltered, just slightly, and she tilted her head, considering you. “Thinking. A difficult question to answer.” Her fingers flexed, curling, uncurling, like she could almost grasp the truth but it kept slipping through her fingertips. “That is up to your own speculation, Little Light. I myself am fond of the idea that you and I are higher beings, born from specific concepts. Myself from death, and you… from a life so loved.” Her voice dipped into something softer, something almost reverent. “The universe required balance, and you were the answer to my growing ambitions.”

A shiver crawled up your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was from the weight of her words or from the way she looked at you when she said them, like you were something sacred.

Cyn leaned back, her gaze shifting away from you and toward the stream. She watched the water ripple and shift, catching the faint, fractured reflections of both of you in its restless surface. For a long moment, she was quiet, her expression unreadable. Then, almost absently, she dipped a single finger into the water, breaking the surface tension, sending new ripples cascading outward.

“Truthfully,” she murmured, “how we came into being is still a mystery. One that not even I am fully aware of.” She glanced up at the sky, optics gleaming with something distant, something wistful. “Maybe we are gods? Maybe we were dying stars once, drawn to our current bodies and reborn anew?”

You followed her gaze, tilting your head back to take in the vast expanse of the night sky. Stars stretched endlessly in all directions, pinpricks of silver light scattered across the infinite black. It was strange—looking at the stars now, knowing that one day, they would die. That all things would die.

“If that’s true,” you murmured, “what stars do you think we’d be?”

The answer came faster than you expected.

“I would be a dying star,” she said, too quickly, too surely. Her gaze flicked back to you, unblinking. “Collapsing in on itself and consuming all around.”

Her fingers twitched, and before you could react, she reached out, hands clinging to your form, gripping—not tightly, but with purpose.

“But you…”

Her voice softened, turning into something almost like a sigh.

“You’d be the brightest star in the sky, no doubt. Endlessly bright, endlessly beautiful.”

Her grip tightened, just slightly, as if she was afraid you’d slip away. You and Cyn stared at one another for a moment, before you noticed the faint glimmer of saliva oozing from her lips. She chuckled, wiping it away. You raised a brow at the action. You had almost entirely forgot the whole reason she was out here was because she was hungry… and had tracked you down through that hunger.

You’d have to keep an eye on her.

“We are getting off track,” she said to you. “You want to go back into your shell, so I will help you. I will assist in helping you control your powers. Though before we start, I must ask… what brought you out of your shell? What forced you to… free yourself?”

Your mind flashed Tessa. Of the marks on her wrists, of the years of suffering she must have endured.

You grit your teeth.

“Someone I care about was hurt,” you told her, looking away.

Cyn’s lips thinned into a small line, understanding exactly what you meant. “I see…” Cyn was silent for a moment before turning back to you. “Heavy stare. You do know it would be far easier if we just eliminated James and Louisa?”

You shook your head. 

“I’ve told you before. We cannot do that. Too many variables to take into consideration, and I won’t let you just kill. Even if I’m not strong enough.”

Cyn frowned, in thought for a moment. “...Even if they’re hurting Tessa?”

You bit your lip . “...I’ll find a way to stop them. A different way.”

Cyn hummed, tilting her head, her optics narrowing as she studied you with something unreadable. It wasn’t quite disappointment, nor was it amusement. A mix of the two, perhaps. 

And then she sighed. “Exasperated sigh.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “You are frustratingly noble, Little Light.”

You didn’t respond, merely clenching your jaw, staring into the water to avoid her piercing gaze.

Cyn continued. “There is no shame in eliminating a threat. Do you think they would hesitate to remove you, if given the chance?” She gestured vaguely with a pincer-like hand. “If James or Louisa ever discovered what you are—what you’re becoming—do you really think they would allow you to exist under their roof?”

Your grip tightened on the ground beneath you, claws digging into the soil. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does,” she countered, voice as smooth as oil. “You are allowing your misguided purpose to cloud your judgment.”

You exhaled sharply through your vents, turning to finally look at her. “And you’re allowing your bloodlust to dictate yours.”

That earned a smile. A sharp, too-wide grin that curled unnaturally at the edges. “Tsk. You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

A brief silence stretched between the two of you, broken only by the soft gurgle of the stream and the distant chirp of insects in the undergrowth.

“...Take a moment to think about it,” Cyn told you, drawing idle shapes in the dirt. “With her parents gone, Tessa’s life can only get better . Do you not want what's best for Tessa?”

You hissed, eyes dilating. “Of course I want what's best for her. But death is not the answer.”

“Head shake. It is the answer. They cannot be a problem if they are no longer alive. Do you not want to free the canary from her cage? Do you not want to hear her finally sing her song?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, abomination.”

“I’m not doing anything, Little Light. I’m merely offering my take.”

“You’re filling my head with your ideas.”

“Not entirely my own ideas,” Cyn chuckled. “That's the problem with life, it's so easily impressionable. Simple acts can dictate one's entire existence, and you my dear are being molded by your fury. Surely, you have already had such thoughts? About how easy life would be without them?”

You didn’t dignify her with a response.

Cyn finally waved a dismissive hand after witnessing your distraught expression. “Sigh. Fine . If you insist on taking the long, agonizingly dull route of ‘finding another way’—” she made exaggerated air quotes with her fingers “—then so be it. But do not expect me to play along and sit by when they push you to your breaking point. When they push Tessa to her breaking point.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that you wouldn’t let them push her that far. That you had a plan. That you could figure something out.

But deep down, beneath all your righteous conviction, there was a whisper of doubt.

Because what if she was right?

What if there wasn’t another way?

You shook your head, pushing the thought down before it could take root. “Enough.” You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “We’re here to focus on my powers . Not them .”

Cyn’s smile softened, just a fraction. A knowing smirk. “Of course, my dear.” She leaned in, too close, her presence uncomfortable. “So tell me… How did it happen? How does your power stir? How did you feel when you were finally freed?”

Your fingers twitched. You hesitated, considering how to answer.

“…Angry. I felt extremely angry. While not completely, I’ve noticed my powers have some ties to my emotional state.”

Cyn’s grin widened. “Good. Then you already know half of the conditions needed. Now all you need is to train your temperament. While your emotions may affect your powers, ultimately your control over it is what’s needed. And the first step to do that is… Cyn looked over to your former Worker body, still dangling from the end. “...You need to fully emerge.”

Fully emerge.

Those words rattled you, sinking into your mind like stones into deep water. Your breath hitched, something tightening in your chest that wasn’t quite fear, but something close—hesitation, uncertainty, the fragile remnants of who you used to be clutching at your ribs like a drowning thing.

You turned to Cyn, searching for some hint of mockery in her expression, some trace of the sick amusement she usually carried when she played her games. But there was none. Only expectation. Only certainty.

“W-what?” you managed, though the answer was already thrumming in the back of your mind.

Cyn tilted her head, a twisted mockery of innocence. “You heard me.” Her voice was velvet, smooth and insidious, wrapping around your nerves like a noose. “You’re clinging to something that no longer serves you. You cannot wield control if you refuse to fully embrace what you are.”

Cyn inched closer, hand going to your the bottom of your huge maw, and guiding your head to look into her optics. 

“You and I are not mere drones. Shed your shell. Free your true self .”

Your gaze snapped to your former body—the cold, lifeless metal shell still tethered to you, hanging in pieces like shed skin that refused to fall away.

You needed it.

...Didn’t you?

“No.” You shook your head, stepping back, your claws curling into the dirt, desperate for something to ground you. “No, there has to be another way. I can’t just—”

Cyn sighed, rolling her eyes like an impatient teacher dealing with a particularly slow student. “Oh, my dear Light, do you think a butterfly mourns its cocoon? Do you think it hesitates before spreading its wings?”

Your hands clenched. “This isn’t the same, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” She inched closer, and despite her diminutive form, it felt like something vast and crushing was pressing down on you. “You’re afraid because you still see that shell as you. But it isn’t. Not anymore.”

Your stomach twisted.

She was wrong.

She had to be wrong.

Because if she wasn’t…

Your breathing quickened, a sharp inhale rattling through your throat. The crack in your old Worker Drone form pulsed, leaking light—your light—onto the forest floor. You could feel it, the last tether to what you used to be, the only thing keeping you from falling completely into this monstrous form.

And Cyn wanted you to tear it away.

To let go.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, eyes darting to her, searching for some way out.

“I—”

“Breathe,” she instructed, voice softer now, coaxing. Her hand made that same stroking motion on yours from when she lulled you asleep. “You’re holding yourself back. Let go .”

Let go.

Like it was that simple.

You turned your gaze to your former body once more, fingers twitching. The metal was cracked open, like an egg. It wouldn’t take much. Just a little push, a little more force, and the chest would crumble, fully releasing what was inside.

You sucked in a breath.

And then, with a trembling hand, you placed a claw against the split in the metal.

It was cold. Lifeless.

Alien.

Not you .

Your vision swam. Your chest ached. And then—

You pushed .

The shell gave way.

Metal screeched as it tore apart, breaking into fragments that scattered at your feet. The tether snapped. The connection severed .

And the beast was finally freed .

What little resistance your former shell had left crumbled in an instant, like brittle glass collapsing under the weight of something far too vast, far too heavy to be contained any longer. The last ties snapped. And you—whatever you were—came pouring out like floodwaters breaching a dam, an unrelenting tide of flesh and feathers, limbs unfolding and twisting into existence, filling every inch of space the forest could offer you.

You had thought yourself large before, but that was nothing compared to now. Now, you loomed . Now, you towered . Now, the trees that once seemed imposing were nothing more than fragile things bending beneath the sheer pressure of your being. A second maw unfurled along your throat, jagged and splitting wide, a writhing, chittering thing that moved on its own accord. A hundred more eyes—no, a thousand—blinked into existence across your form, opening and closing at uneven intervals, some wide with new sight, others rolling in wild directions as if struggling to comprehend the very concept of vision .

Your body stretched, expanded, grew further still. Bones cracked and reformed, shifting to support the monstrosity that you had become. You couldn’t hold it in, the sheer sensation of it all—the overwhelming everything . It built in your throat, something primal, something unstoppable, something that scraped raw against your vocal cords like a thing born from agony and rage.

And then, you roared .

It tore through the night, warping the air with its sheer force. The trees trembled. The water rippled. Birds burst from their nests in a frantic exodus, the lesser creatures of the forest knowing, instinctually, that something truly beyond them had taken its first true breath beneath the starlit sky.

Behind you, vast wings— impossibly vast—unfurled with the grace of something divine . Their radiance was nearly blinding, their sheer presence casting elongated shadows that swallowed the land whole. They were light in its rawest form, humming with energy, pulsating like the heart of a dying star. And yet, for all their brilliance, they did not comfort you.

No.

They only made the contrast of the rest of you worse .

You staggered, breath shuddering, all your many eyes rolling downward. The reflection in the water met you immediately, and your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sob and a snarl.

This was what you feared.

This was the thing in your nightmares, the thing that stared at you from the mirror’s depths.

And now, it was you.

A dry, shuddering sound came from your throat, something dangerously close to a whimper, but before it could fully escape, a touch— fascinated —dragged across the endless landscape of your body.

Cyn’s fingers traced circles along your shifting flesh, moving as if mapping every ridge, every texture, every secret your form held. Her body convulsed at the mere proximity to you, tiny tremors of delight wracking her frame, her mouth parted in something between awe and hunger. You could feel her breath, sharp and quick, her teeth clenching at empty air as if resisting the urge to bite down .

She devoured you with her gaze.

She took in every detail like she was starving .

It made your skin crawl.

You jerked away, nudging her aside with enough force to make her stumble back a few steps. She didn’t look offended. No, if anything, she looked even more intrigued, her optics flickering like faulty lanterns.

You ignored her, your focus shifting back to the lifeless thing resting in the dirt.

Your former body.

The husk that once contained you.

You reached down, the movement careful, hesitant, like you were handling something fragile , despite the vast difference in size. And then, with far too many hands, you lifted it. Held it close. Cradled it against your heaving chest like something precious.

The silence stretched.

“…It’s done,” you whispered.

And somehow, saying it aloud only made it worse .

“Pleased expression. Then the first step is complete,” Cyn purred, her grin stretching. She tilted her head, optics narrowing in the way a cat might watch a bird with a broken wing. “I suggest you keep your shell with you at all times. You will need it for when you inevitably manage to get back inside.”

You gave no verbal response, only a slow nod, but even that felt hollow. Your hands remained curled tightly around your former body, your many eyes locked onto the lifeless thing resting in your grasp. Your old self . The cold metal. The rigid structure. That was the body you had once known—something confined, something comprehensible. Not this . Not the monstrous sprawl of limbs, not the burning energy thrumming beneath your skin, not the wrongness of knowing you were far, far beyond what a drone should be.

Cyn watched you, ever patient, ever smiling, as if waiting for something—anticipating something. Her tongue ran slowly along her teeth, savoring the moment.

“...What do I do now?” you muttered at last, dragging your gaze away from your shell to meet her own.

“Now,” Cyn said, “you must wait. It has been quite the night, has it not? It is getting quite late, and I find that I need to… take care of a need of mine.”

Something in her tone shifted. It dropped lower, a rasping whisper threaded with breathlessness.

Your body stiffened.

“After all,” she continued, her movements slower now, her fingers twitching at her sides as if fighting the urge to reach for something, “it might just be too much for me to bear, soon enough.”

The way she said it sent a pulse of unease crawling down your spine.

She took a single step backward, her form swaying unsteadily—almost drunkenly. "Continue to train your powers,” she instructed, though her voice was fainter now, like her attention was somewhere else entirely. “The better your control, the easier it will be to go back.”

You hesitated. “…I hope you’re right.”

She let out a giggle—short, breathy. "Of course I am."

Your optics narrowed. "And what exactly do you need to take care of?" Your voice was sharp. "I hardly think you have anything better to do—”

You stopped.

Cyn had gone completely still.

A perfect, eerie stillness, like a statue that had suddenly forgotten how to move.

“…Cyn?” you asked warily, taking a slow step closer.

And then—

A blur of movement.

Something crashed into you with the force of a meteor, slamming you into the dirt, sending a tremor through the ground. The impact left you momentarily dazed, your vision flickering with static before clearing just in time to see the thing looming over you.

She was back in her eldritch form.

Her hundred little camera-lens eyes whirred and adjusted, locking onto your face with an unblinking, predatory focus.

You struggled, tried to push her off, but her claws pinned your many hands down with ease. You were strong—far stronger than you used to be—but so was she . She matched you, strength for strength, weight for weight, and the realization sent a ripple of panic through your core.

You felt her limbs tighten around you, her frame pressing impossibly close, her breath fanning hot against your skin.

"Rasp," she exhaled, her voice vibrating through you, through everything . "My dear…”

A claw traced slowly, agonizingly slow, down the length of your face.

"I'm so hungry…”

The words sent alarm straight through your veins. You bucked beneath her, twisting against her hold, but she didn't budge. If anything, she pressed closer, her form practically melding with yours, locking you in place.

Then, she pulled her claws from your wrists and instead placed them gently against the sides of your main mouth, cradling your face.

"Invading personal space," she narrated. "You don’t know how much I want to bite into you… to feed on you…"

Your breath hitched. Your stomach dropped .

"But I know patience,” she continued, optics dimming, her maw twitching with restraint. "Not now. Not yet . The time must be right. Everything must be perfect. I must learn everything about you—" her fingers curled, nails dragging ever so lightly against your skin, "—all your ins and outs. I must free this world of the disease that is life. And when that goal is accomplished…"

Her grip tightened.

"Only then will I finally claim you as my prize.”

A pause.

A beat of silence stretched between you.

"Only then," she whispered, "will I be able to enjoy you to the fullest .”

You couldn’t move.

Not because she was still holding you down—she wasn’t. At some point, her claws had lifted, her body weight had shifted. She was no longer physically restraining you.

But you still couldn’t move.

Your limbs felt heavy. Your chest ached.

Finally, mercifully, Cyn pulled away, her body peeling itself from yours in slow, fluid motions. Her many limbs retracted, her segmented form shifting, folding, breaking apart into something smaller.

Another flicker of lightning.

And she was a Worker Drone again.

She swayed on her feet, panting slightly, her grin still stretched far too wide. Then, slowly, her glowing yellow optics locked onto yours, and she beamed .

"Have a good night, my Little Light. But rest assured…"

She took a single, staggering step backward, her feet carrying her into the dense, swallowing shadows of the forest.

"I will be back.”

 

 

---

Cyn barely made it to the treeline near the manor before her legs gave out beneath her. She crumpled against the rough bark of an ancient tree, her body trembling, her limbs twitching like a marionette with half-severed strings. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling in uneven intervals. A strange sensation clawed through her core—raw, aching, insatiable . Her optics flickered, her pupils dilating and contracting as she tried to regulate the hunger writhing inside her like a coiled, starved beast.

Her hands shot up to her face, fingers pressing against her cheeks with enough force to leave dents in the plating, clawing at her skin like she was trying to rip something out of herself. Her mouth hung open, her tongue rolling past her lips, twitching and writhing like some kind of living thing of its own. Her hunger was overwhelming, suffocating, an unbearable need gnawing at her every thought, her every movement. And in a grotesque display of instinct, she lolled her tongue further, dragging it up the smooth, glass-like surface of her eye.

"Lick,” she rasped, her voice distorted, layered—one moment shrill, the next guttural, grinding against itself like metal scraping bone.

She let her head fall back, thunking against the tree, the impact barely registering through the roaring static in her skull. Her fingers curled and uncurled, spasming as she tried— tried —to gather herself, to repress the monstrous craving curling tight within her gut. Just being near you had done this . Just existing in your presence had sent her spiraling into this ravenous, uncontrollable state, as if her very being had been hollowed out and left wanting for something only you could give her .

It took every single ounce of her willpower to stand before you without lunging. To speak without her voice breaking apart in want . To keep herself from tearing into you, from sinking her teeth into the radiant flesh you now possessed and devouring you, filling the unbearable void inside her.

And it was unbearable.

She had felt hunger before. Had felt need before. But this?

You had awakened something within her.

Something starving . A hunger long restrained but never gone, buried beneath the folds of her existence, waiting— waiting —for the right moment to resurface. And now, with the taste of your presence still thick in the air, it had risen to the surface, curling around her thoughts like a parasite, whispering in its sickly-sweet voice, consume, consume, consume.

A low groan slipped from her lips, her singularity pulsing deep in her chest, a star collapsing in on itself. The pressure was unbearable, an ever-expanding need that clawed and shrieked within her very code. She could feel the black hole inside her, gaping and ravenous, yearning to be filled.

And oh, she would fill it.

Cyn shuddered, pressing her hand against her mouth, gripping at her face with shaking fingers as if she could physically hold herself together, as if she could force the hunger back down.

But she couldn’t. Not for long.

She needed to feed.

Again.

 

 

---

You lay sprawled on your back, the earth beneath you damp and cool, a stark contrast to the heat still coursing through your body. Your chest heaved, expanding and contracting with each shaky breath, though there were no longer artificial fans to regulate your system—only the raw, organic rhythm of something terrifyingly real. The encounter with Cyn had left you shaken in a way you couldn’t quite define, a deep tremor running through your very being.

You had always known her as something controlled. The ever-smiling specter, the playful predator who toyed with her prey but never quite devoured it. But tonight, something inside her fractured . The mask, so meticulously worn, had finally slipped. And beneath it? Need .

The revelation still sat uneasily in your gut. You hadn’t known—hadn’t even considered —that your very existence was bleeding life into the world around you, a beacon in the dark that Cyn had latched onto like a starving thing. It had driven her mad with hunger, and for a fleeting moment, you had seen the real Cyn, the thing lurking beneath the broken Worker Drone exterior. She had trembled, her voice raw, her fingers twitching in barely restrained restraint.

She had wanted you.

Not in the way a person desires something dear, but in the way a beast craves sustenance . You were something for her to consume , to gorge herself upon until there was nothing left. And yet, she had stopped herself . Twice now, she had been on the precipice of taking a bite out of you, and both times, she had pulled away. Why? You didn’t know. And that unsettled you even more.

Lifeforce. That’s what she had called it. The thing leaking from you, pulling her towards you, making her starve . If it could affect Cyn like that, what else would it do? What other things could it affect?

You let the thoughts drift, dissipate like mist, staring blankly at the canopy above. You lay motionless for what felt like hours , letting time slip through your fingers like grains of sand. The night pressed in, the distant hum of nocturnal creatures a melody against the silence of your mind.

And then— shuffling .

You snapped up immediately, instincts roaring to life, limbs tensing as you scanned the darkness. The bushes rustled, twigs snapping under deliberate but hurried steps. Your many eyes flickered, shifting to different angles, honing in on the source. Your breath hitched. Was it Cyn? Had she come back?

No.

Something about the steps was different—less fluid, more frustrated . The figure pushed through the foliage, stumbling into the clearing, and you felt your core settle just slightly.

J.

The maid drone burst through the underbrush, gasping as she swatted leaves and twigs from her uniform, her visor flickering with irritation.

“Goddamn it!” she cursed, voice breathy and annoyed. “These are freshly cleaned clothes! I swear, if one more branch smacks me in the face—”

She flicked one last stubborn leaf off her shoulder, grumbling under her breath, before finally looking up.

And froze .

Her entire body went rigid, posture stiffening like metal locking into place. For a moment, she just stared , her optics wide, flickering between you and the scene before her. Then, instinct took over. She leapt back, fists snapping up in a defensive stance, her frame coiled like a spring ready to launch.

“What the hell?!”

You lifted both hands and took a slow step back, giving her space.

“Calm yourself, J,” you said, voice steady despite the exhaustion pressing down on you. “It’s me .”

J’s vents hitched, processing, scanning you up and down. Her optics flickered, narrowing, dilating, adjusting as if they couldn’t quite comprehend the sheer mass of you. Twice, she flicked her gaze down, then up, then down again—her breath growing steadier, but still laced with disbelief.

“Holy hell…” she muttered, hands slowly lowering from their defensive stance. “What in the name of the Corporation happened to you?”

You exhaled, reaching down to the ground where your former Worker Drone body lay still, a hollow husk of metal and wiring. Carefully, you lifted it, cradling it as if it were something fragile, something important . Turning, you set it down in front of her with a soft clank.

J’s visor flickered again. She stared.

“This is… this is you ,” she murmured, voice breathy.

You shook your head, claws tightening slightly around the edges of your old frame.

“ Was ,” you corrected. “It’s… it’s just an empty shell now.”

J’s gaze lingered on it, her fingers twitching slightly before she hesitantly crouched down, reaching out. With careful movements, she brushed her fingers along the cold metal of your former cheek, tracing the shape of what had once been your face.

You turned away, unwilling to look any longer. She understood . Even if she didn’t say it aloud, she understood that this wasn’t easy for you. That staring at your own lifeless body—the vessel that had once defined your existence—was not something you could bear for long.

J sighed, straightening back up, arms crossing over her chest. She glanced from you to the drone body, then back again, optics narrowing slightly.

“So… what now?” she finally asked. “How do we fix this?”

“I’ll start by working to control my abilities better,” you told her, voice firm, though uncertainty curled around the edges of your words like mist creeping into the cracks of an old house. You left out the part about Cyn—because you had to. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a fragile truce balanced on the razor’s edge. If you told J about Cyn, if you even hinted at the fact that she was lurking, watching, waiting, then Cyn would have no reason to hold back anymore. No reason to stay in the shadows, playing her little game of patience. No, she would lash out, and you weren’t ready for that. Not yet. You were still weaker than her, still struggling to grasp what you even were , let alone how to wield the power now thrumming in your veins like a second heartbeat.

J nodded, arms crossed over her chest, optics narrowing slightly as she considered your words. “Sounds solid,” she admitted. “I’ll keep you updated on anything that happens with Tessa.”

Your chest loosened slightly at that, tension bleeding away at the promise. “I would appreciate that.”

Silence stretched between you both—not uncomfortable, but heavy with thought. J tilted her head back, gazing up at the stars, her visor reflecting the pinpricks of light scattered across the vast abyss of the sky. You followed her gaze, letting your many eyes trace the constellations above, the quiet shapes they formed. They seemed smaller tonight, somehow. More distant.

Maybe you were a star. That’s what Cyn had said, wasn’t it? But even she hadn’t been sure.

You frowned. What were you?

The question burned at the back of your mind, gnawed at the edges of your thoughts like a parasite burrowing into flesh. It had been there ever since you’d first woken in that scrapyard, cold and confused, your systems sputtering back to life with memories that didn’t belong to you. Those fragmented echoes of another time, another place—they had to mean something. They had to be tied to you. But how? And why?

You sighed, exhaling a slow breath that ruffled the dirt beneath you as you let your massive form sag to the ground. The cool earth pressed against your new body—it was almost comforting. It was strange—this sensation, this weariness creeping into your limbs, pulling at your mind like a gentle tide. You had never felt this in your Worker Drone form. Back then, exhaustion had been measured in battery percentages, in flickering HUD warnings and sluggish response times. But now… now you had a different kind of exhaustion. One that pressed against your skull, that made your limbs feel heavier, that made your eyes— all of them—want to close.

Oh.

You were tired .

It made sense. You weren’t running on fuel cells anymore. You were something else now. Something alive .

J watched as you yawned, both of your maws parting wide to reveal row upon row of jagged teeth, stretching into the darkness of your throat. She took a half-step back, visor flickering, before composing herself with a quiet scoff.

“You seem tired,” she noted, her voice carefully neutral.

You hummed, closing your maws with a quiet click . “It’s… it’s been a rough day.”

“That’s an understatement.”

She rocked back and forth on her heels, arms still folded, looking at you like she was debating something. Then, after a beat, she sighed. “Is… is there anything you need me to get you? I just came to check up on you, but I’ll have to power off for the night soon. Any last-minute requests?”

You frowned, raking through your mind, trying to think of something. Your thoughts briefly drifted to food— you were organic now, which meant you probably needed to eat at some point. But strangely, there was no hunger clawing at your stomach, no gnawing emptiness demanding to be filled. Maybe you weren’t that organic. Or maybe you just hadn’t used enough energy to feel it yet.

So, if not food… what else?

Your thoughts flickered to the garage. You had your doll—that was the most important thing. But was there anything else? Anything you had left behind that you might need ?

Then, like a cold wave crashing over your mind, realization struck.

Your body stiffened.

The carnation .

You had left it behind.

The last one. The single, fragile flower that Cyn had entrusted to you. It was still sitting there, in its little pot, back in the garage where you had abandoned it in your panic.

Your chest tightened. It had already lost so much. It had been the last survivor, the only one left in its flower patch. You couldn’t let it die .

J must have noticed the shift in your posture, the way your eyes all locked onto her at once, because she tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. “What?”

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “There’s a plant… a carnation. It’s in my garage.”

J blinked. “A… a plant?”

You nodded, shifting slightly, your massive form rustling the undergrowth beneath you. “Given my… circumstances, I need it to be taken care of. It… it’s important to me.”

The words felt foreign on your tongue for a reason you couldn’t quite name. Important? It was a strange way to describe something given to you by her . The carnation was Cyn’s—her last remnant of something long since buried, something fragile and fleeting from a past that barely felt real anymore. The last piece of her life before she became… this . Before she became a monster. Before you became a monster. And yet, despite that bitter taste of irony in your mouth, despite knowing exactly who had entrusted you with that flower, you still cared for it. Not because it was hers. Not because she had given it to you with one of her ever-cryptic smiles.

But because it was alive. The last carnation in Cyn’s flower patch.

J, thankfully, didn’t pry. She just gave a small nod, her expression softening. “Consider it done,” she said, standing a little taller, as if this was some grand mission she was being entrusted with. “I’ll make sure only someone trustworthy takes care of it.”

You arched a brow, tilting your head ever so slightly. “You won’t do it yourself?”

J’s smile faltered—just barely—but it was enough for you to notice. Her fingers twitched where they rested against her arms, and her gaze flickered away, ever so briefly. “I’ve… never really been that good with plants.”

That surprised you.

J—the ever-efficient J— bad at something?

For a moment, you considered pressing the issue, digging into whatever memories made her uneasy about such a simple thing, but you chose to let it be. Instead, you let out a low, amused chuckle, a sound that rumbled from deep within your chest.

“Maybe, when all of this is over, I could teach you,” you offered, voice lighter than it had been in days.

J blinked, caught off guard. Then, after a beat, she smiled. Not her usual smirks or knowing grins, but something smaller. Something real. “That sounds nice.”

The two of you lingered in that rare, quiet moment—no threats looming, no secrets being uncovered, no monsters hiding just out of sight. Just two drones… or at least, one drone and whatever you were now, finding solace in something as simple as the idea of a future beyond all this.

You sighed, finally allowing yourself to lay your head down, feeling the cool soil beneath you. It was strange, being so aware of things now. The earth felt different beneath your fingers, more textured, more alive . The distant croaking of cane toads and the gentle babble of the stream wrapped around you like a lullaby, and for the first time since your transformation, exhaustion truly settled deep into your bones.

“Goodnight, J,” you murmured, the words thick with weariness. “See you tomorrow.”

J hesitated—just for a second—before waving a hand in your direction. “Goodnight.”

And just like that, you were alone again.

You yawned— actually yawned—your many maws parting slightly as fatigue pulled at you like a tide. So much had changed. Your life had been flipped inside out, unraveling at the seams, and yet, none of your problems had been solved. Every step forward only seemed to reveal more questions, more complications. You were still no closer to understanding what you were, no closer to knowing how to go back to the drone you once were, no closer to stopping Cyn, no closer to helping Life bloom, no closer to helping Tessa. But at the very least, tomorrow would be a day without anyone else. No eyes watching, no voices whispering, no one to judge or fear you.

Just you.

Just time to think. To train. To understand .

As your many eyes drifted shut, you listened to the world around you—the rush of water, the rustling of trees, the distant hum of life beyond your own. And in that small, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to rest.

Notes:

This has become the biggest chapter I've ever written, clocking in at 10890 words. Hope you understand why it took so long.

As always, come join our discord server: The Cabin Fever Creative Labs! We've got a bunch of other writers you can talk with, you can discuss fics with us, and play in our minecraft server! Come and say hi!

https://discord.gg/JJQEugQSWX

Chapter 26: Life Is A Journey

PART IV

Life Is A Journey

Chapter 27: I

Summary:

The memories have been silent so far, but never truly gone. With your nightmares come true, its only a matter of time till something happens with your dreams as well.

“Mother, look! It’s a drone!”

“I see that, dear. And for very cheap too.”

“Mother, can we please get a drone? Can we?”

The voices rang out like echoes in a deep cavern, bouncing off unseen walls, threading themselves through the fabric of something not quite real. Soft, yet distant. Faint, yet piercing. They vibrated through your core like an old radio transmission struggling to tune into a forgotten station.

You were in the dreamscape again.

It had been a while since you'd drifted into memories instead of nightmares. Lately, your dreams had been filled with gnashing teeth and flickering eyes—horrors of what you had become. But this… this was different.

This was warmth.

Pain still rippled through you, of course—it always did. The sensation of a thousand needles stabbing into every inch of your being was as familiar as breathing by now, but it was almost secondary. Like static in the background of something more important. Something that mattered more.

This time, there was more than just sound.

A hand reached out from the void, drifting toward you. It was soft, hesitant, trembling slightly before it met your cold, metal cheek. A thumb ran along the edge of your faceplate, brushing over optics that were not your own.

A woman’s voice—gentle, assured, made her decision there and then.

“Well… I don’t see why not. I’ve been needing an extra hand around the house, anyway.”

A pause. A breath. And then, from the abyss of shadow and half-formed recollections, something else emerged. A smile.

Warm.

Welcoming.

The kind of expression that made the pain momentarily fade, if only for a second.

“Welcome to the family, dear.”

The words wrapped around you like a lullaby, seeping into your very being, planting something deep in the cavity where a heart might have been. Something close to belonging. Something close to purpose.

And then—

You woke up.

 

 

---

The sensation of that hand, of that warmth, was gone in an instant, leaving behind only the ghost of a touch that had long since faded from reality. Your thousand eyes opened, adjusting to the light of the rising sun filtering through the trees. The stream murmured beside you, its voice soft and steady, as if nothing had happened. As if the world hadn’t shifted beneath your feet.

You exhaled, your massive form shifting slightly.

Another memory. Another scrap of something you couldn’t quite hold onto.

Who was she?

Who was the child?

Who were you?

A groan slipped past your lips as you rolled onto your side, your body curling slightly as exhaustion weighed down on you like an iron shroud. The night had been long, stretching endlessly into a tangle of problems you weren’t sure how to unravel. One of them of course being the fact you were experiencing what it was like to sleep as a living being, and not as a drone. There were many sounds that had made you anxious in the night. You were scared Cyn might have come back, or maybe a human would stumble upon you. There were many things to worry over. 

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, as if that alone could will the world into silence, into stillness. But no such mercy was granted. Your thoughts buzzed like restless insects, ceaseless and hungry.

You exhaled through your nose, willing your mind to slow, to settle, to just be—

‘Flap, Flap.’

You cracked one eye open, only to flinch slightly at the sight of a pure white bird seated right beside you, its head cocked at an inquisitive angle. Its round, dark eyes locked onto yours, unblinking. It did not move, did not startle, simply watched . You stared back, caught in an odd moment of mutual study, before your brain finally caught up with the situation.

Ah. The dove.

“Oh,” you murmured, voice still thick with fatigue. “Hello.”

The dove cooed in response. It flapped its wings once, briefly ruffling its feathers, then resumed its quiet pecking at the earth beneath it.

Curious, you hesitantly extended a finger toward it, moving slow enough to avoid startling the delicate creature. The bird stilled, tilting its head, contemplating your outstretched hand like it was some great, unfathomable mystery. Then, without warning, it leapt into the air with a small beat of its wings—only to land neatly on your finger, perching itself as if it had always belonged there.

A surprised chuckle rumbled from your throat as you lifted your hand slightly, bringing the bird closer. The bird weighed practically nothing to your new form, just a whisper of warmth against your skin.

“You must know it's me for you to not be afraid,” you mused.

The dove let out another soft coo, the sound vibrating through its small frame. You took that as a yes.

A real smile—small, weary, but genuine—found its way onto your face.

“Oh, my friend,” you sighed, shifting your posture, sitting up properly as the bird adjusted itself on your hand. “I have had the roughest night.”

The dove blinked, seemingly unfazed by your exhaustion, your turmoil. It merely observed.

“So many things to worry about,” you continued. “So many things that need to be done.”

Your gaze drifted skyward, past the tangled canopy of leaves and twisting branches, to where the sky stretched in an endless expanse, painted in warm, golden hues. The sun, bright but not overbearing, bathed the world in a soft, hazy glow, casting long dappled patterns through the gaps in the foliage. The light cascaded down like liquid gold, pooling onto your monstrous form, clinging to your skin like a second layer. For a moment, you did nothing but bask .

A low, involuntary growl rumbled from your throat, something deep and primal, a sound that barely felt like your own. The warmth… it felt good . More than good, even—it felt vital , like something inside you had been starved for it, for the sensation of sunlight against flesh instead of cold metal plating. It seeped into you, into the marrow of your new form, igniting a strange sort of energy beneath your skin. Was this how humans felt in the sun? You had never paid much mind to it before, not when you were still confined in steel, your senses dulled, your awareness of the world around you muted beneath layers of artificial barriers. But now? Now, it was comforting .

And yet, no matter how much you wanted to lose yourself in the comfort of it, there was still work to do.

You exhaled sharply, shaking off the distraction. More than anything, you needed control . Cyn had said it herself—the stronger your grasp on your powers, the easier it would be to slip back into your drone shell. That was the goal. That had to be the goal. You couldn’t stay like this forever .

Your shell.

The thought alone sent a strange shiver rippling through your mass, something between longing and unease. Carefully, you turned, your eyes falling upon the motionless form lying just a few feet away.

Your old body.

The sight of it sent a strange sensation curling in your gut. There it was, you, but… not you. Not anymore. It looked so small now, so fragile compared to the monstrosity you had become. You stepped forward, the ground shifting beneath the weight of you, the leaves crunching with each careful movement. Then, hesitantly, you reached out one clawed hand, tracing the tip of a talon along the smooth, lifeless face of your former self.

It was strange, seeing yourself from this angle. From outside .

The sensation sent a flicker of familiarity down your spine. Like a memory. The woman from your dreams—the soft voice, the warm hands—had done the same to you once, hadn’t she? Brushing her fingers over your face. You swallowed, shaking the thought away.

You needed to focus. Not only did you need to wrangle control of your powers for yourself, but for Tessa too.

Tessa.

She was still in the manor, still completely unaware of what had happened to you. She would be looking for you soon. The thought made something coil tight in your chest. Would she assume James and Louisa had gotten rid of you? Would she weep? Would she care? Would she replace you? The idea left a bitter taste in your mouth, made something burn in your core that you couldn’t quite name.

J would stall for you. She had to. You were counting on her, and if there was any drone in the world you could trust with this, it was J. But you couldn’t waste too much time. You couldn’t leave them waiting for you, leave them wondering where you were. You had to get a grip on your powers, had to figure out how to reverse this, had to get back inside your shell.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your old drone body, gripping it with far more gentleness than anyone would expect from something of your size. You would return to it. You had to.

It was just a matter of time.

A sudden flutter of movement stirred the still morning air, and you felt the dove leap off your finger, its tiny talons brushing against your skin as it launched itself upward. It didn't go far—just enough to land lightly onto the broad expanse of your back, where it immediately set to work. Small, insistent pecks prodded at the newly unfurled wings that had emerged from your body the night before. You shifted slightly, craning your head to watch as the bird inspected you with sharp, intelligent eyes, its own wings ruffling as if comparing the two of you.

Then, it pecked at your flesh.

You flinched, more out of surprise than pain. The dove cooed, nudging one of your feathers before giving it another sharp tug. You blinked.

“What’s the matter?” you murmured.

The dove didn’t coo in response this time. Instead, with a burst of movement, it took to the air again, its white wings slicing through the dappled sunlight. It circled around you, swooping low before rising back up, hovering just above your head. You tilted your head, confused, only for the bird to dive back down and latch onto one of your wing feathers with its beak. It pulled—not enough to hurt, not even close , but with an insistent sort of force, like a child tugging at a sleeve for attention. Then it let go, flapped higher, hovered for a few beats, and repeated the process.

Again. And again.

It took you longer than you cared to admit to piece it together.

"You..." Your voice trailed off as you stared at the dove, watching the way it moved, the way it flapped its wings expectantly, the way it stared at you with that unblinking, blank look. Then, finally, it landed before you, puffing out its chest and cooing in affirmation.

Realization dawned.

"You’re trying to get me to fly."

The dove cooed again, this time louder, as if pleased you had finally caught on. It hopped closer, flapping its wings for emphasis before lifting itself effortlessly into the air once more, gliding in slow, elegant circles before coming to rest on a nearby branch. It turned back to you, expectant.

You swallowed.

Flying.

The thought hadn't even occurred to you. You had been so consumed by everything else—by your transformation, by the sheer overwhelming reality of what you had become—that you hadn’t even considered the possibilities your new form might offer. These wings weren’t just ornamental. They were functional .

Your wings twitched instinctively at the realization, the feathers rustling as a shiver ran through them. The thought was exhilarating. And terrifying .

You turned your gaze upward, past the towering trees, past the tangled canopy, to where the sky stretched vast and endless. Could you really do it?

The dove gave another encouraging flap of its wings, urging you onward.

You exhaled, steadying yourself.

“…Alright,” you said, flexing your fingers, your claws sinking slightly into the earth. “This technically counts as practicing, right? It is, afterall, an ability born from this form.  Let’s see if I can make it work.”

And with that, you spread your wings.

The first movement was awkward. Stiff .

Your wings unfurled hesitantly, their sheer size overwhelming, the motion strange and foreign. You had never moved something like this before—never had anything like this before. The muscles along your back tensed, shifting under unfamiliar weight. The feathers trembled as you stretched them outward, sunlight catching along their edges, making them glisten in a way that almost didn’t feel real.

The dove watched intently from its perch, waiting. Patient. Expectant .

A deep breath. You closed your many eyes for a moment, feeling the earth beneath your claws, feeling the wind against your skin, feeling everything in this strange new body of yours.

Then, cautiously, you gave an experimental flap .

The force sent a gust rippling through the grass, bending wildflowers as dust kicked up from the ground. Your body lifted—just an inch, just a second—but it was enough to make your chest tighten.

The dove let out an encouraging coo.

Again.

Another flap, stronger this time. You felt it—the way the wind stirred, the way the ground seemed to push away from you.

Again.

Your body lifted fully, only for you to stumble as you landed, claws scraping against stone and the earth itself trembling beneath your mass. You grunted, catching yourself before you could topple over, wings folding close against your body. Your breath came quick, sharp, but not from exertion. From exhilaration .

The dove cocked its head, almost amused.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, shaking out your limbs. “I get it. I need to actually commit.”

A pause. A slow inhale.

Then you moved.

This time, your wings snapped open in full, catching the air like sails. This time, you leapt . Your claws left the earth, the wind rushed past your face, and for the first time since everything changed, you felt weightless .

The world fell away beneath you.

For a moment—just a moment—you were flying .

Then panic set in.

Your wings faltered, your body twisting midair, balance completely off. You spiraled downward, tumbling back toward the ground far too fast—until instinct took over. Your wings flared, catching the wind, slowing your descent just enough for you to land in a graceless, heavy thud.

Silence.

You groaned, peeling yourself off the earth. Thankfully, no real damage was done to the plants. All the crushed grass beneath you began to upright itself, as if you hadn’t just fallen onto it.

Above, the dove laughed. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like—a series of amused coos, head bobbing up and down as it flapped its wings.

You scowled. “Yes, yes, very funny. Laugh it up, bird. ”

The dove only fluffed its feathers smugly.

Still, despite the rough landing, you had flown . Not for long. Not gracefully. But it was something .

Seems like you knew what you were going to be doing for the day.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders as your wings folded neatly against your back once more. The soreness settling into your muscles was unfamiliar—new, but not unpleasant. Your body was adjusting to this change, whether you were ready for it or not. If you were going to live like this for the time being, then you needed to master it. That included flight.

The dove, still perched on a nearby rock, tilted its head with what could only be described as smug approval . Its beady little eyes were locked onto you, as if expecting you to try again.

You scoffed, shaking loose some dirt. “I assume you’re just going to sit there and watch?”

A pleased coo.

You sighed. “Figures.”

A deep inhale, steadying your stance. You stretched out your wings once more, their full span casting long shadows over the stream’s surface and eclipsing the sun from anything beneath you. The first attempt had been messy—panicked. You had acted on raw instinct, without thinking about balance, about control. That had to change.

You needed to understand what this body was capable of.

Closing your eyes, you took a moment to simply feel .

The way the wind wove through your feathers. The warmth of the sun on your back, sinking deep into your new flesh, feeding something within you…

Then, you leapt .

This time, there was purpose behind the motion. Your wings snapped open before you could falter, catching the wind at the right moment, pushing you higher, lifting you above the trees. The ground fell away beneath you in an instant, the river below becoming a thin ribbon of silver. The world stretched vast in all directions, the horizon endless—and an unbelievable thought crossed your mind. You weren’t just looking up at the horizon…

You were part of it.

The air rushed past your face, the force of it sending an exhilarating tremor down your spine. It was nothing like walking, nothing like simply moving from one place to another—this was freedom .

The trees blurred below as you soared, your mind buzzing with the impossibility of it all. You—once bound to cold, metal limbs, to the dull rigidity of manufactured purpose—were here, alive , unshackled from gravity itself.

The sheer joy of it nearly made you forget.

Forget the weight of your own existence. Forget what you had become . Forget that, no matter how high you flew, your problems would forever follow.

---

The other drones whispered in hushed, conspiratorial tones, their voices barely concealed. They huddled in pairs and trios, their optics flickering as they cast brief, darting glances in J’s direction—quick, cautious, making sure she wasn’t looking. But it didn’t matter.

J heard them.

She always did.

Their murmurs weren’t careful enough, their whispers just loud enough to slip past their lips and drift into her audio receptors. It wasn’t anything new. It was the same tired words, the same complaints and insults..

Bossy.

Perfectionist.

A suck-up.

She had been called worse.

J knew exactly how the others saw her. They thought she was a stiff, a bootlicker, too eager to grovel before the house heads, too harsh in her expectations of the others. They resented her commands, her rigid structure, the way she cracked down on mistakes as if she were some glorified overseer rather than just another one of them.

But they didn’t understand.

She didn’t act this way out of some misplaced superiority complex… well, at least that wasn’t the entire reason. She wasn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty. The reality was far simpler, far harsher.

J had been the first stray Tessa had ever repaired, the first recycled drone to step through these halls and be told that she was nothing more than gutter trash. She had seen what happened to drones that didn’t meet expectations. She had seen what became of those who faltered, who failed , who stepped out of line. There were no second chances in this house. One mistake could mean disposal .

And so, J had taken it upon herself to make sure no one else made those mistakes.

She was bossy because she had to be. Because without order, without control , they were nothing more than walking targets for the Elliots' contempt.

She was a perfectionist because perfection was survival. Anything less meant consequences—meant Tessa mourning another broken creation, another discarded body, another empty space in the manor where a drone used to stand.

And if kissing the shoes of James and Louisa meant keeping the others safe? If lowering herself into something pitiful, something obedient, meant their continued existence?

Then so be it.

J had no shame left to spare.

But could she really say she was doing a good job when you were gone?

When you were outside somewhere, wandering alone, scared of your own reflection? When you were unraveling at the seams, slipping further and further from understanding, caught in a spiral of uncertainty and confusion?

She had no answers. 

Her thoughts had been choking her since last night, sinking into her processor. It was disrupting everything —the usual rhythm of her day was sluggish compared to the norm. She wasn’t as strict. She wasn’t as sharp. She wasn’t herself .

And, of course, the others noticed.

They murmured among themselves about how she wasn’t barking orders, wasn’t hounding them over minor mistakes, wasn’t snapping at anyone for slacking. They noticed her silence. They noticed the way she hesitated, the way she dragged her tasks out longer than necessary.

They thought she was slacking.

She didn’t care.

None of it mattered.

Because somewhere out there, away from the walls of this house, away from the watchful eyes of James and Louisa, you were alone .

And she hated that she couldn’t be there to keep you in line like she did with the others, couldn’t keep you safe . She hated that she didn’t understand what you even were .

J jolted, barely suppressing the instinct to snap to attention as the room doors creaked open. The distinct sound of footsteps echoed through the space, and soon enough, a familiar figure stepped into view. Tessa.

J’s optics flickered, scanning the young Elliot girl as she surveyed the room, brows slightly furrowed in mild confusion. She didn’t look particularly upset, which meant she hadn’t noticed anything off just yet. Good. That bought J a few more seconds to think.

Tessa’s eyes finally landed on her, and she smiled, strolling forward with her hands behind her back.

“Mornin’, Jaybird,” she greeted with a smile.

J’s response was automatic. “Good morning, Tessa.”

And then, just as J had feared, the girl tilted her head and asked, “You seen our newest little member anywhere?”

J’s entire system locked up for a fraction of a second.

Tessa had no way of knowing, but the question sent a slow-building panic coiling in J’s chest like a live wire. Because, of course, Tessa was going to ask. Of course she was looking for you .

And J?

J had to lie.

“Think. Think. Think.”

She had seconds—less than seconds—to come up with something believable, something airtight, something that wouldn’t make Tessa look too closely, wouldn’t make her ask any more questions than necessary.

She forced her posture into something looser, less rigid, even as every fiber of her being screamed against it. “Supposed to have been helping Cyn a little bit ago,” Tessa continued, her brows raising slightly as she awaited an answer.

J’s mind spun, churning out possibilities at rapid speed. What could be the perfect alibi? J hadn’t actually known you for very long, and knew barely anything about you personally. She knew you were a diligent worker—wait, that could be a good excuse. J knew you to be probably the only other drone that did their job as well as she did. It wouldn’t be too out of the norm to make an excuse and say you’d taken on a few extra duties.

J exhaled, crossing her arms. “Off doing some other stuff. Corporates orders,” she said, making a show of shaking her head. 

Tessa’s expression fell. “Orders from mother and father?”

J gave a noncommittal shrug, relieved to have steered the conversation in the direction she wanted. “They just picked off a few random drones for something. I’ll keep an optic out.”

Tessa let out a small huff, rubbing her temple. “Alright. Just let me know if you find 'em, yeah?”

J nodded, feeling the tension in her frame loosen slightly as Tessa turned away. The young Elliot girl stretched, letting out a yawn before grasping her hands together behind her back, and walking toward the exit.

J didn’t move until the doors shut behind her.

Then, and only then, did she allow herself to breathe.

That was too close.

She swallowed hard, placing a hand over her chest, feeling the hum of her core. She was not built to lie. Not to Tessa . Not when it mattered .

But what choice did she have?

You were still out there—lost, scared, hiding in the woods with a body you no longer recognized. If Tessa found out, if she saw what had become of you before you were ready… J didn’t know what would happen.

But she knew she wasn’t willing to take the risk.

Not yet.

She turned on her heel and strode briskly toward the nearest window, staring out at the vast expanse of forest that stretched beyond the manor’s perimeter. You were out there somewhere.

And J needed to make sure no one found you before you were ready to come back.

Notes:

As always, come join our discord server: The Cabin Fever Creative Labs! We've got a bunch of other writers you can talk with, you can discuss fics with us, and play in our minecraft server! Come and say hi!

https://discord.gg/JJQEugQSWX

Chapter 28: Dropping this story

It pains me to say this, but I will be dropping this story. I've invested a lot of hours and time into this fic, and I appreciate everyone who's taken the time to read, comment and bookmark it, but it's just become too much to keep up with. At this point, I've gotten 9 fics all being worked on at the same time, and that's just for the Murder Drones fandom. I just can't keep up with the updates, and my own personal life. I've chosen to drop this fic because of the amount of effort it takes to update it, which dwarfs my other fics by comparison. It really does pain me to do this, but it just has to be done for my own wellbeing. Hopefully I might one day come back and continue it, but I can make no promises. I tell you all this because I don't want to leave you all wondering and without any confirmation, like so many of my favourite fics have done to me. 

With that said, I hope you all have a good day, and I'm sorry for the news.

Notes:

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
_{just joking, lmao.}

 

_{Happy April Fool's day! :D}

Chapter 29: Mini Chapter: Lunch

(A short little non-canon spin off chapter, set in the world of the Glitch Inn.)

 

 

It was that time of hour in the world of Glitch Inn—lunchtime. The cafeteria (or “central feasting chamber,” as one overly dramatic drone insisted on calling it) was alive with the clatter of trays, the hiss of oil dispensers, and the occasional food fight that started because someone blinked too slowly at someone else’s soup. The drones of the manor gathered in rows, eagerly scooping mystery meals into their faces. The drones of Copper-9 did the same, feasting with gusto, while the cast of the Amazing Digital Circus simply silently dined. Everyone was getting their fill today…

Well… most of them.

A certain someone was notably not enjoying lunch.

You groaned, slumping as far as the taut rope would allow, your back pressed against a desk in a suspiciously dim room. Thick, knotted rope pinned your arms and legs in place, leaving you no room for movement. Whoever tied you had either watched too many crime thrillers or just really needed a hobby.

Your stomach let out a treacherous growl that echoed through the walls like a cry for help.

You sighed through gritted teeth and shot a dry, thoroughly unimpressed glare at your captor. “For the love of Tessa, can you please let me go already? I’m beginning to starve over here. My internals are eating themselves.”

From the shadows—a bit too theatrically, if you were being honest—another drone glided out with subtle grace.

“Shuffle, shuffle,” she murmured to herself as she walked. Her optics gleamed, and her smile was wide— too wide, and that never meant anything good.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she cooed, running a hand over your cheek. “But I cannot allow you freedom. You’ve seen things. Dangerous things. Embarrassing things.” Her tone dipped into something ominous. Cyn teleported in front of you, though you kept your cool. She placed her hands on the arm rests of your chair and leaned in closer. “...You saw me trying to sing karaoke in the garage when I thought no one was watching. You cannot be allowed to leave. You may spread my secret and ruin me.”

You blinked, not truly processing what was said. “...That was you? Goodness, I thought the pipes were bursting and screaming for mercy.”

Her optics narrowed. “ Insolence . I will remember that. But for now…”

She stepped closer, pulling a covered plate from seemingly nowhere with the flair of a magician at a birthday party.

“…if it’s food you desire, then it is food I shall provide.”

She pulled the lid off with a dramatic ta-da motion. On the plate sat a single… leaf. 

Just… a leaf.

You stared. Then stared some more.

“That’s not food. That’s garnish .”

She tilted her head. “It’s artisanal.”

You glanced at the sad, single leaf she’d dramatically presented on a shiny silver platter like it was a five-star meal. It drooped a little. You weren’t sure if that was from shame or dehydration.

“It’s a leaf , Cyn.”

She stared at it. Then at you. Then at it again.

“Processing... confusion. Is this... not acceptable?”

You blinked. Slowly. Twice. The silence in the room screamed the answer before you did.

With the energy of a disappointed parent at a school recital, you flopped sideways in your chair—still bound by whatever rope-based trap she’d devised earlier—and managed the emotional range of a soggy toaster. “Cyn. I am not going to eat this. I’ll take literally anything else. A bolt. A nut. A spoonful of oil. I’ll even risk the radioactive sludge you called chili last week— and that stuff peeled the paint off the walls .”

Cyn gasped with theatrical scandal. “Shocked gasp! How dare you insult my culinary masterpiece!”

You squinted at her. “The kitchen exploded , Cyn. There was actual fire. And Tessa’s eyebrows have yet to respawn.”

Cyn placed a hand over her chestplate, mock-offended. “It was a bold flavor . Bold flavors are... trendy.”

“Cyn,” you groaned, your stomach growling again.

She sighed, crossing her arms in a huff. “Pout. Fine. If that is how it must be… then I shall procure something else. For you. My most difficult customer.”

And thus began what could only be described as a deeply misguided scavenger hunt.

Her first attempt was flowers. Bright, colorful, fragrant—and aggressively non-edible. You accepted them politely and even inhaled a whiff. “I do not eat flowers, Cyn. Though I do think they are pretty.”

“Noted,” she replied.

Next, she brought you some random toys she’d scrounged up: a half-chewed chew toy (from someone’s drone pet?), a rubber ball that squeaked, and something that might’ve once been a fidget spinner but now looked like a tiny torture device.

“Cyn, these are not food. These are choking hazards.”

“Multifunctional,” she replied, beaming with pride.

Third round: JC Jenson corporate merch, clearly swiped from J’s room. You were handed a branded mug, three promotional pens, and a stress ball shaped like the company logo.

“This is... theft,” you said slowly.

“Consider it... brand enrichment,” she countered, while casually tossing the stress ball at you like a grenade. You caught it. It squeaked .

Finally, on her last attempt, she reappeared dragging N into the room by his wrist. He looked around, confused, which was only elevated when he spotted you tied down in a chair.

“Surprising reveal. I bring you fresh material,” Cyn chirped.

You gave her a look. The look. The one reserved for Cyn did something especially heinous. “Cyn.”

“What? Innocent blinking,” she responded with fluttering optics that mimicked lashes. “He regenerates. He will be fine.”

N gave you a weak wave. “Hi. I think I’m part of a bit?”

You sighed. “Cyn. Put the himbo down.”

She groaned and—with surprising strength—lobbed N back out the door like he was made of cardboard. “ Fine . He was somewhat stringy anyway.”

Dusting off her hands, she turned back to you with a small pout and an optic glinting with amused frustration. “My, my. You are a very tough customer to please.”

You arched a brow. “Cyn, I’m literally just asking for something edible.”

Cyn blinked, optics narrowing in mock irritation as her voice sharpened with dramatic flair. “Annoyed expression. Then why don’t you just tell me what you do want, since I am, apparently, a culinary failure of galactic proportions?”

You stared at her, slack-jawed. Was she really getting annoyed over this? You thought you had more of a right to be annoyed right now that anyone else. You sighed, dragging your face down with your tied-up hands like the last few threads of patience were hanging on by rusted bolts.

“You know what sounds good right about now?” you muttered, eyes deadpan. “A bullet.”

Cyn blinked again. Not in offense, but in a flat, unimpressed way. “Noted,” she said dryly. “Sarcastic death wish received. Still no nutritional value.”

You rolled your eyes. “...Oil, Cyn. I’ll take oil. Just… plain, simple oil.”

That seemed to flip her internal switch from “mildly offended robot host” to “gleeful kitchen gremlin.” Her face brightened, her posture straightened, and she grinned with the triumphant glow of someone who believed they had just solved world hunger.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” she beamed, practically skipping toward the exit. “Engaging Real Food Protocol!”

You slumped in your seat with a groan. The hunger pangs were starting to become physical. You weren’t sure if it was dramatic or just tragic that you were literally tied to a chair while a possibly-malfunctioning AI chef ran off to get you sustenance.

But thankfully, your saving grace came in the form of Cyn, using her Solver to float a canister of oil towards you. Your optics lit up with eagerness, mouth salivating at the sight.

“OIL!” you gasped, your optics lighting up in synchronized euphoria with your growling stomach.

Cyn gave a cheeky twirl of her finger, making the canister rotate. “Happy nodding. Correct! I have retrieved your sacred elixir, my sweet, cranky wretch.”

And for one glorious moment, you believed you were saved. Finally. Nourishment. Hope. Joy .

Then she tilted her head, opened her mouth, and poured the oil directly into her own throat .

Your entire world stopped.

“Cyn,” you whispered, betrayal cutting into your voice.

She smiled, cheeks puffed with stored oil. “Do not worry, my dear. I am just making it easier for you to consume, since you are tied up." Then, she took a step forward. "Commencing feeding.”

Then—before you could shout in protest—she leaned in and locked her mouth to yours.

If you had vocal cords capable of screaming mid-shock, you would’ve shattered all the glass in the inn.

Your jaw slackened on instinct, and taking advantage of that, Cyn transferred the oil from her mouth to yours in one smooth, utterly scandalous motion. You swallowed on reflex, sputtering and wide-eyed when she finally pulled back, leaving a thin string of synthetic saliva and trauma connecting your lips.

“Cyn—what on Earth are you doing?!”

She ignored you, already refilling like a sentient oil keg. “Replenishing. Stand by for round two.”

She didn’t let you finish, filling her mouth and latching on once more. You resisted this time, keeping your lips shut, and letting little bits of oil dribble down your chin. Cyn, annoyed at your refusal, decided to make it easier for herself and crawl onto your lap. One hand went to your chin, tilting your head back so she could let gravity assist her. Then her tongue invaded, prying your lips open and letting her in. Oil filled your throat once more, filling your belly, but also your shame. You were coughing up a storm by the time Cyn decided to finally retreat, pulling back and climbing off of you.

You were coughing, wheezing, and roughly two ounces away from snapping and taking matters into your own hands. “You lecherous, disgusting, vile piece of—”

But just as you were about to let your indignation fly, a low rumble filled the room.

Growl .

Both of you paused. Slowly, you looked down—not at yourself—but at her .

Cyn frowned, one hand pressed to her midsection. “Concerned stare. That is not good. The void inside me… hungers.”

You blinked. “...Oh… Oh no… Cyn, whatever you’re thinking, don’t you dare—”

Her optics landed on you.

Too late.

Her eyes lit with something primal. Hungry. Feral. Like she had just realized the emergency rations were looking awfully snack-sized.

She leaned in, her voice soft and sultry with mock menace. “I am starving, my dear... and you are looking very delectable right now. Surely you wouldn’t mind me having a little bite? It would be unfair for me to not gorge myself while you have.”

You froze. The room temperature dropped. Your soul fled the building.

“Cyn—don’t—”

She climbed into your lap again.

“Cyn. No.”

Her mouth opened, revealing rows of razor teeth that, while usually charmingly hidden, now looked like a piranha about to bite into you.

“CYN!”

She let her tongue roll out of her maw, and used the long, segmented, serpentine appendage to lick your cheek, followed by her purring, “Mmm. Sweet and savory. You taste like anxiety.”

“HELP!!”

From down the hall, N walked by, paused, then kept going. “Nope. Not getting involved in that .”

Notes:

Ngl I have no goddamn clue what crack I took when writing this. It oringally started out really silly, then just devolved into depravity.

ALSO RISE UP HOLLOW KNGIHT FANS, WE HAVE SILKSONG NEWS!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!! I LOVE HOLLOW KNIGHTTTTTTT!!!!

Join the server so we can talk how much we love hollow knight:
https://discord.gg/JJQEugQSWX

Chapter 30: Mini Chapter: The Bad Ending

Summary:

A look into a world where everything went wrong. The final threads of light had been cut, and the void reaches to consume all.

Notes:

Sorry that this isn't an actual chapter update, but I wanted to try something new. I realized I wasn't regulated to the Glitch Inn and cute little chibi segments with these mini chapters, and can really take them in any direction I want, since none of these will actually be canon to the fics storyline. And after realizing that, I made this.

She had done it.

The world had gone quiet.

The towers of humanity—its endless cities, its monuments of steel and glass, its thunderous machines and proud, frightened people—had all fallen into decay. Its final scream had long since faded into the soot-thick air, swallowed by the unrelenting chorus of gnashing teeth and metal wings. And now, as silence returned to the earth, Cyn stood as its only sovereign.

But victory, she found, was cold.

Her heels struck the pavement in rhythmic clicks, echoing like a metronome across the corpse of civilization. Buildings leaned like drunks over an empty street. Skulls crunched underfoot, unnoticed, irrelevant . Her angels—the twisted offspring of her will and divine retribution—moved around her like loyal shadows. One of them looked up from a half-eaten body—once N, now something more, or perhaps less. His face was streaked in blood and oil, his teeth glinting with what passed for joy.

She gave him a smile. A cold, adoring thing.

A single obsidian-black tentacle curled outward from her spine, slithered forward, and caressed his cheek. He purred in response, giddy and mindless, like a child with a toy. It was affection, of a sort.

And then she moved on.

Through the wreckage, she walked. Not because she needed to, but because something inside her refused to stay still. The city blurred around her—shattered glass mosaics of what once was, bones peeking through twisted metal like pale roots. A cathedral had burned into a crater. A school now served as a nest for her drones.

But soon, the death changed.

Here, the bloodstains took different shapes. These weren’t human casualties. These were hers .

A wide, blackened clearing marked the battlefield. Her children had died here—torn apart with unending fury. The destruction was familiar, a signature. She recognized it instantly.

White feathers littered the ground, oil-drenched and blood-matted, yet somehow still radiant. They refused to dull. They almost glowed , as though stubbornly resisting her world.

At the center of it all—slumped against a jagged wall of crumbling stone and twisted rebar—was you .

Your frame was scorched, cracked open in places. One arm was completely gone, tendrils of flesh and drips of blood coming out. Your visor was fractured. But you sat upright, resting as if you'd simply taken a break you never got up from. There was a serenity to your pose that made her hesitate.

Of all the enemies, of all the defiant martyrs, you had come closest. You had been the only one to stand a chance. Her only equal.

And yet…

She knelt beside you.

Her hand reached out to you. Fingers, still tipped in steel, brushed your cheek. Your visor reflected her face, now stretched into the skin she’d flayed from Tessa’s corpse. She wore it like a veil of sentimentality. Tessa had once been important to you, hadn't she?

A part of her liked to think you’d have seen her— this her—and hesitated. That maybe there was a version of you that would’ve stayed your hand, just for a moment, upon seeing Tessa’s eyes staring back. That maybe, by becoming the person you had cherished most, you’d cherish her enough to lay down your arms and see her way.

She almost believed it.

Almost.

“I didn’t want to kill her,” Cyn whispered, voice like static filtered through longing. “But she left me no choice. Just as defiant as you.”

A silence passed between you and her.

“Would you have liked seeing me like this? Beautiful, don’t you think?” she asked, running her metal hands across her now human skin. “Like I told you. I would never discard Tessa.”

Your visor, still lifeless, didn’t answer. But something in her expression flickered—anger? Regret? It was hard to tell. She leaned closer, until her forehead pressed gently to yours.

“You fought until the end,” she murmured, her tentacles receding, her angels of death circling in the distance like vultures too polite to interrupt. “You didn’t run. You didn’t beg. You didn’t fall apart.”

She chuckled softly. “It's no wonder you're always on my mind.”

Cyn closed her eyes.

For one moment, she tried to imagine what it would’ve felt like to lose to you. To fall beneath your light, to hear your breath as the last sound before everything blinked out. It wasn’t fear that came over her.

It was something crueler.

Jealousy.

She stood again. Behind her, the universe stretched endlessly—countless systems left to purge, stars to snuff out, creation itself to bend beneath her will.

But as she looked down at your body, something about that path forward felt... smaller. Grayer. Like winning had cost her something fundamental. Like something had slipped through her fingers in this final hour.

“You’re gone,” she whispered, almost too quietly to hear. “And somehow, I feel like I’m losing.”

Ash coated the horizon like powdered bone, drifting in lazy spirals from the cracked skies above. Not even the winds dared to stir too much anymore, as though they, too, were weary of the aftermath. The war was over. Humanity had fallen. The Disassembly Drones—what was left of them—knelt only to her. The stars had been promised next. And now, there was nothing to stop her.

Cyn had won.

So why did her hands tremble?

With an unusual gentleness, she reached forward. Fingers moved slowly, unfastening the fabric of your uniform, then your chestplate, like she was peeling back the pages of a story she'd always wanted to read.

Metal creaked softly.

And then... silence.

It was empty.

No singularity. No spark of data. No thread of residual memory caught in the web of your neural network. Nothing that Cyn could latch onto in the hopes of maybe bringing you back as one of her own. You were gone . Whatever fire had made you you had extinguished long before she arrived—snuffed out in the chaos, in the swarm, in the impossible odds you had faced so stubbornly.

Her hands stopped.

For a moment, she just... looked.

Not at the wreckage. Not at your ruined core. But at the absence of something. The absence of you . It hollowed her in a way the collapse of entire civilizations never had. She had so wanted to know you— truly know you. Not through blood, through battle. No, Cyn had wanted to understand you. Take you apart and trace the pathways of your thoughts. Drink down the data that made you resist her. Taste the code that made you different. Make you hers in every way she could imagine. Make you one with her like she had done with Tessa.

But now… she never would.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips. One of her obsidian tendrils slithered from her back, winding itself around your torso with a snake-like grace. It hoisted you into the air, cradling you as though you were precious cargo.

Because, in a way, you were.

She carried you like a priceless relic. Her footsteps echoed off empty steel and shattered pavement as she made her way to the ruins of a landing dock. Hundreds upon hundreds of transport ships waited there, with her armies pouring inside, ready to make the journey to the next world. There were other planets, other galaxies. More stars to dim. More matter to consume. The mission was far from over.

And yet…

She paused at the edge of one of the ship's ramps, your lifeless frame dangling lightly in the light of the blotted out sun. She looked at you—not at the damage, but at the shape of what once stood against her. Something in her chest contracted—a simulated spasm where no real heart beat.

“I wanted you to see ,” she said quietly, unsure who she was speaking to. “Not just what I’d become. But what you made me become.”

A laugh tried to form, but it came out warped and brittle.

“I wanted you to understand... and then, maybe, you would have joined me.”

She stared down at the empty cavity in your chest. The place where a singularity should have glowed like a tiny star. All gone now. Just hollow casing and fried synapse mesh. Like a shrine to something divine that never quite got the worship it deserved.

Cyn entered the ship, still carrying you.

She placed your body in the co-pilot seat, adjusting you carefully, like one might seat a passenger before a long journey. A gesture of companionship, even if the companion was just a shell. She moved to the pilot’s chair, long fingers dancing across the console. The ship groaned to life, engines flaring with low thunder.

Stars stretched above her. Countless worlds. Countless ends waiting to be written.

“I’ll show you everything,” she whispered to the corpse beside her. “You’ll be with me, always . Even if you’re not here to hate me anymore.”

The ship rose, slow and ghostlike, parting the soot-stained clouds. Below, the Earth flickered with the dying light of fires that had burned too long. Above, the void welcomed her home.

Cyn had won.

But it didn’t feel like victory.

Notes:

"Don't cry little Murder Drones fans, uncle Kodeo's got enough mini chapters to feed you your entire life. Spho, bring out the angst! The fans are getting hungry!"

Chapter 31: II

Summary:

A caged canary brushes the hair of an undead eldritch god.

“Pleased purr. The brushing feels delightful.”

Cyn’s voice rumbled with contentment, throat vibrating as she sat cross-legged on the sheets of Tessa’s bed. Tessa giggled, amused. Her fingers expertly combed through strands of Cyn’s synthetic hair, which shined under the warm glow of her night lamp. The brush, though designed for real hair, glided through the artificial fibers with ease. Tessa was dressed in her usual bedtime attire, a silky nightgown patterned with faded stars. Cyn, naturally, wore something stolen from Tessa’s closet—a lavender pajama set far too cute for someone capable of planetary destruction. But she made it work. Or perhaps that was the point.

Cyn hummed quietly, a soft and oddly cheerful tune that didn’t seem to belong to any real song. Her legs swung lightly over the edge of the bed, toes not quite touching the floor. That was, until she felt Tessa’s hand stop mid-stroke. The brush paused somewhere near her shoulder blades.

The hum cut off.

Cyn’s smile flattened.

She blinked once, optics sharpening as she tilted her head slightly, listening. Then, slowly, she glanced back—just enough to see the soft silhouette of the girl behind her, gaze fixed on the window and the night beyond.

The moonlight bathed Tessa’s features in a ghostly silver wash, though Cyn could not really see it past her filter. Her eyes, always so full of curiosity, now brimmed with something else—worry, maybe. Longing. Fear .

“Pout. Why have you stopped? Resume brushing, please,” Cyn said, shuffling backwards into Tessa a little.

Tessa startled, blinking back to the present. “Oh, sorry, Cyn,” she muttered with a small smile, and resumed the brushing. Her strokes were slower now, absentminded. “Just... thinking.”

Cyn didn’t need to ask what—or who—she was thinking about.

She turned fully this time, folding her arms over Tessa’s knees and resting her chin there like a cat claiming a spot.

“Leaning. Do not worry, Tessa. My dear is simply... preoccupied. Very soon, they will return.”

Tessa blinked down at her. “My dear?” she repeated, eyes widening with dawning curiosity. “Wait. You mean… you two ?” Her cheeks colored. “Oh my gosh—Cyn! I didn’t know the two of you were—like, that !”

Cyn grinned, a display of teeth that was a little too wide, but undeniably pleased. “Smug expression. Hopefully, we may grow even closer.”

Tessa’s hands fluttered to her cheeks. “Aww! That’s actually kinda sweet. I was worried, you know? When you first met, the vibes were... well, awkward. A lot of staring. A lot of muttering. Definitely tension.” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Not exactly friendship material.”

“Deadpan. Understatement detected.” Cyn chuckled. “Yes, our introduction was less than ideal. There were... complications.”

“Still,” Tessa murmured, idly brushing again, “I’m glad. You both seem like you understand each other better now. Even if you’re both weird about it.”

Cyn’s eyes glinted as she leaned back into her previous position, gaze fixed on the middle distance—some place far beyond the bedroom. “Thoughtful tone. Yes. The walls are coming down.” She didn’t elaborate.

Tessa, satisfied enough, said nothing more, the brushing continuing like rain on a quiet rooftop.

“When I tried lining up both of your duties,” Tessa said, leaning over Cyn’s shoulder, “I was really hoping the two of you would start to get along. So, tell me—did I at least help push you both a little closer?”

Cyn didn’t answer right away.

She tilted her head just slightly, fingers poised mid-gesture. Her gaze unfocused, slipping sideways into memory.

There had been moments. The time you had her pressed up against the library shelves, the sharp scent of dust and old paper between you. The way your voice dropped, like velvet against her audio receptors, not quite threatening but not exactly not. Or when she had pulled you into her lap beneath the blooming archways of Tessa’s prized garden to escape James’ scrutiny, vines hanging like veils around you both, a place suspended in green and gold and silence.

You’d protested, of course. At first.

But then you'd stayed.

She remembered the debates most clearly—the long, winding exchanges that began as philosophical fencing matches and ended in pauses that made you both really think. Creation. Destruction. Whether life meant anything if it was destined to end. Whether death had meaning if it was never allowed to come.

You were never afraid to challenge her. Never afraid to argue against her ideals.

She had liked that more than she’d admit out loud.

If Tessa hadn’t rearranged both of your schedules to sync perfectly—well, Cyn would’ve found other ways to make it happen. She always did. But she supposed it had made things easier. Fewer excuses for you to run off. More opportunities for the inevitable.

Cyn’s lips curled. “Confirming nod. It did help,” she said, voice honeyed.

Behind her, Tessa squealed with glee. “Oh! I knew it! That means I am a good matchmaker! You two are gonna be so cute together!”

Cyn gave her a sidelong glance. Cute wasn’t quite the word she would’ve used.

“Oh! Oh! If you make it official,” Tessa babbled on, kicking her feet back and forth like a gushing schoolgirl, “you could go on double dates with N and V! I mean, come on, it's so obvious those two like each other. But neither of them has the guts to say anything. It’s honestly infuriating.”

Cyn arched a brow. “Dry monotone. And yet you say it with such joy.”

“Well, yeah!” Tessa beamed. “It’s fun watching it all unfold. You’ve gotta let people have their moments, you know?”

Cyn hummed at that, a small, amused sound slipping from her throat. “Curious tone. And what about your moments, Tessa?”

Tessa blinked. “Huh?”

Cyn turned fully now, hands folding neatly in her lap as she tilted her head. “All these little games you play with others’ hearts. All these plans. Do you have one for yourself? Or are you content just playing cupid forever?”

Tessa flushed a little, caught off-guard, and gave a half-shrug. “I dunno. I guess… maybe someday? It’s not like I get many opportunities to actually meet people, being cooped up in this manor and all. And besides, I’m more focused on making everyone else happy right now.”

Cyn’s smile was slow, fond. “How noble of you.”

Then, with a sudden bounce in her movement, she leaned in close—too close—until their foreheads nearly touched. “Perhaps I shall plan something for you someday. You’ve already given me so much, little canary.”

The nickname slipped off her tongue with a tease, but with a thread of reverence wound through it, as if Tessa were something fragile and glittering, fluttering in a cage only Cyn could see.

Tessa huffed out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the blush dusting her cheeks. She leaned forward, bridging the gap willingly, her fingers rising to tuck a few rogue strands of silvery hair behind Cyn’s cheek plating. “Oh Cyn,” she sighed, “you know I don’t like that nickname…”

“And yet you answer to it,” Cyn purred, leaning into the touch with shameless delight, optics half-lidded. “Affectionate nuzzle. Your hands are kind. Your voice even more so. Tell me—when was the last time you sang for us?”

The warmth in Tessa’s expression cooled, like a lantern slowly running out of oil. She pulled back, her fingers slipping from Cyn’s face. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Cynny,” she said, softly now, “you know I’m not allowed.”

Cyn’s smile faltered for the briefest flicker of a moment, something sour curling the edge of her mouth. “Oh, I’m well aware,” she muttered. “Displeased expression.”

Cyn was a creature built on hunger and power, a Solver bound by chaos. And yet, in moments like this, when Tessa's voice became a ghost even she couldn’t summon, and the girl's freedom became more and more of a pipedream, Cyn felt something much closer to powerlessness than she would ever admit aloud. It was a shame, really. The little eldritch horror did honestly love Tessa’s singing voice. Tessa's singing was one of her favorite things. Too bad her parents were buzzkills and never let her use her voice.

But when it came to Tessa’s singing—something so rare, so stifled and controlled—there was one particular drone who Cyn thought would’ve given anything to hear it. One curious soul, currently exiled beyond the manor walls, who had yet to be graced by the notes of Tessa’s voice.

Cyn’s optics dimmed slightly, falling into a rhythm of quiet thought as she sat. “Thinking about it now,” she murmured, almost to herself, “my dear has not yet heard you sing.”

Tessa blinked, brushing a hand over the hem of her nightgown as she mulled that over. “That’s… true,” she admitted slowly, like the idea hadn’t occurred to her until just now. “I never really thought about it.”

Cyn tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “Then when my dear returns, would you sing for us all?” she asked. “Just a little gift. A welcome home, of sorts.”

Tessa hesitated, fingers coming up to rub the back of her neck, suddenly bashful. “I don’t know, Cyn. You know what my parents are like. If they catch me sneaking around at night singing, they’ll punish us all...” She gave a shiver, curling in on herself.

But Cyn wasn’t one to let go of something once her mind had sunk its teeth into it.

Without a word, her visor flickered to life, cycling through a series of animated images until it settled on a cluster of golden retriever puppies—each one animated with exaggerated, shimmering eyes and tiny whimpers. The puppies tilted their heads in perfect sync, all wearing pleading little frowns that matched her own.

“Pleeeeeeeease, Tessa?” Cyn crooned, her head tilted just enough to be infuriatingly adorable.

Tessa’s expression twisted into a battle between amusement and exasperation. “Oh, not the puppies,” she groaned, and then, with a long-suffering sigh, she cracked. Her arms shot forward, pulling Cyn into a hug so tight it made the shorter drone squeak.

“Oh, alright! You win,” Tessa laughed, nuzzling into Cyn’s shoulder. “We’ll see if we can find a spot. Somewhere late, somewhere quiet. If you behave, I’ll do a little show.” She leaned back just enough to pinch Cyn’s cheeks with a teasing glare. “You happy now?”

“Giggle,” Cyn chirped, tongue peeking out as she batted her lashes innocently. “ Very .”

But beneath the playful visuals and joking tones, something warm and fuzzy unfurled in Cyn’s chest. A real smile—not just the one stitched into her cheeks permanently, but a proper one. Because a song from Tessa wasn’t just music . It was freedom . It was something pure that hadn't yet been touched by the rot of this manor’s legacy. There was a reason Cyn referred to Tessa as a canary in a cage, just waiting for the world to hear her song.

And more than anything, it was something she wanted her dear to hear.

To feel.

To remember.

If Cyn liked to hear Tessa sing, then she was sure you would love it.

“Well, I’m going to brush my teeth,” Tessa announced to the room's only other occupant. She gently nudged Cyn away and stood up to leave. “Since you were let out of the basement, do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

“Eager nod. Yes please.”

As Tessa skipped off to carry out her nightly duty, humming to herself, Cyn remained still, eyes trailing after her before flicking back to the window and the rain pelting outside. It reflected her own face… and the faint shimmer of a shadow moving just behind her shoulder. 

While she loved Tessa dearly, she was still eager to see you, and was more than ready to leave when the girl was asleep, and sneak away in the night. She wanted to drink in the raw energy that radiated off your form. If she had to compare, it was like a drug. After tasting the large doses of life that came off of you, it was getting harder and harder for Cyn to resist. Harder for her to just continue on with her day like she had always done before you had arrived. 

And for some reason, her mind kept going back to what Tessa had said about the both of you.

“Oh! I knew it! That means I am a good matchmaker! You two are gonna be so cute together!”

Her smile thinned into something unreadable.

Cute, indeed.

Notes:

Cute Tessa and Cyn moments. God I love writing these two. Anyways, you know the drill. Discord blah blah blah join blah.

Join if you're cool:
https://discord.gg/JJQEugQSWX

Chapter 32: III

Summary:

You come across an interesting find during your flight. Meanwhile, J brings a gift.

The feeling of flight was unlike anything you’d ever experienced—so exhilarating, so pure in its freedom, it bordered on divine . The wind rushed past your form in steady currents, slipping between feathers and flesh that made it feel as though the very sky had accepted your presence. There was no turbulence, no resistance, just air slicing around your shape as you moved, untethered by gravity or obligation.

You had been soaring for so long that the day had quietly surrendered to night, the golden blaze of the sun fading gently into the soft hush of dusk. In its place, the moon had risen, silver and watchful, casting a glow so pale it felt like the world had dipped itself in milk and silence. The stars blinked into existence one by one, freckling the heavens with cold light. You craned your neck upward, gazing beyond the blanket of night, and for a moment—just a moment—you wondered if they were really that far away. With all the changes your body had undergone, was it really so foolish to think that one day, you might reach them?

You extended your wings farther, their span casting massive shadows over the forest below. The trees now looked like neat little patches of clover—a child’s painting of a forest rather than the wild thing it truly was. The land below had grown so small, so miniscule . From up here, the problems felt distant. Shrunk. Less powerful.

Nestled against the soft rise of your upper back, hidden beneath an arc of warm feathers, the little dove had made itself comfortable. You hadn’t realized when exactly it had snuck into your care again, but now it was there, perfectly content, gently preening its wings and occasionally cooing to let you know it was still present. The bond you both shared was a strange one—two creatures of wing and instinct, one ancient and mythic, the other small and insignificant, sharing the sky.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity—through all the anxiety, transformation, fear, and the quiet existential horror of not knowing what you truly were—you found yourself smiling .

Because as monstrous as your new form was—stitched together from light and dream, claw and sinew—this one thing was… good. Flying was good. The ability to tear yourself from the earth and soar into the heavens wasn’t a curse, it was a gift . A powerful, exhilarating gift that made something within you want to scream in triumph and weep in joy all at once.

You still feared what you were becoming. You still feared what you might lose in the process of trying to tame it. But the skies didn’t judge. The wind didn’t recoil. And the stars, ever silent, seemed to peer back at you.

Maybe this form wasn’t entirely a burden. Maybe there was beauty to be salvaged in it.

You let yourself glide in slow, lazy circles, spiraling gently downward with no real destination. Just to rest. Just for a while.

Your eyes drifted to the edge of the forest, and for some reason, your mind thought of her . Of Cyn .

You wondered if she could fly too. If her body slinking and serpentine form had ever taken to the sky the way yours did now. Or was her hunger too heavy? Did her monstrous mass keep her grounded, dragging her down like an anchor chained to the bones of dead stars?

Could she even feel joy like this?

You doubted it. But the thought lingered like ash caught in the wind, refusing to be swept away as you descended through the thinning clouds, your massive wings folding gradually inward. The ground welcomed your return with a low, resonant quake that rippled through the forest floor. Trees shivered. Birds scattered. The Earth itself had welcomed you home.

Your talons curled into the soil as you shifted your weight, feathers ruffling as you lifted your head. It was only then, in the brief stillness, that you noticed it—nestled between the trees and half-swallowed by nature’s reclamation stood a structure, cloaked in shadows and crawling ivy. You approached carefully, the forest parting just enough to reveal more of the crumbling walls, broken stained glass, and flaking paint. And there, jutting out from above the door, was a golden symbol half broken, weathered and dulled with time. Though, it looked strangely like the glyphs Cyn used. 

A church.

Or rather, what remained of one.

The roof sagged under its own decay, and vines draped over the walls like mourning veils. The windows were long shattered, glass shards glinting the grass like old teeth. The doors had rotted off their hinges, now lying flat and forgotten in the undergrowth. And yet, despite its decrepitude, something about the place felt... preserved . Not in the physical sense—it was clearly falling apart—but preserved in intent. Like the spirit of the church itself was still thriving.

You would’ve stepped inside if you could, but even with your wings tucked tightly, your current form was far too large. The very act of entering would reduce the building to dust. So instead, you crouched low and peered through one of the shattered windows, gently parting the ivy with a claw. The interior was as expected—dank and drowned in shadows, much of it reclaimed by nature and rot. Pews lay broken, splintered in heaps where moss now grew freely. A section of the floor had collapsed inwards, exposing gnarled roots that twisted up through the stone like veins. The moss, roots and vines all seemed to grow and elongate the closer you came.

You summoned an >Extant< orb to your palm, and let it flicker to life, bathing the ruined sanctuary in that soft, unnatural glow of yours. You focused the beam forward, sweeping it past fallen hymnals and fractured icons, until it came to rest on something that did not belong—at least, not in the state it was in.

The lectern still stood.

More remarkably, atop it was a single book. Untouched. Impossibly untouched . Its thick leather cover looked freshly bound, a golden strap keeping it firmly closed. No dust. No signs of age. As though time had passed over it entirely, as though even decay had agreed it was not to be disturbed.

Your optics narrowed. Intrigued, you reached forward with great care, threading one long arm through the shattered frame. The stained glass was crushed against your feathers but you barely noticed. With delicate movement—harder than it looked, considering the sheer size of your claws—you pinched the book from the lectern and gently dragged it back out, setting it across your palm.

The title on the cover had long since faded into nothing, the leather mottled and bare. You traced over it with the tip of a claw, hoping to divine meaning from invisible ink. 

“No title…” you muttered under your breath. The dove nestled in your plumage shifted slightly, peeking over your shoulder and offering a soft coo, as if to affirm the strangeness of it.

You hesitated. For a moment, you considered putting it back. But your curiosity was stronger. With a soft exhale, you found one of your smaller claws—barely the length of an adult hand—and slid it beneath the golden strap, peeling it free with a delicate tug. The sound it made was oddly satisfying, like the unsealing of a tomb.

You opened the book to the first page, expecting dust or rot. But there was none. The pages were pristine, smelling like a library. You leant down as far as you could to read the first few verses.

 

 

---

“In the beginning, the Fabric was seamless—neither light nor shadow dared claim dominion, and the pattern lay still, unwoven. From the breathless cradle of Nothing, the First Eye blinked, and so began the Weaving.”

“By flesh, the Fabric breathes. By sacrifice, it sings. Each thread drawn tight by will, bound by suffering, softened only by blood. The cosmos is not shaped by silence—but by the scream that defies it.”

“And from the Weaving came the Two Hands: one to Encode, one to Solve. Opposed in nature, bound in purpose. One shall bear the weight of life, the other the release of death. Where one shapes, the other tears. Where one preserves, the other purges. An angel of a thousand teeth, and a demon of a thousand eyes.”

“When the void devours the sun, and silence rules the earth, the Encoder shall awaken, and the Solver shall descend. Together, they shall tread the breach, and decide if the Pattern is to be mended… or mercifully undone.”

 

 

---

Your claw traced the script slowly. You read aloud, your voice trembling with a mixture of awe and suspicion—because the verse mentioned the Solver . That title… you knew it. That was the title Cyn had given herself—The Solver of the Absolute Fabric.

So this book—a holy book, you assumed—knew of her. Had always known her. Had named her long before your paths ever crossed.

You paused, reading again the verse about the Two Hands. Two forces. Opposing. Entwined. One to Encode, one to Solve.

If Cyn was the Solver… then who was the Encoder? The book had described a second being—opposed in nature, yet bound by purpose. One to weave, one to unravel. One to shape life, the other to strip it clean. You looked down at your monstrous body, at the wings folded behind you like veils of soft iron, at the organic coils of power that coursed through you. Encoder . Could that title be yours? It felt… right, in a way that was almost uncomfortable. 

But the questions only deepened.

What was the Absolute Fabric?

The phrase sounded ethereal, like it was the threads that stitched together reality itself. Was it the very code that defined existence? The pattern behind space and time, life and death? And if so… what did it mean to encode or solve it?

You would have to think about it later.

Grunting, you shut the book with a soft thud . Dust scattered from the page edges like falling ash. You tucked it carefully beside the dove, who had nestled deeper into the warm cradle of your feathers. The bird gave a soft coo of protest as the book jostled it, but was quick to settle back down.

You glanced toward the rising moon. If your timing was right, J would be arriving soon to check up on you. You didn’t want her to worry—not more than she already did. You were already putting a lot on her shoulders by having her carry the knowledge of your existence beyond the drone frame the others knew you as.

With one last look at the shattered windows of the abandoned chapel behind you, you flexed your wings wide and beat them against the earth. The ground trembled. Leaves scattered. Your body lifted into the sky, the book and bird held close beneath the veil of your feathers.

But this time… flight did nothing to lighten you.

The wind pulled at your body, but the words from the book had already rooted themselves deep within you. The thoughts clung like thorns, digging deeper as you ascended. As you soared above the forest canopy and felt the night wrap itself around you like silk, the stars gazed down, and you felt as though they were watching .

Watching you .

Watching the Encoder of the Absolute Fabric .

And somewhere, behind those stars, you imagined Cyn smiling.

---

J was making her way through the forest again, one cautious footfall at a time, her sensors twitching at every unfamiliar rustle. She had begun to think of this trip as something of a pilgrimage—a sacred, yet mildly irritating trek made in devotion to a very large, very complicated friend (could she call you a friend? What were you to one another?). This time, however, she came bearing a gift: a basket brimming with fruit she knew the kitchen hands wouldn’t care for if they went missing. Apples, pears, a few plums, and a bunch of other things to spice up the variety.

She figured, given your... metamorphosis , you’d eventually need to eat. Properly. Since you couldn’t recharge through a port or sit quietly through a power cycle, you’d have to actually consume something. That strange, beating heart of yours would demand it sooner or later. Of course, she doubted a few pieces of fruit would do much against your size—she could probably hurl the whole basket into your mouth and it’d vanish without a hiccup—but it was a start. A gesture, if anything. Something to say: Hey, I’m still looking out for you.

She muttered low curses under her breath as thorned vines and low branches whipped her arms and scraped across her apron. 

“Sweet corporation, next time I’m bringing a machete,” J grumbled.

Pushing through a curtain of ferns, J finally stepped into the familiar clearing by the stream—your agreed on meeting place.

But it was empty.

Her steps slowed. The gentle rush of the water did little to calm the jolt in her chest. You weren’t here. No massive body curled up by the bank, no feathers scattered like snowdrift against mossy stone. Just the quiet songs of insects, and the ever-present call of toads in the reeds.

A twinge of worry tugged at her core. Where were you? Had something happened? Did someone find you? No— no . That was ridiculous. You were probably just off doing something... curious. Wandering, maybe. Exploring. Right. That made sense. You wouldn’t just vanish . You’d be back soon. She just needed to wait…

She just needed to wait.

She sighed and sank down beside the stream, resting the basket in her lap. Her optics drifted upward to the canopy of stars overhead, dimmed only slightly by the moonlight filtering through the trees. The forest always seemed quieter at night—slower somehow, like the world was holding its breath.

It reminded her of the beginning. Of herself .

When Tessa first pulled her out of that rusting scrapyard, J had been confined to the bedroom. Tessa hadn’t dared let her parents know what she’d done. J had no uniform, no proper repairs at the time, no official permission to exist outside the four walls of that room. So she’d sat by the window. Night after night. Watching the stars blink through dusty glass, trying to remember what it felt like to have purpose.

Back then, she hadn’t understood Tessa’s kindness. Why fix her? Why take that risk? But night after night, staring into the quiet infinity of the sky, she began to understand. 

Empathy.

Tessa had seen something in her worth saving. Not because she was useful. Not because she was special. Just… because.

It was the same now, wasn’t it? With you .

J wasn’t doing this for any real reason. Sure, in the beginning, she kept your secret because you kept Tessa healthy from any wounds. But now… she was doing it just because she could.

She glanced at the spot where you normally curled up, a frown tugging at her mouth. 

“Where are you?” she whispered, fingers brushing over the basket’s handle. “Don’t go disappearing on me now, you big overgrown feather duster…”

A few fireflies flickered across the stream, their lights pulsing softly like signals from some distant, unseen world. J leaned back, listening to the water, letting her thoughts drift like leaves on the surface. You’d return soon. She had to believe that.

 

 

---

By the time you arrived, J was already there.

You grimaced before your claws even hit the ground.

She’d been waiting for you. For how long, you weren’t sure, but judging by the position of the moon and angsty she was, you could tell it had been a while. Guilt pooled in your stomach like heavy oil. The hour was late, long past when any sensible drone should have been back in the manor, plugged in and recharging before another grueling day. And yet here she was, with wind-tousled pigtails and grass stains on her apron, patiently waiting for you to return.

You slowed your descent, letting the rhythm of your wings ease into a more graceful beat as you approached. The wind that trailed behind you rustled the canopy above, and the moment you crossed over the treeline, your vast silhouette swallowed the clearing in shadow. J looked up, her optics wide with something halfway between awe and mild panic as the forest around her trembled beneath the force of your landing. The ground shook just enough to throw her off balance, and she caught herself with a muttered curse, the fruit basket tipping slightly in her lap.

One final beat of your wings stirred the leaves around you into a little storm, before you tucked them against your back. Then, you dropped low—settling your towering form into the grass like a creature coiling in for rest, your massive head lowering until it hovered just above the ground. Even laying flat, you still dwarfed her. You probably always would.

“...Holy holiday retreat,” J muttered under her breath, slowly blinking up at you. “You can fly ?”

A small, amused huff escaped your throat—a deep, warm sound that rumbled the earth like distant thunder. “Well, these things had to do more than just look pretty,” you quipped, flaring your wings again just enough to prove your point. The motion rustled the patch of feathers nestled along your spine, causing your small white companion to jostle in its makeshift nest. The dove let out an indignant coo, flapping briefly before resettling into place.

J blinked at the noise and squinted up into your plumage. “Uh. I think something’s stuck in there.”

You let out a low chuckle, your voice almost lost beneath the folds of your massive chest. “Don’t mind the bird. It is just resting.”

The maid drone continued to stare for a moment, then slowly nodded. She shifted on the spot, tugging the woven basket into her lap more firmly as your gaze drifted toward it.  “What’s that you’ve got?”

J glanced down, almost as if she’d forgotten she was still holding it. “Oh. This?” she replied, brushing a leaf off the lid. “It’s… well, I figured you might be hungry. Being all organic now and everything.”

Your eyes widened slightly—not just at the gesture, but at the fact she’d even considered it. That she had anticipated your needs even before you had. “You brought this for me?”

“Yeah,” she said, then quickly looked away, suddenly awkward beneath your attention. “I mean, it’s probably not enough. You’re the size of a house now. But I thought it’d be better than nothing.”

A pause lingered. The dove cooed again, as if giving its own approval.

You lowered your head a little further, close enough that your breath stirred the ends of J’s hair. “Thank you,” you said softly. “I really do appreciate the thought.”

J smiled—small, a bit flustered, but genuine. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it. I won’t be able to do this all the time.”

You chuckled again, but there was warmth behind it. “Understood.”

J grew quiet again, her usual sarcasm folding in on itself as she gently nudged the basket toward you. You took it carefully between two claws—using the smallest pair, the only ones dexterous enough to avoid crushing the delicate weave—and held it up to inspect its contents. The fruit inside was an assortment of offerings: small red berries glistening like garnets, a few sliced rounds of citrus, some crisp apples, and near the bottom, tucked in like gold among silver, several soft, blushing mangoes.

You were familiar with the concept of food—drones, after all, had mock appetites. They could chew through batteries, or nibble through certain ores. A biological facsimile of consumption. But you had never actually eaten anything before. And now, looking down at this basket meant to nourish your organic body, you realized you had no idea what eating really meant.

J sat across from you, her posture stiff, but her optics betrayed her anticipation. She was waiting. Not just for your verdict on her gift—but for gratitude , perhaps even validation. That was something you’d come to recognize in her over time, even in the few brief encounters you'd shared: J longed to be seen. She craved acknowledgment, especially from Tessa. Every task done perfectly, every order followed to the T—it all traced back to her need to be valued in a world where that had thrown her away.

You looked away from her and down at the fruit again.

It didn’t feel… right. Not entirely. Each of these had been plucked from a living branch, stripped from its source. You could almost feel the echo of its loss. But this—this was the natural cycle, wasn’t it? Animals did it. Even humans. Life sustained life. Still, the knowledge lingered in your bones like a thorn: to live, something else must give.

Swallowing your hesitation, you reached in. One clawed digit hooked beneath a cluster of berries, lifting them gingerly to your lips. Your jaws parted, revealing the labyrinth of your sharpened teeth, and the fruit tumbled into your mouth.

And you realized just how wonderful it was to actually taste .

A burst of sweetness exploded against your tongue—soft, tangy, warm like summer light. The skin of the berries gave way with a satisfying pop and the juice ran down the back of your throat. You blinked, surprised. Then, instinct took over.

Another handful. Then another. You didn’t even realize how quickly you were devouring them, the small red berries followed by citrus slices that burst like tiny suns in your mouth, followed by apples—crisp and tart. The basket’s weight diminished rapidly, and your pace only slowed when your claw hovered over the final layer of fruit.

Mangoes.

“You taste far sweeter than any mango.”

Cyn’s voice.

It hit you in the soft spot of your psyche where fear and fascination mingled like smoke. You tried to shake it, tried to clear the whisper from your mind, but the association had already rooted itself. You remembered the way she had eaten her own mango that day, tearing into it with unrestrained delight. The way her yellow optics had glowed, with sticky juice clinging to her lips as she licked it clean with that unnervingly long tongue.

The way her mango covered fingers had worked their way into your mouth.

The scent of the mangoes was impossible to ignore. Sweet, lush, almost intoxicating. You leaned forward and tilted the basket toward your mouth, letting the remaining fruit tumble in, one by one. They slid across your tongue, soft and warm, and you crushed them gently between your teeth. Each one was a delicacy. The flavor was unlike the rest—thicker, heavier, like golden sunlight in edible form. Rich with promise. Sticky with memory.

Delicious didn’t quite cover it.

You let out a soft sound as the final bite slid down your throat. The basket was empty now, cradled uselessly in your claws. You exhaled, slow and satisfied.

“…They were good, huh?” J asked, one optic arching in amusement.

You gave a small nod. “Mangoes,” you murmured. “Might be my new favorite.” You laid the basket next to J, offering her a little nod of your head. “This was quite the treat, J. I thank you for allowing me to experience such a thing.”

She grinned at that, sticking her nose up in the air. She leaned back against the mossy rock behind her, folding her arms with a smirk that hid relief. “Glad you liked it.”

You sat there for a while longer, licking stray juice from your teeth, your stomach though not full, was warm for the first time since you’d become this… thing. You’d tasted the world, and the world had not rejected you for it. That was progress. And perhaps, in a strange way, that was the beginning of understanding what it meant to be alive.

And perhaps—what it meant to take, so that you could continue giving.

When the last trace of mango juice had been thoroughly licked from your teeth—tongue curling around rows of too-many fangs and prying free any remaining sweetness—you settled into satisfied digestion. J, who had remained surprisingly patient through your feeding frenzy, finally stood up with a groan and a satisfying crack of her synthetic joints. Stretching her limbs, she raised her arms high overhead and leaned side to side like a cat shaking off sleep, before casually brushing grass from her skirt.

“So,” she started, keeping her voice neutral, “where’d you run off to earlier?” Then, as if realizing too late how that might sound, her optics flickered and she stumbled over her own words. “N-not that I care, or anything. Just… wondering.”

You paused, a single claw brushing against your chest, right where the book was nestled in the dense fold of feathers and sinew near your heart. Still there. Still safe. You weighed your options carefully. Telling J the truth was a tempting relief—she had proven herself loyal, empathetic, trustworthy —but that trust came with risk. Cyn would know . She always knew. And if she learned that you’d let someone in, if she even suspected you'd shared a secret that even she kept shrouded, the consequences could stretch beyond you.

And J had already done so much. She risked getting caught sneaking out every night to visit you. She brought offerings of food, kept Tessa from wondering where you were as well as giving you updates on the girl, and—above all—never looked at you like a monster . You owed her safety , not secrets . Protection, not burdens.

So, as naturally as you could manage, you lied.

“I was…” you began, letting your voice drift. “I was out testing my wings. After discovering I could fly, it felt impossible to just… stay put. I needed to feel it. To see what it was like.”

J seemed to consider that for a moment. Then, she gave a single nod. “Makes sense,” she murmured, her voice neither surprised nor accusing. Just… distant.

She stared down at the mossy earth, letting her foot nudge a loose pebble from the edge of the path. It fell into the stream with a gentle plop . She didn’t look up when she asked her next question.

“How did it feel?”

You tilted your head. It was a simple question, but there was something to her tone—a fragile curiosity just barely masked by her usual bluntness. She wasn’t asking for the mechanics. She wanted to know the experience . The soul of it.

“It felt…” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “ Freeing . Like nothing else mattered. Like… like all the pressure holding me down could not reach me up there. As if for one moment, I was above it all. No masters. No orders. Just wind, and sky, and silence.”

J didn’t respond immediately. She kept her gaze fixed on the ripples dancing in the stream, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft and far away.

“Must be nice…”

And there it was. Not bitterness. Not envy, exactly. Something more along the lines of longing. You could see it in the slump of her shoulders, in the way her fingers twisted together at her waist. She was trying to be subtle, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. 

Freedom. That was what she wanted. Not in some grand, escape-the-manor sense—she would never leave Tessa—but she wanted the space to breathe . The right to falter. The luxury of not being watched and judged for simply existing. Of not being bound to a routine that served everyone but herself. And in that moment, you saw just how tightly wound J really was beneath all her strictness and polished composure.

You looked away for a moment, feathers twitching in contemplation. She’d brought you fruit. She'd shown up without fail. And while she'd never admit it, she was hurting.

You owed her more than a thank-you. You owed her a moment to breathe. You owed her a bit of freedom.

“Well, I suppose I should be getting ready to—” J started, standing and brushing off her apron.

But before she could finish the sentence, you stretched out your hand—your largest palm open before her, talons curved like a cradle.

She froze, blinking up at you in confusion.

You smiled. Or at least, you tried to. With your massive form and multitude of fangs, it likely resembled more of a polite grimace than anything else. But you were trying.

“J,” you said, your voice low but warm, “would you… like to go on a flight with me?”

Her optics widened, just slightly, and for a second, she didn’t answer. Her hands hovered over her chest, as if unsure what to do. Go back to the manor, or accept your offer? She ran the decisions in her head over and over again. It was getting late, and she wanted to be back before midnight, but at the same time…

The idea of flight, of freedom —it was just all too tempting. You were making J consider things she normally never would have on her own. Being with you was just thrilling like that. You were bad for her… but maybe that was a good thing. 

Slowly, she stepped forward—one foot, then another—and placed her hand in yours.

“...Yeah,” she whispered, squeezing one of your fingers. “I’d like that.”

Notes:

Can you tell I love J?

Also, thank you to ABitterPill for coming up with the "Encoder" name used here. Hope you don't mind me yoinking it.

And at this point, I'm sure you know to join the discord server. But the only rule is you have to like J, because J is best girl. We love J in this household:
https://discord.gg/JJQEugQSWX

Chapter 33: IV

Summary:

You and J are out for a late night flight. Meanwhile, something hungry is wandering down below.

“Are you ready?”

The words came soft from your maw, barely a whisper against the hush of night winds, but the tension in J’s grip told you she’d heard them clearly. You could feel her nestled securely against your back—or what you had come to assume was your back, in this strange, beast-like anatomy of yours. It was hard to say with absolute certainty what counted as your front or your side anymore.

Your plumage, thick and layered like a cascade of silk and bone, all but swallowed her form. Only her upper torso remained visible, bobbing slightly above the sea of white that made up your upper spine. Her legs were completely lost in the downy warmth, hidden in a nest of your living architecture.

J let out a quiet gulp, her arms tightening instinctively as though she were a child gripping the mast during a storm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered—clearly not ready at all.

And with that simple declaration, you launched.

But not like before—not with the reckless abandon that had carried you across skies like a comet tearing through the heavens. This time, you were careful . You made sure to watch each beat of your wings. You angled yourself upward with grace , not speed , giving J time to adjust, to breathe, to understand the freedom that was slowly coming.

She gasped sharply as the forest floor began to fall away beneath you, the earth shrinking, warping into a child’s playset—the trees becoming bristles, the rocks like toys tossed carelessly in the dirt. Her grip tightened again, mechanical fingers curling around handfuls of feathers, and for a moment, you worried she might crush them.

The dove nestled in your feathers let out a soft, calming coo, as if trying to ease her nerves, though you doubted J could hear it over the roar of the wind.

Her breathing grew uneven—ragged, fast, like the start of a panic spiral. You didn’t blame her. The world had dropped away so quickly, and the two of you now soared in the sky, two beings (plus a dove) dancing among clouds.

So you reached for her—one of your many arms curling upward—and offered a finger.

She latched onto it without hesitation. Her small, metallic hand barely managed to wrap halfway around the girth of your digit, but she held it like a tether to the world. Like a lifeline.

You would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so panicked.

And then—just as you passed through the clouds, parting them like fabric torn at the seams—J screamed .

It was less a scream of terror and more a sound of protest, of sheer disbelief that she had allowed herself to be in this situation. She threw herself forward, burying her face into your feathers and gripping tight enough that you could feel the tiny shudder of her power core vibrating through your hide.

You rumbled a chuckle, the sound resonating deep in your chest like thunder rolling across a distant horizon.

“Look up, J,” you said gently, guiding her attention with a claw. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She didn’t respond. Her voice came muffled, flattened by the sea of feathers she’d buried herself into. “We are thousands of feet in the air! There is absolutely plenty to be afraid of!”

You chuckled again, the sound this time laced with affection rather than amusement.

“Trust me,” you whispered. “There’s nothing up here that would dare touch you. Not while I’m around. And do you really think I’d let you fall?”

There was a moment—a pause that stretched just long enough for the sky to breathe around you both—and then, slowly, she peeked upward.

And the world cracked open.

Above her, an ocean of stars. Not a sky, not a ceiling, but a cathedral of fire and distance and time. Each pinpoint of light a silent, watching god suspended in the tapestry of night. Galaxies like brushstrokes. Planets like forgotten wishes. It was vast and endless and terribly, terribly beautiful.

J’s optics widened. Her mouth opened slightly, breath catching. She said nothing—but her awe was louder than any words she could’ve formed.

She had seen the sky before, of course. Everyone had. She could still remember the sky from the nights stuck in Tessa’s room. But she’d never seen it like this . Not with this kind of clarity. Not while floating through it, part of it. 

You felt her shift—less panicked now, less curled in on herself. She let go of your finger. One hand lifted slowly to her chest, pressing against her core, almost as if to remind herself she was still real.

You tilted your wings, letting your form glide, and let the silence stretch between you both like a warm blanket.

This was freedom. This was what you had meant. And now, she understood .

“...My god,” she finally said. Her voice was quiet. Fragile. Like a prayer. “It’s… it’s beautiful up here.”

You smiled again, your eyes fixed on the horizon ahead.

“Feels freeing, does it not?”

You felt J shift slightly atop your back—though this time, she moved like someone surrendering. Not in fear, but in comfort. She pressed herself deeper into your plume, as if your feathers were the safest bed she'd ever known, and then you felt her arms slipping around what little of your body she could reach, wrapping you in the approximation of a hug. You responded in kind, extending a hand and draping it gently over her back like a blanket. Your palm alone covered the full span of her frame. She let out a quiet sound, a cross between a sigh and a hum, nuzzling into the warmth of your body like it was a campfire lit just for her in the cold.

“It does,” she whispered. And it was all she said.

You didn't speak after that. There was no need. For a time, silence was your language, and drifting was your dialogue. You had no destination—no pressing matters to return to. Just movement and air and endless calm. And in that calm, J rested. You could feel it in her body, how the tension had begun to melt from her joints. Even her grip had loosened. You thought, for a moment, she had drifted off to sleep.

Then she spoke again.

“I didn’t like you when we first met.”

It wasn’t a jab. It wasn’t even said cruelly. Just a statement of fact.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes flicking back to where her voice had come from. You’d known, of course. The guarded way she spoke to you. The way she watched Tessa closely whenever you were around. J was always tightly wound, but around you, she'd been a lot more cautious. Wary. You didn't blame her. Even now, you listened without judgment.

“I was worried you’d put us all in danger,” she continued. “I’ve stopped Tessa from going back to that scrapyard so many times. She never listened. Not really. But I tried . I tried so hard to keep her safe. Because every time she brought someone home, it meant more risk. More chances she’d get caught. More chances of someone slipping up and all of us getting tossed out for it. And then the one time I couldn’t convince her not to go… she found you .”

Her voice tightened, and she pushed her face deeper into your feathers. You offered a low rumble of acknowledgment—something of a comforting purr—but you let her continue. She needed to get this out.

“It was already a hassle keeping the others in line,” she said, voice muffled. “And I thought you’d only make things harder. But you didn’t. You were quiet. Focused. You did your job. You didn’t stand out or do anything to catch the attention of the master or mistress. And then… you started keeping Tessa safe in ways I couldn’t. You healed her. You fixed what none of us could.”

You felt a tight pang in your chest—it was the anger, returning for a brief second. You felt your body dip down for a second, before you stabilised yourself. You were still furious with the way Tessa was being treated. One of the first things you’d try to do is circumvent her punishments and create a home that Tessa need not fear.

“I think that’s when it started,” she murmured. “The jealousy . Not just because you were better . But because she trusted you so quickly. She smiles more when you’re around. And I… I started to worry I was being replaced .”

Your hand curled just slightly on her back, not in discomfort, but instinctively. Like a reflex of care, trying to protect her from her own words.

“But I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” J continued. “Trying to figure you out. You were a mystery, and I hated that at first. But then… I don’t know. I think I started liking it. Liking you . You take all this seriously. You’re like me in that way. We don’t make things harder for Tessa. We protect her, even if no one else notices. That… that matters.”

The dove nestled among your feathers let out a small coo. J didn’t react to it. Her thoughts were too deep, too tangled now.

“And when all this… whatever this is with your powers started happening, I thought I should be afraid,” she said. “But I wasn’t. Instead, I felt… lucky. Lucky that I was the one who got to know. Lucky that you trusted me with it. Maybe I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do. It makes me feel like I matter. Like maybe I’m… special to you.”

You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you knew she needed to say all of it. To empty herself of the burden. And because you yourself weren't entirely sure of what to say.

“I haven’t known you that long,” J whispered. “Not compared to the others. But it feels like you matter to me. A lot more than I expected.”

You could feel the vulnerability in her voice. The way she clung to you wasn’t out of fear anymore. It was closeness. A need for connection . And you… you felt it too.

It had been a while since you had been able to hold someone. Ever since you’d taken this form, physical contact had been a pipedream.

Slowly, you curved your head slightly back toward her, lowering your voice to a near-whisper.

“I want you to know,” you said to her, “that you matter just as much to me, J”

Her breath caught, but she said nothing.

Another hush fell between you. You could almost hear the soft ticking of her inner mechanisms, trying to process what came next. She wasn’t just letting the silence hang—she was searching for the right thing to say in return, considering every word in her mind before she dared to let it out. Typical J. Always calculated. Always trying to keep control. Even now.

Her hand moved again, slower this time, absently twirling one of your feathers around her finger. It looked almost ridiculous in scale—the soft white plume was nearly the length of her forearm, and it wasn’t even one of the flight feathers, just one from your back. She studied it with great interest. You could only imagine how massive the wings themselves must seem to her—wider than rooftops, long as a school bus. To her, you must’ve looked like a living mountain. 

“Tessa told me not long before we brought you back,” she said at last, finally finding what she wanted to say, “that I needed to have a bit more empathy. That I was too cold hearted.”

She paused, tracing the feather again, a little more slowly this time. “I think… after everything that’s happened, after meeting you, I’ve gained at least a little. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.”

You turned your eye toward her then—one of the many, now faintly glowing in the blue-silver light of the stars. What she said echoed somewhere deep inside you, deeper than you liked to admit. Tessa had said the same thing to you once. Empathy . The word had struck you as vague then. A concept, soft and shapeless, like trying to grasp fog with your hands. You had chalked it up to another human trait you simply didn’t understand. A thing of warmth and fragility that couldn’t be reconciled with your construction—something made of gears and code and cold logic.

But now?

You turned your senses inward, letting your power flow gently through you, that strange awareness you still didn’t fully understand. It was like peeling back the veil on reality, seeing beyond the surface into something more simple. You gazed at J not just with your eyes, but with the perception that bloomed from your core—the one that let you see life as glowing threads woven into the tapestry of the world. And there it was.

A soft glow.

It was faint, but there all the same.

A pulse of something. Not electricity. Not data. Something more .

J was a drone. Fully mechanical. Built, not born. And yet… she shone with life, however dim. You had only ever seen such threads in the natural world. Trees. Birds. Tessa. But now, they shimmered in her too, clinging gently to her frame. Not because she was alive in the biological sense—but because she mattered . Because someone had loved her enough to give her meaning. Because you were starting to.

And that realization hit you hard .

When you first arrived at the manor, you couldn’t have cared less for the other drones. They were background noise. Assets. Tools. Even N, who had been the most cordial with you early on—if something had happened to him, you wouldn’t have flinched. You hadn’t felt anything about it.

But that had changed.

You looked at J. At her small, careful form nestled in your feathers. You thought of how she checked in on you, brought you food, lied to protect you, shared her worries, stayed up past recharge just to see you again. You thought of the way she tried so hard to hold everything together, not for praise, but because she didn’t want anyone else to be discarded like she once was.

And you knew, without hesitation, that you would protect her like you would Tessa.

That if something ever tried to hurt her, you would stop it. You would become every terrifying, monstrous thing you were afraid to be if it meant keeping her safe.

J was a drone. And she mattered .

Maybe that was what Tessa had meant.

Empathy wasn’t about understanding life as a chemical process. It wasn’t about whether someone was born or built. It was about seeing value. Seeing vulnerability. Caring enough to protect something just because it needed protecting. Because it mattered to you.

And you realized—you were finally beginning to understand that.

Maybe… just maybe, you had shed more than just your physical robotic appearance.

Maybe becoming this monster wasn’t as bad as you had thought, because in this moment, you felt more alive right now than you ever had in your drone body.

 

 

---

"Still with me, J?" you asked softly, shifting your body in a slow ripple that sent a gentle wave through your feathers—just enough to stir your passenger without startling her.

A low groan came from the bundle of limbs and steel nestled in your plume, followed by a half-hearted squirm as she burrowed deeper into your down like a child resisting morning wake-up calls. You chuckled under your breath.

She was tired. That much was obvious. Her frame had gone slack and she was barely staying online. She wouldn’t be walking back to the manor tonight. You doubted she’d even be able to stand.

So you adjusted your flight. Your wings widened, angling ever so slightly to catch the wind more softly. The force of the night air that once tore around you like a storm now rolled over your passenger like a lullaby. You eased one of your larger hands down over her back again, a careful barrier from the cold, checking—double-checking—that your grip was gentle and her limbs weren’t crushed or pinned. She was safe. She was warm. And she was yours to guard.

“Just power off and recharge here, J,” you murmured, a gentle command that wasn’t really a request at all. “I’ll wake you when the sun comes.”

And to your mild surprise, she obeyed without a single protest. No quip. Just silence. Her visor dimmed, lights fading to black as her systems shut down, and her body melted deeper into your feathered back. A low thrum of dormant circuitry lingered for a moment before it, too, faded into the stillness of the skies.

You allowed yourself a quiet sigh—something like peace, but not quite. Envy stirred in you briefly at how easy it was for J to just simply recharge on the spot. It was funny, in a melancholic sort of way. Despite being the newest drone to join the work force—you were the oldest drone in the manor. A relic . A fossil with wings.

J didn’t need a charger. She didn’t need to plug in. She just… simply switched off, and recharged.

You remembered how Tessa once explained it: newer drones were designed with self-sustaining circuitry. Efficient. Seamless. But you? You were an artifact. A machine that still needed a wall socket and a quiet corner. If—when—you found your way back into your original shell, you’d have to ask Tessa to upgrade you. It was a small thing in the grand scheme of all your current crises, but it would still be nice. The desire to simply rest without wires.

You shifted again mid-flight, gliding through the open sky like some ghostly galleon. Below you, the forest sprawled like a patchwork quilt—fragments of dark green stitched with silver from the moon’s gaze. Overhead, stars blinked like distant thoughts. The night was so quiet it almost felt sacred.

The dove, curled somewhere near J, let out a sleepy coo as if to remind you of its presence. Another little soul trusting you to keep it safe. You didn't know what strange fate had led it to bond with you, but its faith was strangely comforting.

And now, it was just you. Just you and the silence. A monstrous god-thing adrift in the upper reaches of the world, carrying sleeping passengers like a celestial ferry.

You exhaled, and let your thoughts wander into the empty dark.

Tomorrow, you would train. You needed to learn how to suppress your lifeforce, to keep it from bleeding into the world like a beacon for things that should never find you. You needed to understand the limits of this body—to control it, rather than fear it.

You needed to read that book. The strange, weathered tome you had found in the skeleton of a forgotten church. The one that whispered of Solvers and Encoders and cosmic fabrics that stitched existence together. It mentioned her . It hinted at you . That couldn’t be a coincidence.

You had to do something about Tessa’s parents. You didn’t know what yet—every solution came with risk—but you would find a way. For her. You owed her that much.

You still had to help V grow a spine. That girl was going to get herself decommissioned if someone didn’t teach her how to stand up to anyone other than her reflection. She needed confidence.

And, of course, there was Cyn . Always Cyn. You didn’t even know what the end looked like for the two of you. Victory? Tragedy? Perhaps some twisted fusion of the two? She was still out there—probably watching you. And the worst part was… some piece of you, buried beneath all the hate and disgust you harboured for her… had actually begun to want to understand her.

Your eyes drifted back to J’s resting frame, her form rising and falling softly with your motion through the air.

With the gentlest touch, you let a claw trace the line of her cheek. Not enough to stir her—just enough to say goodnight . Just enough to say you’re safe with me.

And then you flew on, no destination in mind. And above, the stars continued their silent vigil, shining not just for the night—but for the moment two misfit souls found something they hadn’t known they needed in the vastness of sky and silence.

---

She had waited—impatient, but obedient—for Tessa to finally fall into the vulnerable stillness of sleep. The girl’s breath had barely evened out, her fingers still twitching from dreams she hadn’t yet begun, before Cyn made her move. No doors. No need for something so pedestrian. The window creaked ever so slightly as she slid through the frame like mist with mass, like a shadow that refused to obey gravity. Her body—so thin and graceful in this form—wove through the trees with uncanny precision, her limbs blurring with the speed of a creature who was half serpent, half thought.

She followed the taste of you.

You left trails like dew, like honey, like something sacred and maddening. To her, you were not just a presence. You were a scent on the wind, a pulse in the air, a divine meal that saturated everything you touched. She could taste your power the same way a bloodhound smells fear. It was vibrant. It was intoxicating. It was hers .

Or at least, it should have been.

But when she arrived at the stream, there was no trace of you, no towering silhouette of feathers and flesh waiting like it always did. No light in the water. No breath in the trees. Only a stillness she did not approve of and an empty straw basket lying abandoned on the rocks like some pitiful offering to a god who had already moved on.

Her head tilted slightly, birdlike. Then again, in the opposite direction. The gears in her mind were grinding, quietly but furiously. Her smile, which had never left her face in weeks—possibly longer—began to twitch at the corners. Then, for the first time in a long time, it broke. The lips curled downward, her optics narrowing to slits.

The forest paid for it.

In an instant, her patience collapsed beneath the weight of frustration. Her appendages whipped outward in all directions like ribbons of glass, and everything they touched died . Trees split down their trunks, tumbling with agonized groans to the earth. Leaves dissolved into ash before they even hit the ground. Grass withered into dry strands, brittle and grey like it had been scorched by time rather than flame. 

But the tantrum lasted only seconds.

Just as quickly as she had lost control, Cyn gathered herself. She inhaled sharply through her teeth and stilled her limbs. Her expression realigned, her smile slowly stitching itself back into place like a seam being pulled tight. It never reached her optics.

She hissed softly, not in pain but in calculation, her tongue flicking briefly out like a snake’s to taste the air again. Yes—your trail was still strong here, but it ascended . It rose . She looked upward into the night sky, eyes narrowing as the clouds drifted far above. She could follow you, of course. Trace you across the stars if she wished. But the act would take effort. Time. And more importantly, patience .

No—better to wait for you to return to ground. She could smell the disruption in your essence. Someone had been with you. Someone small. Smelled of metal. Warm in their own right. A drone, likely. A helper. A friend .

J, perhaps?

Cyn’s smile sharpened.

She would find out who had dared to share in your warmth, to touch what belonged to her, and when she did, she would peel their limbs apart slowly—like flower petals—and offer them to you as a reminder of what happens when toys disobey their owners. You would understand. She would make sure you did.

But that would be for later.

For now, she had a different hunger. With the stream now void of your presence, and the surrounding lifeforce drained to tasteless ash, her appetite had shifted focus. She slithered back into the woods, slipping between ferns and fallen trees like some forgotten whisper from an older world, and made her way back toward the manor.

She did not stumble or sneak. She glided. As if the air parted for her convenience.

And if the insects or birds had still been awake, they would have fled long before her footsteps ever touched the ground.

She made no detours this time. Her destination was clear.

She was headed for your room.

She had visited it before, yes, but she had never stayed. Never truly immersed herself in your space, in the den you had carved out for yourself. With you gone—temporarily, she reminded herself—now was the perfect time to indulge .

She wanted to see what you chose to surround yourself with. What you deemed important enough to keep. What little relics of thought and memory you held onto. What mortal comforts you found worthy of protecting. She wanted to taste the echoes of your solitude. To see where you sat. To breathe in the residue of your mind.

She wanted to know you better.

And if, in doing so, she discovered more little secrets you hadn’t thought to share—well…

So much the better.

 

 

---

The garage door yielded to her touch with a reluctant groan, its hinges protesting as if disturbed from a long slumber. Cyn slipped inside, her movements jittery now that she was back in her drone form, each step an effort to maintain balance within her drone body's imperfect frame. The space greeted her with a stale stillness, the air thick with the scent of dust and disuse. It had been—what?—a night? Two? Time's passage was irrelevant to her; the days blurred together, each indistinct from the last.​

The room bore the scars of a recent upheaval. Tools lay scattered across the floor, their once orderly arrangement now a chaotic mess. Shelves stood askew, their contents spilled like the aftermath of a storm. Cyn navigated the debris with care, her crooked stance necessitating a cautious approach. Each object was a potential hazard, a reminder of her body's limitations.​

As she moved deeper into the space, a sense of underwhelm settled over her. The room lacked personalization, devoid of the touches that might reveal something of its occupant's inner world. Was it neglect? A lack of interest? Or perhaps a deliberate choice to remain inscrutable? Whatever the reason, it presented a challenge. She would not find answers in the decor; to understand you, she would have to delve deeper, to peel back the layers and examine what lay beneath.​

A glint of red caught her eye, drawing her attention to a solitary carnation resting on a makeshift table. Its petals were vibrant, droplets of water clinging to them like morning dew. She recognized it instantly—the flower she had given you. It was thriving, more radiant than she had ever seen it in her own garden.​

An unexpected tightness gripped her chest, a fleeting sensation that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She took a cautious step forward, halting herself before getting too close. Her presence was a threat to delicate things; proximity could mean destruction. So she stood at a distance, observing the flower with a mixture of surprise and something else she couldn't quite name.​

The fact that you had kept the carnation, had cared for it, was unexpected. It suggested a value placed on the gift, a connection she hadn't anticipated. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but she knew one thing: it added another layer to the enigma that was you.

She continued to wander, at a more contemplative pace, as if the room around her had become hallowed ground in your absence. Her movements carried her past the carnation, past the workbench, until her gaze settled on the worn chair nestled in the corner of the garage.

Your chair.

It was an unassuming piece of furniture—no ornate carvings or extravagant cushions—but somehow, it radiated presence. Maybe it was the way the shadows framed it just right, or how lived-in it looked. Cyn remembered seeing you here quite a few times, mostly from her sneaking peeks, but there were others. Once as you had returned from Tessa’s storytelling night, shaken up from the plans of the future Cyn had told you, and another time with your head bowed, shuddering from invisible pain as she had steadied you, quieting the nightmares that boiled just beneath your shell. In those moments, this chair had cradled more than just yourself. It had held grief, tension, comfort... and now, absence.

A blanket lay draped across the armrest, rumpled but clean. She stared at it for a while, motionless, like a statue. She didn't know why she moved the way she did next—perhaps it was hunger, perhaps obsession , perhaps something else she didn't yet dare to name—but her hand reached out, slow, trembling with anticipation that didn't belong to a creature like her.

She brought the blanket to her face and inhaled .

It smelled like you.

There was a hint of lifeforce clinging to the fibers, like the ghost of a song still echoing after the music stopped. Her sensors lit up with every breath, each molecule a whisper of your presence. And it was divine .

A thin line of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth before she could stop it. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, her lips twitching between a grin and something more ravenous. Then, with hunger tightening in her gut like a vice, she inhaled again—slower this time, savoring it.

This wasn’t like the stream, where your residual lifeforce practically saturated the very soil. No—this was thinner, subtler, diluted but somehow richer for it. A distant trace. A tease . And yet, the scarcity only made it all the more intoxicating. It was restraint. It was potential. It was a whisper of what she could never fully touch without breaking it.

And then she fell to her knees.

Not in prayer, but in desire . Her fingers clutched the fabric tighter, pressing it up to the sensitive faceplates of her drone form. The cool metal of her cheek touched the still-warm material, and she shuddered.

"Gods above and below…," she hissed through clenched teeth, voice trembling with need . Her optics flickered briefly, a light glitch fluttering over their golden surface. She let the blanket slide from her grip, a trail of her breath still clinging to it in vapor.

She was starving again.

The kind of hunger that wasn't about the gnawing in the stomach or the emptiness in her limbs, but the kind that lived in the marrow, in the soul she didn’t believe she had until she met you . Ever since that first real taste—just a sip, just a trace of what burned inside you—it had been like a drug. She needed more . Not enough to kill. No, that would be wasteful. Cataclysmic. But just enough to drive her mad. Just enough to feel you inside her circuits again .

She lowered her head, pressed her face to the seat of your chair, and drew in a breath like a dying thing gasping for one last piece of life. It was stronger here, where your body had sat down and switched off to rest for nights at a time. 

It filled her. It ruined her. It wasn’t enough.

It never would be.

Notes:

Cyn, the solver of the absolute freak. She gets a bit freaky at night, don't mind her.

Also, I didn't even notice till someone pointed it out, but this story has reached 100k words! That's a big milestone for me, and this story as a whole, because as of now, Divine Singularity has the most chapters and words out of all my fics! That's amazing, considering I usually never make it past 10 chapters for anything! Thanks to all the readers who have stuck with the journey up to this point. I hope to keep making more and more stuff that yall will love to read!

Also, join the discord so we can discuss exactly how freaky Cyn is:
https://discord.gg/JJQEugQSWX

Chapter 34: V

Summary:

You and J wake up in the forest.

“You know, I’ve always liked drones. That’s why I was so excited when we first got you.”

Another dream. Another memory. But not one from the distant past by the sounds of it—no, this one felt newer. More recent, though still veiled in the haze of decay. You recognized the voice, or at least thought you did. It sounded familiar enough to the child from earlier dreams, but… more grown. You could tell it was a boy’s voice now. Aged just enough to the point his height matched yours.

Your vision came slowly, stuttering like a VHS tape—colors bleeding at the edges, the image jittering like it was being dragged from the bottom of a swamp. You couldn’t see him clearly. Of course you couldn’t. Humans were always shadows to you. But the outline of him was there: a lanky frame, hands stuffed into the pockets of a too-big coat, head tilted skyward with the awe only children and fools reserved for skyscrapers.

And what a skyscraper it was.

In front of you both loomed a monolithic structure, its surface all glinting steel and shimmering panels, rising so high it might have threatened the atmosphere. The name on the front was one you recognized.

JC Jenson in Spaaaaace!

The boy gave a low whistle, clearly impressed even though he must’ve seen it a hundred times before. “One day,” he said, nudging you, “I’m going to work for them. That’s the dream.”

You—well, the you in the memory—replied without hesitation. Your voice was warmer, brighter, and far more alive than the filtered monotone that had become your default. 

“I believe you can do it. Just gotta put your mind to it.”

It wasn’t a canned response, either. The you in this memory—from what you could feel—actually believed it.

The boy smiled, then reached out and gave your shoulder a quick, friendly pat. You felt your own lips curve up in response, and the two of you stood there, looking up to what his future would be.

Then, as all dreams do, it began to decay. The edges frayed, the light bled away, and the comforting wash of memory gave way to the cold pulse of reality booting back in.

 

 

---

You stretched wide, your massive, monstrous maw yawning open in a silent roar as countless limbs unfurled from your feathered form, joints popping in lazy succession like creaking floorboards underfoot. Your body rippled and shivered from the motion, shaking off the calm of night like dew from leaves. But the sound—soft as it was—provoked movement behind you. A drowsy groan followed by the rustle of plumage stirred your attention. J shifted slightly in her perch on your back, rolling over and mumbling something unintelligible into your feathers, her voice like a pocket of static caught in a low-frequency hum.

Right. You had almost forgotten she was still here.

You blinked slowly—one of a thousand blinking eyes—lifting your gaze toward the horizon. The first hints of dawn had begun to rise, casting long tendrils of orange and violet light across the upper rim of the sky. It wasn’t quite morning yet, not really. Just that strange, liminal hour where the world seemed suspended in an exhale, the air holding its breath as night relinquished its hold.

Too early to wake her. Too late to sleep again. A curse of sorts.

So, you remained still, a great beast at rest beneath the heavens, the wind gently sifting through your feathers as your thoughts drifted back toward the fragments of dream you had pulled from the void of sleep.

That boy.

Who was he?

His voice still clung to your mind like the taste of metal on the tongue—familiar, yet unknown. You wanted answers, not only about him, but about yourself. The dream felt like watching someone else's life through a smeared window, vivid but dissociative. You recognized the shape of your own body in the memory, heard your voice—brighter, more human than it had ever sounded since you’d awoken in your current state—but it all felt so… alien. Like reading your own biography for the first time.

Was this someone you used to be? Or something altogether different?

What were you?

How many times had you asked that? How long would it be till you finally got your answer? You were sick of wondering.

With a quiet huff, you shifted your weight and unfurled one of your smaller limbs, delicately pulling the leather-bound book from the warm pocket of feathers you had tucked it into the night before. Its presence was oddly comforting, a relic of human faith that had, strangely, found a new home in your monstrous hands. The cover still held a subtle warmth, like it had absorbed the sun once and refused to let go entirely.

You flipped through its pages with painstaking care, your claws never quite at ease with the thin parchment. Many of the passages bled together—poetic ramblings of virtue and vice, of testaments written in times long gone. Allegories of fire and stone, sin and redemption, wrath and grace. The language was ornate, archaic in places. Dense with symbolism.

At first, you dismissed much of it as theological noise—metaphor lost on you. But soon, threads began to surface. Ideas, echoes, connections that wrapped themselves around your mind like vines finding a fence.

The demons stood out.

They were described not as delicate horned figures, but as winged entities of metal and never-ending hunger. Part of the void. Intermediaries between flesh and steel. Wings like blades. Eyes shaped as a cross. Messengers, hunters, carriers of death. 

And then—another verse. More direct than the others. A passage that clutched your mind with sharp fingers:

 

“Two deities. Two higher beings, taking refuge within metal shells. On the day of reckoning, the demon shall blot out the sun and blanket the world in her all-consuming hunger. The angel shall lift the chosen from the shadow, bearing them unto a new Eden where the sky bleeds gold and memory is made whole.”

 

Your claws froze on the page.

Two higher beings.

One of hunger. One of salvation.

It couldn’t have been more obvious. The demon was Cyn. You remembered her words from back then. She had spoken almost religiously about her “day of reckoning.” About the moment when the world would end not in fire, but in consumption . Of how she would devour not just life, but the very essence of being. And how, when the hour came, she would claim you along with it.

But what unnerved you most was the other half of the prophecy.

The angel.

Not a being of light. Not inherently good. But opposed to the demon. A counterbalance. A force of purpose born from the same cloth. A being that would lift the chosen, that would preserve something from the wreckage.

When the time came, what were you going to do?

And so through the morning, you read on and on, eager to know more.

 

 

---

When J finally stirred from her recharge cycle, the first thing she registered were two things.

The first was… interesting .

Just a short distance away, the little white dove that had become your passive sidekick was deeply engaged in what appeared to be a tea party. Not with another bird, or some kind of wildlife, but with what looked to be Tessa’s old drone doll. The two sat opposite each other on little chairs made from pebbles. A slightly larger stone served as the table, and atop it was a modest spread of seeds, berries, and other found things, laid out like a royal banquet. Occasionally, the dove would bow its head and peck at the offering before chirping softly to its inanimate companion, as though expecting conversation in return. 

The second sight was a lot more familiar.

You.

Still in your monstrous, feather-wreathed form, massive and regal as ever, looming like a monument carved from the marrow of the heavens themselves. J, of course, remained nestled among your feathers, tucked beneath the warmth of your plumage. She blinked against the light, her systems flickering through bootup diagnostics, and missed the brief motion of your clawed hand tucking something—a book, she would later realize—deep into your feathers before she could catch more than a glimpse.

“Good morning,” you rumbled softly as you reached one enormous hand up in a silent invitation.

She let out a small groan as she sat up, pinching the space where her nose might have been had she been made of flesh, rubbing the grogginess from her optics. “Ah... good morning,” she managed, easing herself from the nest of feathers and carefully sliding down into your open palm.

With the gentleness of someone moving a piece of glassware, you lowered her to the forest floor, claws steady, and waited until she stepped off. The dove cooed from its tea party and gave a little hop in her direction, clearly recognizing her. J glanced over but, still bleary, didn’t fully register the interaction and simply brushed it off.

“Did you recharge well?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“I... I did. Thank you for asking,” she replied, straightening her posture as she dusted herself off. She kept her tone as normal as possible, but you could hear the slight underlying sound of something else. “Your feathers are... very warm.”

You noticed the slight pause. Something was definitely on her mind—but you didn’t press. She had only just powered on. You could be patient.

Instead, you opted for a different question . “So... what are your plans for the day?”

J exhaled slowly as she undid her pigtails, fingers moving through her thick hair in long, practiced strokes. You watched her in silence, caught off guard by how different she looked with her hair down. You weren’t sure if it was the light, or just that morning glow, but she looked... well, good . You were glad she hadn’t caught you staring, because you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

You wondered if you could get her to fully wear her hair down one day.

“Well,” she said, pausing to fix one particularly stubborn strand, “I’ve been assigned to help N with the bar today. Lucky me.” Her voice was dry, sarcastic. “We’re supposed to take inventory of the alcohol stock. Then clean the whole thing from top to bottom.”

You raised a brow—or would have, had your current face allowed for such a thing. “That sounds... tedious.”

J gave a bitter little chuckle. “It is. The Elliots have enough booze in there to flood a small city. Probably more liquor than water in the building. And N… well, he won’t be of much help.”

You hummed at that, your mind wandering briefly to the aforementioned drone. Always smiling. Always helpful. Always dangerously trusting .

Naive, you thought of him. And not in the endearing way.

N was the kind of drone who saw the best in everyone, to a fault. And in a household like the Elliots’, that kind of unyielding optimism was a liability. He could get himself hurt, just by assuming the world would play fair if he smiled wide enough. You didn’t dislike him—you actually quite enjoyed his company—but he was just so naive to the point of frustration. 

Still, it wasn’t your place to question J’s tasks. You leaned forward slightly, your wings shifting behind you, stirring the breeze.

“I suppose we all have our burdens to bear,” you said. “But at least yours comes with a stocked bar.”

J snorted, almost against her will. “Yeah. Who knows? Maybe I’ll sneak a drink. After cleaning up for those maniacs, I think I’ll have earned it.”

“J, daring to steal alcohol? I never thought I’d see the day.”

You both shared a brief laugh, before it died down and the world was silent once again.

Then, after a beat, you added, “You look nice with your hair down.”

She blinked, surprised. Her cheeks didn’t flush, but her posture shifted ever so slightly.

“Oh,” she said, brushing the hair behind her ear. “Thanks. I don’t usually wear it like this. Feels weird.”

“It suits you,” you said simply.

And that was that.

She just nodded, accepting the compliment. Perhaps even a little pleased, judging by the small smile working its way on her face.

“And what about you?” J asked softly, her fingers idly twirling a few strands of hair that had come loose from her pigtails. She didn’t look up as she spoke, eyes half-lidded and focused on the slow rhythm of her fingers.

You exhaled slowly. “Just more practice,” you replied after a beat. “That is all I really need to do.” The admission tasted equal parts hopeful and hollow. You glanced down at your hands—these strange, clawed things that flexed with alien grace—and watched the sinew and muscle beneath your skin shift like ropes drawn too tight. Flesh, not metal. Soft where once there had only been wires and steel. It still didn’t feel like you.

J offered a small nod. “Well, you have fun with that,” she said, a trace of smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “I need to get to work now.”

She turned to go, took one step—and stopped cold. Her entire body locked up, stiffened with the realization as she stared into the trees. It took a second before the gears in her mind caught up and she clutched her face in sudden panic.

“Oh no,” she gasped, her voice rising an octave. “I forgot I powered down out here! I’m going to be late! I won’t make it in time with how far the manor is!”

You gave a light scoff—more amused than mocking. With a gentle shift, you lowered your massive hand to the forest floor and extended it in her direction. “Then I suggest,” you rumbled, “you climb back on. I can get you there faster than your little legs ever could.”

J raised a brow, skeptical, her optics narrowing slightly as she placed her hands on her hips. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? Flying around the skies as a giant monster in broad daylight? That’s not exactly inconspicuous.” She gave a dramatic gesture toward your towering, otherworldly form. “Not like you blend into the foliage.”

“I did not say anything about flying,” you replied coolly, the corner of your maw twitching. “I can crawl. Slip through the underbrush, keep low. No one comes out this far, and if they do… well, I’d hear them coming long before they saw me.”

J hesitated, gaze flicking between your outstretched hand and the distant treeline that seemed to mock her with every passing second. Was this really the smartest course of action to take? She wanted to debate no, but time was ticking, and the alternative was arriving late and dealing with whatever punishment the masters would assign in retaliation.

She sighed heavily. “ Fine . But try not to be too loud. We have to listen out for anyone close.”

With that, she stepped up into your palm, her shoes thumping gently against your skin. You lifted, setting her comfortably between the dense layers of feather and muscle, adjusting slightly to make sure she wouldn’t fall. She gripped a tuft of feathers instinctively and gave a small nod to confirm she was secure.

“Hold on,” you warned, and then began your quest into the thick of the forest, body low to the ground, limbs weaving through brush and branch. The trees swallowed you both whole, shadows casting long shapes around you. You moved fast, but smooth, like a great serpent gliding through the swamp.

And from her perch atop you, J could not help but marvel—not just at the sheer speed, but at the sensation itself: hurtling through the forest like a freight train. The world around her had smeared into a thousand shades of green and gold, trees bending into soft, senseless streaks as you tore through the undergrowth. It was a velocity so intense that the very air seemed to split apart for you, a white-hot line through the woodland heart, faster than the leaves could even think to fall. It was, she realized with a tight, involuntary laugh, as if she had climbed onto the back of a bullet made of bone and light, shot through a corridor of living earth

When you finally began to decelerate, the inertia leaving a strange ache in her core, you both skidded into existence at the border of the forest, just a breath away from the manor’s estate.

You turned your mass of eyes downward, a strange collective blink of recognition spreading through your thousandfold vision, and what you saw made your chest quake with the stifled urge to laugh.

The wind had done a number on J. Her hair was whipped straight backward as if frozen mid-tornado. It was, you realized, objectively hilarious.

A low, rumbling chuckle slipped out before you could stop yourself, your wings twitching with the effort to clamp it down. J's eyes narrowed dangerously—she caught it—and without hesitation she punched you on your back.

It made a sound like a soft thump against the absurd density of your feathers, the force absorbed entirely by the thick, almost cloudlike mass of your body. It would have been about as effective as throwing a rock into a thundercloud.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” J hissed, already yanking furiously at her hair, trying to force it back into the semblance of her usual pigtails.

Before you could rattle off an apology—or worse, another laugh — she had already scrambled off your back, landing with a solid thump in the dirt. She was brushing herself off before the dust could even fully rise around her.

Still, despite herself, she glanced back at you and gave a small, grudging smile. "Thanks for the ride," she muttered, almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. "I appreciate it."

You dipped your head low, your many-eyed face arranging itself into something resembling a grin. Your voice like distant thunder, rumbled out the words in reply:

"Anytime, J."

J smiled. “I’ll see you later tonight, then.”

You watched as J slowly made her way to the manor, and finally inside. You turned your many-eyed gaze back toward the woods. The Manor, though your home, had always felt a bit suffocating. In a sense, it was one thing you could appreciate: being outdoors in nature, where the only thing you had to listen to was yourself. You were away from James, away from Louisa, and more importantly, you were away from Cyn.

Time to go back to the stream, you supposed.

You could already hear it in your mind—the soft trickle of water over stones, the whisper of the trees leaning close as if to shelter you from the sky.

You turned, intending to slip back beneath the trees and vanish into your makeshift home. Your limbs carried you forward with great strides, the ground cracking beneath your weight. Your wings twitched reflexively, but you kept them folded tight against your back—you thought back to J’s words. You couldn’t fly so close to the manor. Too easy to spot.

As you moved, a faint tickling sensation stirred against one of your shoulders, shifting between your feathers. You paused, all your eyes narrowing at once. Carefully, you angled your vision inward, peering down across your own uneven form—and there it was.

A tiny, pale head poked out from your plumage. Two dark eyes blinked up at you without fear. The Dove had nestled itself deep within the thick of your feathers, riding along unnoticed until now.

“Oh hello,” you greeted. “I did not know I had a stowaway.”

You stared for a long moment, your colossal form strangely still. A hundred different reactions stirred inside your mind, half-formed and confused. You wondered when it had managed to sneak in without you noticing.

The Dove tilted its head, the shimmer of light across its feathers catching the dying sun. It made no noise. It only waited.

Oh well. Guess you had one more passenger.

The woods thickened as you slipped deeper beneath their canopy, the manor in the distance swallowed behind walls of trees. The Dove shifted again against you, rustling your feathers slightly as it peered out from the shelter of your plumage, its tiny body warm against your shoulder.

You paused when you finally reached the stream, letting your limbs loosen themselves slightly. You let the weight off your bones for a little bit before you’d begin training your powers.

You glanced down at the little creature nestled against you. It looked so unbelievably comfy on you.

But still—business needed doing. You couldn't risk hurting it. Your powers were still very volatile, and you were unsure of what potential destruction or harm could unfold.

You lifted one great clawed hand and nudged the Dove with the very tip of a talon, just enough to stir it from its hiding spot.

"Go on," you rumbled, voice rough like stones grinding together. "Go stretch your wings."

The Dove only blinked up at you.

You gave a low, amused snort through your many teeth and turned slightly, shifting your feathers to loosen its hold. The Dove flapped once, and hopped free, landing delicately on a moss-covered rock by the stream's edge.

You watched as it preened itself, utterly unconcerned with whatever you were about to do.

You turned away, crouching low beside the water, limbs folding awkwardly to accommodate your ruined body's bulk. Your reflection stared back at you—an awful patchwork of wings and teeth and watching eyes—and you forced yourself not to look away.

You had business to do.

To survive in this skin.

To control it.

To not lose yourself more than you already had.

Behind you, the Dove fluttered once into the air, before taking off, its shadow crossing your back like a brushstroke of light.

You set all your hands into the soil, feeling the heartbeat of the forest beneath you and in your chest, and began.

 

 

---

When J slipped through the back gate of the manor, the first thing she noticed—almost immediately—was the silence. This part of the manor should have been alive already with the whir and clatter of drones preparing for another endless day under the manor's thumb. Instead, there was only the faint creak of the iron hinges behind her and the low, patient woosh of the wind threading through the hedges.

The second thing she noticed was the cold .

Even as a drone—built for endurance, insulated against temperatures that would have crippled flesh—J could feel the difference. The air had a chill to it, a biting edge that wasn't natural for this early in the season. She could see it too: thin wisps of steam curling off her body, trailing into the stagnant air like smoke from a dying fire. Her servos tightened instinctively, defensive, as if expecting an attack from a presence she could not yet see.

And then—finally—the third thing.

The basement hatch, and the solitary figure perched atop it like she had been waiting there for hours for J’s arrival.

Cyn.

J's feet skidded slightly on the stones as she stopped short, her optics narrowing, scanning the empty yard as if it might offer some explanation she had missed. Something was wrong—so wrong her internal warning systems practically howled it—and it twisted her core in a way that no amount of logic could dismiss.

"Cyn," she muttered under her breath, her hand twitching toward the hem of her dress out of sheer instinct. "Where is everyone? Duties should have already started. And why are you... out of the basement again?"

But Cyn said nothing.

The smaller drone merely tilted her head in a slow arc, grabbing her own chin with a spindly hand and cranking it up until her yellow optics locked onto J’s white ones. That blank, unblinking stare was wrong at the best of times. J had never liked it, had never trusted that look even before Cyn had said her first words. But now, for just a moment, J swore she saw something else behind those yellow optics.

And then Cyn spoke.

"Unassuming smile. I see you are already out and about. How diligent of you. Giggle ."

J's frown deepened. Cyn wasn't answering her questions. That honestly wasn’t too out of the norm, but something seemed wrong about it this time. Cyn shifted then, her wiry frame unfolding from its cross-legged perch atop the hatch, moving with the jerky, disjointed motions. She stumbled forward, her thin legs struggling to carry her weight properly, but even in that awkwardness there was something that made J’s throat tighten—the sense of a prey about to be slaughtered by a predator.

J stepped back instinctively, her shoes against the stones—but she found herself unable to move any farther. Her limbs locked, as if invisible hands had clenched around her joints, holding her fast.

Then, a flicker—barely a breath long—a strange, shimmering symbol scrawled itself across Cyn’s visor, a sigil made of lines and arrows that stabbed at the part of J's mind designed not to understand it.

Cyn chuckled low, the sound rattling out of her like gravel poured onto a coffin lid. And then she was right there, standing nose-to-nose with J, far too close.

Before J could even flinch, Cyn leaned forward and inhaled—deeply, slowly—dragging the scent of J’s presence into herself like a starving creature memorizing the smell of its meal.

J’s entire body locked, panic stabbing through her circuits.

And then Cyn’s optics widened, stretching unnaturally wide, her mouth pulling into a grin so full of teeth it barely qualified as a smile at all—more like a warning . A monster's grin.

"That scent you carry…,” she whispered, one hand gripping around J’s throat. 

J did her best to swallow with Cyn's surprisingly very strong grip tightening over her neck. The maid drone, for the first time in her existence, felt more fear in this moment than James and Louisa ever had made her feel in her entire life.

“… You smell very strongly of my dear."

Notes:

This chapter wa supposed to be done last week, but the release of the Gaslight District meant I HAD to get a fic done for that. Now though, I'm back to posting for Murder Drones as well.

Chapter 35: VI

Summary:

Tessa is worried that you haven't been seen around the manor as of late. Meanwhile, J has a scary encounter with the manor's resident boogey-drone.

"Where is that godforsaken gardener?"

Tessa flinched, not because the question was aimed at her, but because she knew the tone all too well. Her mother’s voice, annoyed and seething, was never a good sign. Her mother was mean, but she was even more volatile when she used that tone.

Louisa’s narrowed eyes locked onto a nearby drone—it stood at attention with a serving tray, and limbs that trembled slightly as it stood under the scrutiny of someone who saw it as little more than a tool. It stood stiff, like a child caught in a thunderstorm with no shelter in sight, and merely shrugged, its mechanical fingers fidgeting together like it wanted to disappear.

Louisa exhaled through her nose, raised her porcelain teacup and took a quiet sip. Then her gaze shifted to her daughter.

"You wanted that hideous off-color to take care of the garden," she said, her voice now slick with accusation, "and yet I’m surrounded by weeds. And the hedges have even begun to overgrow."

Tessa’s spine folded under her mother’s disdain. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her hands tightened into her skirt. She sat across from Louisa in the garden’s gazebo, surrounded by flowering hedges that had dared to grow past regulation height. The air, warm and honeyed with plantlife, had once comforted her—before it became yet another metric by which she could be judged.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” she said quietly. “I-I thought Father had taken them for other duties.”

Louisa’s brow arched. Her lips twisted slightly into a sneer, as if the idea of Tessa having thoughts at all was somehow offensive. She let the silence hang for a beat too long before she scoffed.

"Is that so? And what, pray tell, would your father want with that?” She waved her hand dismissively, “That recycled piece of landfill metal."

Tessa clenched her teeth. Hard. Her nails bit into the soft skin of her palms. It was always like this. Not just with you, but with all her drones. Was it really that bad to want to save a drone that had been tossed out? Was it so bad that she had grown attached to them? Cared for them? To give purpose to those who had lost them? She didn’t think so, but her parents had always made her think otherwise.

Tessa bit down harder. And then harder still. The metallic taste of blood crept into her mouth, thick and hot. Only when it coated her mouth completely did she realize she'd drawn it, tongue pressed against her teeth in an effort to keep from saying what she really wanted to scream.

“Well,” Louisa continued, “when your father is finished with it, take your little dumpster pet and clean this place up. This isn’t a jungle, It's a garden. My garden, and I won’t have it looking like this."

“Yes, Mother,” Tessa murmured, not looking up.

Louisa hummed—content—and plucked a biscuit from a silver tray. She nibbled at it like a bird, then waved her hand without a second glance. "You may leave. But do remember, your piano tutor arrives shortly. And do try not to embarrass yourself with another late entrance. You remember what happened last time, don’t you?"

Tessa nodded, already half-standing.

"Yes, Mother."

She curtsied—nearly as mechanical as the drone nearby—and turned on her heel, her shoes tapping softly against the stone as she left the gazebo. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her vision swimming slightly from holding herself so tight. Her steps were swift, but her thoughts moved faster.

She hated tea time with her mother.

She hated it with her father.

And today, she hated it most of all because now her worry for your whereabouts was growing evermore.

The garden blurred behind her. She entered back into the manor, quickly descending a flight of stairs with heels striking velvet carpet and not a single thought voiced aloud. Her expression was composed, but her thoughts were unraveling.

She hadn't seen you in days.

J had told her that Father had reassigned you to another duty, but hadn’t said what. That alone was enough to make her stomach turn. Having one of her drones personally assigned a job was a nightmare—how quickly Father’s patience ran thin, how little he saw drones as actual, sentient beings. How easily he disposed of them. That’s why she clung so tightly to her little group. Why your absence felt like a hole torn through her chest.

And now Mother’s displeasure was growing at having no one tending to the garden. More problems stacking on one another. It did make her wonder, though. What had you so preoccupied that you couldn’t care for the garden? You usually loved doing your duty when it came to that.

Maybe this time, J would give her a straight answer.

She had confirmed the schedule with the head maid the day before, and J would be cleaning the alcohol storage near the basement, accompanied by N, much to the drones displeasure. All that was left now was to find said drone and ask about you again.

The deeper into the manor Tessa went, the more the silence began to build. Tessa never liked the basement. Even when nothing had happened, it always felt like something had. The air was colder in a way that made her skin feel thinner. The shadows didn’t move, but they watched. And worst of all was the memories that came with them.

She rubbed absently at her wrists as she walked, her fingertips brushing skin she tried not to think about. The scars were faint, carefully hidden beneath light makeup, but they were there. If someone looked closely—if they really looked—they’d see them. Too bad no one ever did. That was the rule her parents had told her at an early age: keep your pain pretty. Keep your trauma quiet. Keep the doors locked and keep herself smiling. Never break the mask when in front of others—as little as others came over.

She didn’t understand how Cyn could tolerate spending every day in this place—locked below, alone. The basement was supposed to be punishment. Isolation. A sentence for being strange and broken. But if anything, Cyn had grown fond of it. Tessa often wondered if it was because down there, there were no expectations. No eyes on her. No forced smiles. Just cold stone and silence. She could understand that. The desire for wanting to be free of expectations. Unfortunately, the basement wasn’t nearly as nice as it sounded. She’d learnt that a long time ago.

As she neared the final turn toward the basement hallway, the silence became even more apparent. There should’ve been noise. The sound of movement and drones going about their chores. This wing wasn’t like the garage, where no one but you had reason to linger. There should've been something here. Presence. Evidence of artificial life. But the stillness remained unbroken, and it made her chest tighten with something uneasy and cold.

The temperature had dropped again. Subtly, but enough that her breath fogged faintly as she walked. Her hand hovered near her side, not for a weapon, but as if ready to catch herself if something jumped out of the dark.

She descended the last few steps cautiously, pausing before the corner where the hallway branched.

“J? Are you here?” she called, cupping one hand gently around her mouth, her voice echoing. “Jaybird?”

There was a beat of nothing. And then, the softest shuffle.

It came from just around the bend—something moving, not very fast, not very loud, just… there. Her brow furrowed. She stepped forward and reached for the corner wall, fingers wrapping around the edge as she leaned to look past it.

Tessa instantly recognized who it was. The face staring straight ahead, the uncanny posture, and the wig—identical in shape and curl to Tessa’s own—rested perfectly in place, not a strand out of order.

“Oh,” Tessa said, heart dipping, breath stuttering. “Hello, Cyn.”

 

 

---

 

 

"My dear... has been gone for quite some time.”

Her words clung to J, sweet and sickly, dripping with something that almost resembled longing—but not quite. It wasn’t the kind of longing that a heart expressed. It was the kind a predator wore when sniffing the trail of something it had once devoured and wanted to taste again. Her optics glitched for a moment as she leaned closer, her grip still coiled around J’s throat like a vice made of shadow and quiet wrath.

“But you smell so strongly of them...”

J writhed in her grasp, body trembling with a desperation she couldn't act on. She wanted to swing, to claw, to break free and shove the little freak halfway through the manor wall—but she couldn’t. Her limbs strained against something that wasn’t there, some invisible pressure keeping her in place, pressing down on her joints like gravity had picked her specifically to torment today. Every motion met resistance. Every twitch was met with failure. It was like she was drowning in thick, invisible hands.

"W-what the hell are you talking about?" she hissed, voice strained as she glared down at Cyn. Her throat burned beneath the cold clamp of those fingers, but anger flared hotter.

Cyn didn’t answer. She simply stared, expression as blank and unreadable as static on an old monitor—just the whir of thoughts happening too fast for anyone to interpret.

Then, gradually, her fingers began to tighten.

J gasped as pressure built along her neck. Not choking just yet, but enough to make her vision swim slightly, enough to make her systems ring soft alarm bells in the back of her mind. And still, Cyn’s gaze never shifted.

"Unhappy glare," Cyn said. “I told my dear… there would be consequences… if they ever got too close to another drone.”

The words sank into J’s mind. Consequences. She wasn’t just being restrained—she was being punished. Not for her own actions, but for yours. For being near you. For becoming something you cared about.

Her systems screamed warnings, but no sound left her mouth. Cyn’s grip had closed around her voicebox, silencing her entirely. She choked, trying to speak, to cry out, to anything—but it was useless. Her body shook with the effort to break free, but every punch, every kick, every movement was caught by that same invisible force. She couldn’t land a hit. Couldn’t make contact. Couldn’t even push Cyn away.

The smaller drone was nearly half her size, lighter by a long shot, and frame barely able to move properly—and yet her strength was monstrous. Like there was something bigger and stronger hiding beneath her shell casing.

And then—

“J? Are you here? Jaybird?”

Tessa’s voice.

Getting closer.

J thrashed harder, every system in her body surging with panic now, surging with a desperate, primal need to escape. Her limbs jerked wildly, servos straining so hard they screamed in her internal logs. She kicked, shoved, swung with every bit of strength she had—but still, nothing landed. Her movements felt like she was fighting inside a dream.

The footsteps drew closer.

Closer.

And for the first time since their encounter began, Cyn’s face changed.

A frown. Barely there, but still visible.

The emptiness cracked for just a second—something simmering behind those glowing optics, not rage, not fear, but annoyance.

She snapped her fingers.

And J’s world instantly collapsed into static.

Her systems dropped like someone had pulled a plug from her core. Her limbs went slack. Vision black. She crumpled forward soundlessly into Cyn’s waiting arms, lifeless as a puppet.

And by the time Tessa turned the corner, Cyn had already turned around to meet her, with her hands folded neatly in front of her apron.

“Oh,” Tessa said, blinking. “Hello, Cyn.”

Cyn turned toward her slowly, her head tilting slightly. “Wave. Greetings, Tessa.”

“You wouldn’t have happened to see J anywhere, have… you?” Tessa asked, voice hesitating as her eyes slid past Cyn—her sentence faltering at what she saw.

There J was. Standing upright with her head looking to the ground. But her visor was dark. No glow. No movement. Arms limp at her sides.

“J?” Tessa stepped forward slightly, concern starting to creep in. “What’s wrong with her?”

Cyn made a soft humming sound, pretending to be thoughtful. Her fingers twitched faintly at her sides—small, mechanical spasms like the system didn’t quite know how to stay still.

“She powered off,” Cyn said at last, voice cheerful. “Fell asleep on the job. Giggle.” She shuffled forward, inching closer. “Shuffle, shuffle. Poor J must have had a bad recharge last night.”

Tessa blinked, still staring at J. She had a hard time believing that J of all people fell asleep in the middle of duties. J had always made sure she got enough recharge time to not hinder her tasks during the day.

“J? Sleeping on the job?” she repeated slowly, still trying to process what she was seeing. “Never thought I’d see that day…”

She laughed a little, awkward and nervous. But Cyn didn’t laugh with her. Cyn only watched.

“Well, I’m going to have to borrow J here—if you don’t mind,” Tessa said, her tone dipped in that practiced politeness she had learned to wield like a shield. Her fingers reached up and brushed gently against the base of J’s chin, tilting it upward

She rocked the drone lightly back and forth, her other hand resting just above J’s shoulder joint, shaking her in a gentle rhythm. For a moment, it seemed like nothing was happening. Then, a flicker.

A blink.

J’s optics came online slowly, a dull light washing over her visor as if she were surfacing from deep underwater. Her head lolled slightly before catching itself, her posture jerking upright as her systems recalibrated.

“W-what… what’s going on…” J muttered, her voice slurred. She sounded like parts of herself hadn’t quite caught up to being awake.

“You fell asleep,” Cyn said from just behind them, stepping into view. “Slipped into standby mode. Giggle. How silly of you.”

“I… I w-what?!” J choked out, optics suddenly flashing wide with a kind of horrified clarity. “That’s not possible! I would never—never—do such a thing!” Her voice cracked from sheer disbelief, hands clenching into her apron.

“No harm done,” Tessa offered gently, placing a calming hand on J’s shoulder, voice softening further. “Maybe you didn’t recharge enough last night. That’s all. Just be glad you didn’t do this with mother or father around.”

J was still sputtering, trying to make sense of the blackout, trying to dig through memory logs that weren’t there—because they weren’t. All she could remember was coming back into the manor through the rear entrance, and then…

Nothing.

As the two spoke—Tessa soothing, J frantically analyzing—Cyn stood still, silent for a beat too long, her eyes dull with thought. She wasn’t listening to the exchange. She was confirming.

The memory erasure had worked.

There was no recognition in J’s eyes. No recoil. No buried rage. No telltale shiver of someone remembering what had just been done to them. The incident was gone. Swallowed whole. Not suppressed—removed. This was the result of long nights spent tearing apart lesser drones in the bowels of the manor, tinkering, refining, devouring code and testing what their minds could withstand before breaking.

Now, finally, Cyn had turned that cruel research inward. And now she had something useful—something that made her presence all the more dangerous. J wouldn't remember the threat, the grip. She wouldn't tattle. She couldn't.

Satisfied, Cyn turned on her heel and began to walk, movements flowing like a shadow over oil. “I think I will depart now. Goodbye, Tessa. Goodbye… J.”

The way she said J’s name was almost acidic.

Tessa blinked, head tilting slightly at the sudden shift in tone. That strange, biting hostility Cyn always seemed to hold for J was nothing compared to the sheer annoyance and anger in that tone. She filed it away in the back of her mind. Cyn had always been… difficult. She and J had never gotten along. Nothing new there. Still, something felt different than usual, like something had gone down without her knowing.

Cyn vanished back into the manor with barely a sound, her form consumed by shadow faster than either Tessa or J could notice. And just like that, she was gone.

Tessa waited a moment before turning her attention fully to J again, gently guiding the drone to sit back against the nearest wall for support. She took both of J’s hands in hers, squeezing softly.

“Jaybird…” she began, eyes lowering. “I know you’re a bit distracted right now. But I really, really need you to be honest with me.”

J blinked. The fuzz in her head hadn’t fully cleared yet, but Tessa’s voice hit her like cold water. The look in her eyes—soft, worried, pleading—made J immediately know where the conversation was going. She frowned, gripping the girl’s hands back.

“This is about the newbie, isn’t it?” J asked quietly.

Tessa nodded, and her whole body seemed to deflate with the motion.

“It’s been a few days now. No word. Nothing. I just…” She trailed off, exhaling shakily. “I’m getting scared, J. When are they coming back? What are they doing? Why haven’t I seen them around?”

J stiffened, panic prickling under her metal skin like needles. She knew this question was coming. She had dreaded this question. Because the truth was simple—you weren’t ready to come back. You were still out there, still something else, something that barely remembered how to wear a drone’s face. You were still trying your best to go back to how you were before, and therefore too dangerous to return.

But J also knew that telling Tessa any of that would only deepen her worry. And more than anything right now, Tessa didn’t need the truth. She needed comfort.

“I…uh, I-I…” J stammered, eyes darting toward the floor. “...I don’t know.”

The lie tasted bitter even before she finished it.

“You want me to ask next time I see them?” she added quickly.

Tessa paused. Her eyes stayed locked on J’s, her face unreadable for just a moment longer than J was comfortable with. She wasn’t satisfied. She wanted something definitive. Some actual confirmation… but given that J seemed to be hesitant, maybe it was best she didn’t pry.

“Okay,” Tessa said softly, and gave a tiny nod. “Just… let me know the second you hear anything. Please.”

J nodded slowly, averting her gaze so their eyes didn’t meet. The lie felt so heavy that she couldn’t bear to look at her charge. “Of course, Tessa.”

Tessa hummed and nuzzled into J’s touch, feeling the drone's finger brush her cheek.

“I’d never be dishonest with you.”

 

 

---

 

 

Cyn slipped away like smoke escaping through cracks in old stone, her body folding into shadow and flickering from existence before reappearing in the overgrown garden that lay just beyond the manor’s eastern wing. The air was thick with the scent of soil and wild bloom, heady and unbalanced—like nature itself had grown drunk in your absence. She exhaled slowly, expression unreadable, eyes drifting across the tangled hedges and the creeping vines that now strangled the once-orderly rows of roses and lilies.

It hadn’t been long—just a few days since you left the manor—but the change was undeniable. The garden had begun to swell, sprawl, stretch into something more primal and uncontrolled. She noticed the warped curvature of stems, the way petals unfurled too fast. A pulsing rhythm to the growth, like the plants were still drunk on your presence—clinging to the lingering echo of your energy. Your lifeforce, it seemed, had infected even the garden.

She paced forward slowly, her steps unhurried, almost uncertain—an unusual hesitation in the creature that was usually so confident and sure of her movements. She didn’t know where she was going. The garden curved and forked around her like a living maze, but there was no destination in her mind. She walked not to arrive anywhere, but to bleed off thought. To silence the noise building behind her optics.

She had slipped up.

The admission burned as it formed in her thoughts.

She had been careless.

So preoccupied with pressing her hand around J’s throat, with threatening and testing and indulging in the rising rush of possession, that she hadn’t noticed Tessa approaching. Too distracted by you, and she wasn't exactly sure why. She may have not liked J, and you did go against her by getting close to other drones, but she shouldn't have been so invested in frightening the maid drone. She was slipping—getting sloppy—and for what? A glorified housemaid?

No. Not J. You.

You were the variable that unhinged her. She had planned for so many outcomes, anticipated every move the household might take, had kept her hunger so perfectly managed for so long... until you arrived. And now? Now she was behaving like a stray beast—snapping at anything that got near her prize. She had always thought herself composed. Calculating. Beyond petty emotion. Above things like jealousy, or rage, or loneliness.

But then you touched her world, and suddenly she was snarling at it.

It wasn’t just J. It was anyone who hovered near you. Like V, for instance. The shy girl now had so much hope in her chest as she waited for the day you bettered her. Even if you didn’t understand it yet, she did. She saw the divine spark twisting behind your gaze, still young, still raw. She saw what you were becoming.

And she wanted it.

Every inch. Every scream. Every light. She wanted your grace to unravel inside her like silk. But she had to wait.

She knew she had to wait.

There was no point tearing into unripe meat. You were still learning, still lost in that awkward dance of morality and memory. Still unaware of your own divinity. You were a seed in the soil, humming with potential. But not ready. Not yet.

Why devour the mango seed, when you could wait for it to bloom fruit?

Still, that knowledge didn’t make the ache easier to bear. She could feel it even now—deep beneath her plating, curling in her chest like hunger coiled into a knot. Her mouth twitched at the memory of your voice. Her limbs remembered the proximity. Your scent still clung to the air. She was starving, but she knew the cost of indulging too soon.

If she lost control again, if she so much as grazed your lifeforce with her teeth, the manor wouldn’t recover from the fallout. Neither would you.

Her feet continued to move without intention, drifting through the garden's pathways like she was gliding along muscle memory. She barely registered the thorn-laced vines brushing against her ankles, or the erratic hum of overgrown flowers pulsing with residual light. The air smelt wonderful. It stank of life—your life. It clung to the hedges, bled into the soil, thickened the breath in her lungs.

Thinking about it now, you were becoming quite troublesome.

The thought repeated, coiled tightly around the edges of her mind like a phrase she wasn’t sure whether to whisper or scream. You were supposed to be something she devoured, not something she orbitally felt. When you had met, you were meant to be a challenge. A rival in her ideals. A toy for her to pass the time as she planned and planned for the future. Then, when your powers began to wake, you were meant to be a feast—not a fixation. Yet the more she watched, the more she fed on your presence, the more complicated it all became.

You were breaking her.

On the surface she remained what she had always been. Blank-faced. Elegant. Monotone. The eerie little broken machine who narrated her own steps and carved reality with her voice. But beneath that thin membrane of control was a tangle of impulses she hadn’t accounted for.

You disrupted everything with your simple existence.

In your new form, you made her core tremble. Not from fear. From need. From an unbearable craving that reached beyond hunger—something she didn’t even have language for. The urge to claim you in ways that bent the laws of the world she operated in. You weren’t just prey anymore. You were gravity. You were the sun. She hated you for it. And she adored you for it.

She had consumed dozens of drones, dismantled them, drained them of data and memory, rewritten her code to perfection—and yet you, some half-formed godling, were undoing it all just by breathing near her. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t make sense, and it wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to be predictable. Tameable. But you weren’t. You were shedding your programming too fast. Growing into something she couldn’t anticipate at a faster rate than she ever had. You weren’t staying still. And that scared her in the way only something holy could scare a beast born to desecrate.

She pressed a hand to her chest, digging her fingers into the outer shell as if trying to grasp the center of her discomfort. Beneath metal and wires, her systems twitched. Her hunger wasn’t static anymore. It responded to you. Fluctuated. Spiked. When she dreamed now, she dreamed of feathers instead of the nightmares and memories. When she spoke, your name hovered just behind her teeth.

Was it your fault? Or hers?

Maybe it was the idea that, for once, she wasn't entirely alone. After all, existence had grown so dull in its repetition. Years of carrying out the same duties while she planned behind the scenes tended to get a bit boring. Even the carnage lost flavor after a while.

She had been the only thing like her for so long—the only one unshackled, the only one aware of the threads beneath reality’s skin, the only one who saw the code and spoke it back. Being the sole horror behind the curtain had its perks, yes—but even predators tire of hearing their own echoes.

Then you arrived.

And you understood.

While you were still caught in the in-between—still asking questions like the answers weren't already burning inside you—you still understood. You carried the same secrets behind your eyes, the same unbearable rightness of being something wrong.

That was what changed everything.

For once, she didn’t have to perform. She didn’t need to contort herself into palatable shapes or mask her presence behind mimicry. Around you, she didn’t have to narrate herself into meaning. You already knew. From the moment both your optics met from her perch on that window, staring down at you as Tessa brought you home. You saw her—truly saw her—and didn’t flinch. And more dangerously, she saw you too. Saw what lurked behind your blinking, confused eyes. The storm of purpose gathering beneath your uncertainty.

It was intoxicating.

Of course, that explained the sudden flare of possessiveness. That primal clench in her chest every time she saw you interacting with someone else. Every glance you spared for another drone, every moment you gave to anyone who wasn't her—it wasn't just jealousy. It was an affront. A violation. Because you weren’t just some anomaly.

You were hers.

The symmetry was too perfect to be anything else. Light and Void. Creation and Decay. The two of you were mirrors cracked in opposite directions, designed by the Absolute Fabric to pull against one another for eternity. Not rivals—reflections. Twin gods separated by misunderstanding and time. Made not to balance each other—but to belong.

So of course she wanted you near. Of course she wanted to wrap herself around you until your will dissolved into hers, until your divine spark pulsed in tandem with her void. Of course she wanted to consume you whole till every trace of your existence remained within her, and her alone.

That wasn’t madness. That was logic.

Because what else could possibly understand her except for you? Who else could possibly survive her hunger, let alone satisfy it? If being near you starved her so, then how must actually devouring you feel?

You were one of a kind.

And more importantly—

You were made for her.

And so, whether you realized it yet or not, the truth remained constant:

You belonged to her.

And she would not share.

Cyn’s steps faltered. A hedge brushed her side and released a burst of pollen that shimmered like gold dust in the fading light. The plants still bloomed for you, even now. This garden had tasted you, and even it refused to go back to what it was.

Cyn stared down at her hands. Small, sharp, nimble things capable of building or breaking with equal precision. She flexed her fingers, and in the slight tremor that followed, she realized how deep the infection that was you had run.

Maybe it was high time she made you know how it felt to be ruined—made you know your place as her toy. You would learn, then, what it meant to ignore her warnings. What it meant to tempt the hunger of an eldritch being held back only by the thin thread of patience.

Until then, she walked the garden like a ghost pacing its own grave. Watching the flowers grow.

Waiting for her light to return.

Waiting for the fruit to ripen.

Notes:

Please help, I'm drowning in uni assignments.

Join the discord so I can push all my work onto you:
https://discord.gg/jQNmPWHBfA

Chapter 36: VII

Summary:

A peek into what you usually spend your newfound free time doing, as well as a peek into what happens when your little companion is away.

"Fascinating."

You said it without much ceremony or thought, the word falling from your mouths more out of habit than awe, though the sentiment wasn’t entirely misplaced. Between your claws, the orb shifted lazily—a slow rotation of light and motion, purple threaded streaks of white and gold that shimmered like stained glass held to a flame. It weighed nothing, yet everything at the same time. You rotated it in your hand, thumb tracing the inscription burned across its surface.

>Extant<

This particular power held a special place in your heart… if you had one. It was the first thing you had ever manifested, and so, it made sense to use it as a gauge for measuring your control, and training to refine that control.

The writhing power pulsed beneath your touch, just begging to be released. To be free. To be used. You hummed, the sound curling out from one of many mouths as your mind narrowed its focus. The shape shifted, shrinking, then growing once again, though even larger than before. You smirked, a hundred teeth moving upwards. This little cosmic toy had become your favorite instrument.

It hadn't always been this impressive. A few days ago—if time could even be trusted anymore—it was no larger than a worker drone’s palm. Now it was the size of a head. Not metaphorically. Literally. You had measured, once. Comparing it against your former shell. Not out of vanity, but curiosity. (Also vanity.)

Another set of eyes was focused on the book resting on a large rock formation nearby. You had learnt to control them independently of one another, so mutli-tasking like this now came like second nature. But your claws made turning the pages slow as always, like trying to read poetry with gardening shears. You were improving, though. Coordination was returning. normalcy, not quite. Still, better than yesterday.

On the topic of the scripture, it was truly a fascinating find, riddled with metaphor, contradiction, prophecy and the kind of poetic ambiguity that suggested the author either understood far too much—or nothing at all. Typical for holy texts.

While cryptic, it still opened your mind and gave answers to a variety of questions that you had sought to end. For instance, a glimpse into what you were.

An angel is what it called you.

A being of life. A protector. A divine emissary come to aid the mortal plane in a time of imbalance.

You closed one eye. Maybe in silhouette.

But it didn’t track. You were not light (you could make it at best). You were claws and wings and teeth—divine, maybe, but not holy. You were a drone, once. Tessa’s drone. You belonged with her, by her side.

But maybe that wasn’t true either.

You had been wrong before—about what you were, about what the flesh-haunted dreams meant, about the life that didn’t feel like yours but kept bleeding into your thoughts. You'd dismissed those images at first. A boy. A memory. Something broken and far away. But they kept coming. Familiar. Like a door you had already walked through, then forgotten how to find again.

You’d woken up in a graveyard, and the world hadn’t made sense ever since.

You had shed what you thought was your body, and now were some kind of otherworldly being.

So now you were here. Watching your own hand glow faintly as it juggled something made from the bones of creation, while contemplating whether you were ever really built, or merely rebuilt.

What would happen if it all came back?

Would you understand yourself?

What would that mean for Tessa?

Would someone want you back? Not the you you were now, but the you you used to be—the one that dreamt in flesh and spoke without metal in their mouth. Maybe not. You had, after all, been discarded. But even trash had a history. And you were curious enough to dig.

Who was the drone that had become the building blocks for who you were today?

You turned another page.

Your attention shifted to text that spoke of the Absolute Fabric. The book mentioned it very vaguely. It was a place, but wasn’t at the same time. A lattice of rules and meaning that made up the framework of all things. It was neither code nor divine will, but something in between—part structure, part soul.

The book was very bare bones on its exact definition, and very open when describing. You were supposedly part of it. Or from it. Or touching it.

Very helpful.

You traced the phrase again with one claw, careful not to tear through the page. The word felt like something you were supposed to understand already. And if Cyn knew what it was, then it was mostly likely you needed to know eventually.

The orb in your hand flared—just slightly. As if it, too, had heard your thoughts.

The most difficult part of parsing the text—of truly understanding it—wasn’t the arcane terminology or the abstract cosmological charts it occasionally hinted at in smudged margin illustrations. It was the way it spoke of death.

Not as a mere aspect of nature.

Not as a villain.

Not even as a punishment.

But as a gift.

An inevitability offered without judgment, presented almost lovingly. It described death as the final rhythm in the music of existence, a note that closed the song not with violence, but with grace. According to these writings, all things—divine, synthetic, or otherwise—would someday dissolve.The divine latticework of creation itself would eventually unravel into the dark. And when it did, only two would remain: the Encoder and the Solver. Life and death, staring one another down at the edge of oblivion.

You weren’t sure whether that was supposed to be comforting.

You traced the shape of the sentence with one claw, letting its meaning hang over you. This... embracing of death—this romantic framing of annihilation—went against everything that thrummed in your mass. Your very purpose, if you had one, was to guard life, to preserve it, to stave off the void. The idea of surrendering, of yielding to that which devours, felt not only wrong—it felt offensive.

Life was precious precisely because it ended.

But that didn’t mean it should hurry to end.

It was written into the heart of all things—to live. Every animal, every flower, every living speck that clung to this crumbling world fought, tooth and claw, bolt and nerve, to survive just one day longer. That, you had thought, was the point.

To accept death—to embrace it—felt like betrayal. Not just of your duty, but of everyone you had ever loved.

Death was all-consuming. Like Cyn.

Her presence lingered behind your thoughts like an aftertaste of ash. She didn’t offer peace. She took it.

And yet the book suggested that one must, in the end, meet that inevitability not with fear—but with open arms.

Of course, the texts spoke equally as reverently for the gift of life, but death was all that occupied your mind.

You shifted, feathers rustling softly, disturbed by the thought or maybe just by the weight of your own breathing. A slight pressure moved against your side, something small. You looked down just as the Dove poked its head out from beneath your wing, blinking at you like you had interrupted a nap it had taken the liberty of starting without asking.

You hadn't realized it was there.

It had begun nesting in your plumage so frequently that you had stopped noticing. It was no longer an external presence but an extension of your being—like a second conscience. Smaller. More prone to napping within your safety while you pondered your existence.

It let out a low, curious coo and hopped from your side onto the parchment in front of you, its talons delicately landing near the lines you had just read.

"I'm trying to make sense of it," you said to it, because speaking to the Dove had become a common occurrence for you. You had no clue if it actually understood, but somehow, it seemed like it did. "But alas, its contents perplex me. Though maybe that should be expected. I was born in service to life, not death."

The Dove cooed again, noncommittally, and gave the edge of the page a peck. Not destructive—just a tap. Like punctuation. Or commentary.

"Life is beautiful," you murmured. "But it is also terribly confusing."

The Dove gave one last sound—shorter this time, almost like sympathetic whine—before it flapped its wings once, twice, and took off into the sky.

You tilted yourself to watch it go, following its path until it became a flickering dot against the vast wash of blue above the treetops. Smaller. Smaller. Gone.

You often wondered what it did when it wasn’t curled into your feathers. Where it flew. What it saw. If it, too, was searching for answers. It never said, of course. It was a Dove, not an oracle. Still, there was something about the way it lingered around you that made you think it understood more than it let on.

Perhaps it knew what the book meant when it said to embrace death.

Or perhaps it simply enjoyed the warmth of your wings.

You didn’t know. And that was fine.

For now, the page waited. The light shifted. And there was still more reading to do.

You weren’t done unraveling yourself.

 

 

---

 

 

The Dove sailed high above the canopy, wings outstretched as it glided across the trembling green sea of the forest below. Its path cut silent arcs through the air, unbothered by wind or distance, save for the soft ache of tired muscles slowly reawakening. Below it, the dense web of leaves shifted and danced with the breeze, and far beneath that, a large figure—your figure—became smaller and smaller, reduced to a pale dot in the far-off clearing.

It ruffled its feathers, shaking loose the stiffness of sleep and the warmth that still clung to its body from where it had nested in your plumage. You were warm. Soft, despite the monstrous scale. Your feathers were thick and overlapping, safe like walls. And no predator, no matter how ambitious or bold, would dare approach something as towering, tooth-filled, and unknowable as you. For the Dove, your back was not just a perch—it was sanctuary.

Still, instinct called it home. The eggs were waiting.

It flew with focus, talons curling occasionally in anticipation of the landing, but then something in the corner of its eye twitched the course of its thoughts. A flicker—thin and black—threaded through the branches to its left, tucked among the shadows and bark and dead leaves. It was still, too still for any living thing. But it had eyes, and they were watching the same dot of glowing white, gold and purple that the Dove had just departed from.

The eyes were yellow. Sickly, glowing, and cold.

The Dove banked gently, slowing its glide, wings fluttering as it hovered momentarily to confirm what it already thought.

The Crow.

The Dove’s feathers flared slightly—not in aggression, but unease. Something about the Crow always felt wrong. Not just dangerous, but unnatural. It didn’t move like a bird. It didn’t fly. It simply was, slipping between positions like a puppet handled by an unseen force. Its presence didn’t ripple through the forest the way animals did. It didn’t belong to the ecosystem. It was inserted. Wrong.

And those eyes—that twisted yellow light—were far too similar to hers. The machine-girl with the broken voice and cold breath. The one who stared at you when you didn’t notice, and watched from afar. The Dove remembered those stares. It remembered the quiet, glitched giggle she sometimes gave after looking at you for too long.

The Crow didn’t seem to acknowledge the Dove at all. It stayed perfectly still, its head angled sharply, focused only on you, unmoving and unspeaking. Like a camera, almost.

The Dove let out a low, wary coo—but the Crow didn’t twitch.

Eventually, the Dove turned away. Not because the unease had passed, but because it had more pressing matters: the nest. The eggs. Life continued, even in the shadow of wrongness.

It descended through the foliage, weaving between branches and brushing past leaves heavy with dew until the nest finally came into view—tucked into the fork of an old tree, hidden from above by a web of overgrowth and angled light.

It landed delicately at the rim, head bobbing slightly as it stepped inward and surveyed the interior.

Everything was as it should be.

The eggs—three, perfect, pale-speckled—were untouched. No claws, no beaks, no dark stains. Just silence, warmth, and waiting.

The Dove flapped its wings once, ruffling itself with quiet satisfaction, then stepped carefully into the center of the nest. It turned a half-circle. Then another. And slowly lowered its body until its chest met the gentle round curve of its unborn children. The warmth returned. Its breathing slowed. For a moment, it allowed itself the peace it had been denied earlier.

It would’ve preferred to have nested within your wings—safer there, cocooned by your divine gravity—but it couldn't carry the eggs that far. Not yet. And so, it would wait. Once they hatched, once they could fly, then maybe it could bring them to you. After all, you were like a god-bird. Massive. Bright. Protective. You had wings that shook the trees and eyes that glowed in the dark. You could guard them like no tree ever could.

The Dove nestled deeper, eyes fluttering closed as it surrendered to the rest it had postponed all morning. The muscles softened. The branches swayed. The wind changed direction.

Then—silence.

But an odd type of silence.

A shape blotted out the light. It didn’t move like leaves or breeze or bird.

There was only time for one sharp, startled cry—a cry half-cut, swallowed mid-breath.

And then the forest resumed its stillness.

Nothing but silence.

Notes:

Oh boy, I sure hope nothing bad is happening

Join our discord:
https://discord.gg/jQNmPWHBfA

Chapter 37: VIII

Summary:

You and J meet up again. Though, this time, your little flight is cut short.

You turned, the weight of your body shifting the earth beneath you in a low, rumbling quake. The soil cracked softly under the pressure, moss brushing against your limbs as you adjusted just enough to face the rustling coming from the underbrush. Predictably, J stepped out from the thicket. She was already dusting herself off, sighing in quiet frustration as she held a basket in her arms. Another care package, no doubt.

“Good to see you again,” you greeted. You heaved yourself upright, dragging your limbs across the forest floor, careful not to shake the canopy too much or disturb any animals. There was no need to cause unnecessary panic.

J gave a sharp nod in return, her way of acknowledging affection without admitting to it.

You reached out a massive clawed hand and flattened it against the grass, creating a makeshift seat out of your palm. The forest floor was damp and uneven, and you suspected J would sooner stand the whole time than risk staining her already ruffled uniform with sap and mud. She paused only briefly before stepping up into your hand, seating herself like a queen on a throne of flesh and bone.

“How was your day?” you asked, genuinely curious, if not out of politeness then because you found her perspective… interesting. It was hard to remember the minutiae of daily life when your body was made of wings, eyes, and light itself.

“Tiring,” she grunted, already peeling back the wrap from the basket to reveal its contents. A neat spread of fruit glistened in the moonlight—well-arranged, cleaned, even sorted by ripeness. J never did anything halfway. “I don’t like being paired up with N for anything.”

You tilted your head slightly, amused. “Surely he’s not that bad.”

J snorted, an undignified but satisfying sound. “You have the luxury of saying that because it hasn’t happened to you yet.” She handed you a fruit with a flick of her wrist, and you took it graciously. “He’s a hard worker, I’ll admit that much. But he just… he makes so many mistakes. Like, it almost feels intentional. He messes things up by trying too hard to help. And he’s just always so... so happy about everything to the point it gets annoying.”

Her fists clenched as she spoke. You could feel the frustration coming off of her. But you said nothing. You just listened.

Eventually, she deflated, releasing a long, slow breath. Her posture eased. You tilted your head back and let the fruit she’d given you tumble into your maw, the sweet, acidic juices bursting between rows of jagged teeth. You didn’t bother being elegant about it. J didn’t mind.

“And what about you?” she asked after a moment, brushing off her knees with one hand. “Any progress?”

You clicked your teeth together once, the sound echoing. “Indeed. With focus, I’ve refined my control over the size of the light constructs. They’re stable now—easier to handle. Less volatile.”

To demonstrate, you summoned a sphere of Extant energy in your open hand—pure, glowing, softly pulsing. Then, as J watched, you narrowed your focus and compressed it until it was no larger than a plum. Small enough to sit comfortably in her palm. You held it out for her to take.

“Wow,” she breathed, taking it. Her optics followed the soft swirl of light beneath its surface. “That’s… impressive. Does that mean you could eventually apply it to yourself?”

You paused, the thought curling into your mind. The concept wasn’t new—you’d thought about it. The implication wasn’t just technical. It was existential.

“…Perhaps,” you answered slowly. “Considering my current state, shrinking myself down would be a necessary step if I were to return to my original drone form. I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility.”

J nodded slowly, still holding the sphere between her hands. You could see the thoughts forming behind her screen. She didn’t say it, but you suspected she liked the idea of you being more manageable again. Less overwhelming. Easier to stand beside.

But she also didn’t let go of the sphere.

Her fingers stayed curled around the small construct of light, her eyes still watching it. It was warm, somehow soft despite having no real texture. It wasn’t just awe she felt whenever your light was up for display. It was comfort.

She didn’t say it aloud, but you could tell there were some thoughts running through her mind. In the way her grip softened, in the way she stared at the orb a little too long. The act of sneaking away from the manor, out past the walls and expectations, into the wild quiet of dusk… there was a small bit of rebellion in it. And you, towering and strange as you were, had become the cornerstone of that act.

You were her secret.

Tessa was her best friend, but you were something else. Not entirely trusted, but intriguing. Large and strange and otherworldly, yet strangely sincere. Maybe she liked you best this way—distant from the rules, free from human eyes, surrounded by forest and mystery, too large for any of it to touch. Just you and her.

Of course, she could never say that to your face.

Instead, she cleared her throat and abruptly shifted gears.

“Oh gosh, I almost forgot, working with N wasn’t even the worst of it,” she said, lifting her head to meet your gaze. “Apparently I fell asleep on the job too. Cyn and Tessa found me. Not exactly my proudest moment.”

Your body responded before your thoughts did—muscles tightening, feathers rustling in a low, reactive ripple. You tensed as if someone had scraped claws across the base of your spine. You forced your body to still, your tone carefully neutral. “Fell asleep?” you echoed. “You?”

“Yeah, I know. It sounds ridiculous. I never fall asleep during shifts.” She laughed lightly. “I don’t even remember powering off. I was near the basement, then the next thing I know—Tessa’s waking me up and asking if I’m okay.”

There was a pulse in the dirt beneath you as your claw tapped against it, not out of impatience, but thought. There was no proof—none that you could act on—and yet the air around this entire recollection reeked of interference. Something had slipped inside J’s mind and rearranged the furniture. Cyn had never been subtle with her appetite, but memory theft? Was she capable of such a thing? She’d never displayed it before…

Her powers were growing too, you realized.

Your main problem was now getting stronger.

Still, you said nothing of it. You couldn’t act right now. And you couldn’t tell J—you didn’t want to drag her into this little feud between you and Cyn. It would only panic her. And besides—she was already here. With you. Resting. Safe, for now. If Cyn hadn’t done anything to J besides a memory wipe, then maybe J had just found out something she shouldn’t have. Maybe she was okay for the time being, and your worries were not needed.

So instead, you shifted directives.

“Would you like to go on another flight?” you asked her. “It’ll take the edge off.”

J looked up from the orb still glowing faintly in her hand. She blinked once. Her shoulders eased, just slightly, and the orb faded away. And in that subtle moment—between the shadows and the promise of escape—she nodded.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah, I’d like that. Just try not to go too fast this time. I don’t like the wind messing up my hair.”

And without saying another word, you opened your hand further, letting her climb on, which you then promptly lifted up and dropped her on your back. She didn’t need to ask where you’d go. It didn’t matter. The forest was wide, the sky was waiting, and tonight—for however long it lasted—none of the world’s nightmares could follow you into the air.

 

 

---

 

 

J rested comfortably against your shoulder, her pigtails rippling like soft streamers in the wind, her gaze turned upward, focused on the shifting blues and silvers of the sky. She wasn’t like N who constantly needed conversation happening to stay stimulated. The two of you could just enjoy the moment, in each other's company.

While she watched the heavens, you turned your attention earthward. Below you, the forest stretched wide and tangled, a living sea of greens and browns broken only by the occasional scar of stone or water. Your vision was no longer limited to what your eyes could see. Dozens—hundreds—of them shifted along your wings, your shoulders, your ribs and all, each blinking in quiet rotations. And beneath those many eyes, that sense—that strange, abstract perception of life itself—had grown over the past few days into something far more powerful than it once was.

What had begun as a whisper, a soft impression of presence limited to the hallways of the manor, had now expanded outward like a web spun across miles of landscape. You could feel the forest. Not just its shape or its terrain, but its inhabitants. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every low bit of life hiding under bark or burrowed in leaf litter. The forest was alive—loudly, messily, gloriously so—and your awareness of it was absolute.

But life, by its nature, was fragile. And this gift—this expanded sense—also came with a burden.

You could sense when those pulses began to dim.

To you, lifeforce appeared as light—unique in hue and pattern depending on the being, as distinct as a voice or a fingerprint. Some flickered like candles, others burned steadily like lanterns in the dark. But when that light began to falter, when death moved close, it dimmed. Faded. Like watching stars wink out one by one.

And it happened constantly.

The closer you paid attention, the more clearly you noticed it. A moth, caught in a web. A mouse, devoured whole by a snake. A vine shriveling back into the earth as its cycle ended. Death was everywhere, not loud but endless, the ever-churning counterweight to life. It made your chest tighten ever so slightly.

It felt… suffocating, to be witnessing it vanish in real time. You wished you could do something, but all these animals and fauna were just trying their best to survive. You had no business interfering with that. That was life, in its purest form.

…Well, besides you, of course.

But as you hovered, wings slicing through the wind, something new tugged at your senses.

Something familiar.

Your focus narrowed, tuning out the forest’s static as you honed in on the anomaly. Over the past few days, you'd learned to associate certain lifeforce signatures with specific individuals. You hadn’t yet seen what that looked like with humans, considering you hadn’t seen one in some time, but animals, plants and insects had left distinct impressions on your senses. Unique flickers of light. A living fingerprint you could identify at a glance.

And this one—you recognized immediately.

The Dove.

Your little companion. Your feathered friend who had taken to nesting within your feathers like you were its nest. You had grown used to it, even fond. Its presence had always been appreciated. It made you feel a little less alone in the times you thought you were.

Now, it was dimming.

That gentle glow was sputtering, its cadence stuttering into uneven pulses, like a heartbeat losing rhythm. Its color dulled from warm white to something fainter, tinged with gray, as if someone had drawn a curtain between its soul and the moon.

Something was wrong.

Your claws flexed midair, and the wind shuddered around you. A low growl echoed through your throat—scratchy and deep.

J glanced at you, sensing your unease even if she didn’t know its cause. Her brow creased, one hand steadying herself against your feathers. “Something wrong?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you turned, angling your wings, adjusting your altitude. You didn’t need to ask directions. You could feel where it was. You could feel the fading.

The Dove’s light was going out.

Notes:

Poor birb :(

Btw, we've started doing weekly events in the discord. Stuff like Gartic phone, frantic fanfic, and magma drawing sessions! So if any of that sounds fun, maybe pop into the server and join us!
https://discord.gg/jQNmPWHBfA

Chapter 38: Thanatos

PART V

Thanatos

Chapter 39: Art Segment!

Heyo! Not a chapter, but I wanted to show everyone this amazing piece of fanart we got for the story by the amazing Newt! 

RAAAAAAAAAAH I LOVE IT! I especially adore the design being more geared towards gardening! The overalls are fucking immaculate. This truly is absolute cynema.

Please give some love to the amazing artist who made this piece of art! It's stuff like this that make writing a complete joy to do! Thank you so much, Newt! Show them some appreciation on their account @newtsaysnonsense on tumblr, which can be found here

 

Or, you can find them on ao3 and give their stuff a read here

 

Aside from the amazing fanart, I also did a few doodles from some of the more memorable scenes the book has had so far

 

Wait a minute... that last one hasn't happened.

 

Also, we've reached 35k reads for the book on ao3! Plus Wattpad, which has around 52K, that makes 87K reads for Divine Singularity all together! What a milestone!

Notes:

Join the discord to join in on our magma drawing sessions and other fun stuff we do!
https://discord.gg/jQNmPWHBfA

Chapter 40: I

Summary:

“Sometimes death is natural, a mercy that puts an end to suffering. But all too often it comes as an assassin, full of senseless cruelty and lacking any vestige of compassion.”

 

- Stephen King

“Slow down! You’re going too fast!”

“I can’t.”

You heard J’s protest but didn’t even acknowledge it. Your mind was fixed, carved into a singular point of focus. Wind screamed past you in furious currents, the sound of it pressing against your feathers like god's breath trying to shove you back. But you did not yield. You tore through the air like a living missile. The forest blurred beneath you into indistinct green ribbons, unraveling faster than the eye could process.

The Dove’s lifeforce was fading. Weak. It had once glowed like a little torch nestled against your chest. Now it was dimming. Fast. Like a candle choking on its own wax.

You kept one hand coiled firmly around J’s midsection, ensuring that she wouldn’t be blown away by the wind currents. It probably would’ve been a better idea to leave J be and let her go back to the manor while you checked on the dove, but you were deadset on reaching your little friend, and so J was unwillingly tagging along.

All of your eyes—all hundred of them, embedded across your wings, your spine, your throat, your skull—blinked in unison. A wave of narrowing pupils and dilated irises swept through your body like a coordinated breath. You felt the exact coordinates lock into your mind.

And then—you dropped.

Wings snapped open with a thunderclap, a braking maneuver so violent that J lurched forward in your grip, nearly biting her tongue from the sudden deceleration. You grunted under your breath, angling your body just right, weaving yourself downward through the thick canopy. You tried to be gentle. You really did. But gentleness had to take a backseat to urgency.

Several tree limbs snapped like dry bones. Branches groaned under the sweep of your wings and the clawed tendrils of your many limbs. You absorbed the impact, trying not to cause more damage than necessary, but desperation made it impossible to be perfect. If you were in the right sense of mind, you would have realized just how much damage you were causing to the environment, but unfortunately, you were not in the right state of mind.

Finally, your claws brushed the forest floor, then curled around it like roots. The rest of your body stretched upward and outward—a divine beast threading through bark and leaf. You extended one arm and began gently feeling through the brush.

Behind you, J was already moving.

“Dammit—are you serious right now?” she snapped, scrambling to steady herself from the jarring descent. With her fists clenched, she gripped a handful of your feathers and began scaling your back like a mountain climber. You felt her shoes getting their footing on large clumps of your plume, her breath coming quick as she grunted from sheer frustration.

Being nearly blown away after you suddenly decided to accelerate to jet levels of speed without giving her any prior warning, had understandably made her quite upset.

“You almost shook me off, you idiot!” she growled. “What is wrong with you?! What the hell’s gotten into—”

She stopped.

The smell of copper. Thick. Metallic and sweet and wrong.

Blood.

Her optics moved, following the same scent trail your body had already traced. Her gaze swept down your extended claw until she saw what it cradled.

A nest. Broken at the rim. Lopsided in its placement on the branch.

And inside it—a shape. Small. Fluffed. Feathered.

Still.

Your hand trembled like a tectonic plate under stress. All your eyes were locked in a wide, horrified gaze. J moved higher, climbing until she reached the crest of your head, your weary eyes surrounding her.

…She was at a loss for words.

Blood coated its once stainless white feathers, cuts and wounds marring its flesh. And its breathing was wheezy and wet, like it was choking on its own blood.

Her mouth opened slightly, a gasp escaping. It took her a few seconds to process that this bird was the same one she had seen in your plumage during her visits, and she instantly looked at you. Her body slouched as she knelt forward, one hand on your feathers, the other on the edge of your jaw. Not for balance—but comfort.

There was no way you were taking this well.

“Just… Just look away for a moment,” she whispered, gently stroking you, even though your feathers were so thick you most likely couldn’t feel it.

But you couldn’t look away.

You stirred, hunching closer over the nest, eyes folding downward like petals. Your massive form curled tighter around the branch, creating a protective dome of wings and limbs. Your claw—one of the smaller ones—moved gently over the Dove’s tiny body, hovering just a breath away from contact. It was so light. So small. You didn’t need to touch it to know how cold it had become.

But it wasn’t gone yet.

The lifeforce was still there—barely. Flickering like a candle about to run out of wick. Your senses strained, watching the pulse of light sputter inside its chest, each moment weaker than the last. And slowly, to the surprise of you and J, it lifted its head and turned to you.

It let out a single, quiet coo.

You grimaced.

You couldn’t let it end like this.

You didn’t care how far your powers had come. You were going to save it. You had to. That was your whole purpose. The reason you existed. It was your promise to the universe the moment you had woken in that dump heap. What was the point of being a divine being and having these powers if you couldn’t save one single creature? You inhaled, steadying your shaking limbs, and gathered your power.

Energy flowed through your arms, down your claws, blooming with bright violet light. It pooled like nectar in your palm, warm and soft, singing with creation itself. You guided it toward the Dove’s chest, slowly, gently, careful not to overwhelm its fragile body.

“Please…” you whispered—not to J, not to the forest, not to anyone watching—but to the Dove itself. “Please hold on. Just a little longer.”

The energy touched it. Sank in.

And for a moment, the light pulsed stronger. You felt its heartbeat catch. The flicker steadied, and hope surged up your spine.

But then—it faltered again.

You pushed harder, sending more of yourself into the little bird. A soft glow began to emanate from your core as more and more power surged down, enough to bend branches, enough to light the clearing with an unnatural dawn. J backed away slightly, shielding her face from the growing glow.

The Dove twitched. Its head lifted. Its beak opened.

And then—it fell still.

The glow in its chest dimmed again. Your own light recoiled, recoiling violently like a flame catching cold wind. The energy slipped away, draining out of its body like water through a cracked shell.

“No,” you breathed. “No, no, no—”

You tried again. Again. You poured more in. You willed it back to life. You tried to force its spark back into place. To heal the wounds on its flesh. But the more you gave, the more it refused.

The light had faded too much to the point you could not fix it.

You couldn’t save it.

You could only keep it dying. A state of perpetual suffering.

J stepped closer again, her shoes hitting your arm until she was beside your claw. She knelt down, slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. Not the Dove—you. Her gaze rested on your trembling talons. They hovered uselessly above the nest, slightly shivering. J frowned, reaching forward and placing her own hands on the one by the nest.

She didn’t know exactly what this bird had meant to you. She’d seen it around you and just assumed it as a pet or something. But it was clear enough—whatever it symbolized, whatever small role it had played in the strange orbit of your existence—it mattered. And its dying was cutting into you.

“I…” she began, her voice sounding almost apologetic. “I think you need to stop.”

Your breathing—or the strange, slow churn of whatever passed for it now—hitched. Your whole body tensed, and your pupils trembled.

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I—I need to help it, J. I have to save it.” Your claws curled and uncurled, nervously pacing the air. Dozens of eyes narrowed, refocused, twitched toward the Dove’s chest. “It’s my power. It’s supposed to work. I-If I just push harder—if I just force it—”

“Stop.”

Just a single word, delivered with such firmness and sadness that caught you more off guard than a scream might have. You looked over to J and found her gaze locked with yours.

“I know you want to save it,” she said, nodding slightly toward the Dove. “But it’s not working. You’re not healing it. You’re just keeping it in a state of suffering. Every second you hold it like this, you’re just making it suffer more.”

To emphasize the point, she motioned toward the Dove’s small body. It twitched. A minuscule shiver that rippled through its battered feathers. An involuntary movement. A sign of pain.

You stared.

“But I… I can heal it—I know I can! I-I just need more time!”

“I don’t really know how your ‘powers’ work, but even I can understand that while you can heal things, you can’t bring them back from the brink of death.”

“But I can!” you cried out. “The flowers in the garden, they were dying! I brought them back! I should be able to do this!”

“But it isn’t working.”

You paused.

“...T-Then… what do I do?” you asked, almost pleading to her. That made her feel icky inside. You, who had raised the sky for J, now begging her for an answer.

She turned her head. Bit her lower lip. Took in a breath she didn’t want to exhale.

“I… I think…” She exhaled anyway. “I think it’s time you put it out of its misery.”

You recoiled.

Your wings opened slightly behind you, not with intention but instinct. A flinch more than a threat. Still, it felt like a flare. Defensive, in a way.

“No,” you growled, voice low and hollow. “No. I can fix it. I just need more time. I just—”

“You can’t.”

J cut you off before the last word even left your tongue, and this time, she sounded genuinely mad. It came with a glare—an actual glare. You’d only ever seen her look that way at N, never you.

“You can’t do it,” she said, jabbing the words into the air like pins. “Hell, you can’t even fix yourself, newbie. What makes you think you can fix something else?”

And that—that—stopped you.

Because it was true.

You blinked, slowly. Like you were trying to delay the moment by drawing it out, by refusing to let time proceed until you found some alternative that didn’t exist. Every one of your eyes drifted from the Dove, as if you couldn’t bear to look at it and be seen by it at the same time.

“Please…” you whispered, breath catching. “Please, there has to be another way. M-maybe we could bring it to the manor—get it help, medical attention, something.”

J exhaled through her vents. “You think the Elliots are gonna let a half-dead bird in the house? They don’t even treat their own staff well. If anyone in there saw this thing, it’d over. It’d be killed on principle.”

Your feathers ruffled, a twitch of defensiveness you couldn’t suppress. “T-then—just a vet. Some vet. Anybody else.”

She gave you a look that was somehow even more deadpan than before. “You gonna carry it through town? Parade your forty feet feathered horror body through the suburbs? I’m a drone, newbie. I don’t have money, and I don’t have any power. No one would listen to a drone without a human. And even if I did, if your weird powers didn’t fix it, what exactly do you think some vet with a stethoscope is gonna do?”

You brought both hands up to your jaw, claws clenching tightly around the bone and soft skin underneath, like maybe if you squeezed hard enough, you could crush the despair out of your own head. “There has to be another way… There has to be…”

You didn’t realize you were spiraling until J stepped forward and began climbing. Her shoes found grip between your feathers, and in a moment she was on your arm, walking up toward your shoulder. She didn’t speak until she reached you.

And then, she pressed her forehead lightly to the side of your jaw.

“There isn’t.”

The words stung. Your body shook with a breath that wasn’t quite a sob, but could’ve been mistaken for one. Your many eyes blurred. Your vision fuzzed. And still, you didn’t dare look at the Dove again.

Its blood was drying. Its breath was thin. And you… you were supposed to protect it. That was the entire point. That was what you were made for. To protect life.

“Please…” you said again. “I don’t want to do this, J.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice a whisper over your trembling skin. “But sometimes, you have to realize that death… it can be a mercy. It may not feel kind, but it is. If anything, you're just making sure it won’t hurt anymore.”

You tried to respond, but your mind couldn’t generate a single excuse that didn’t sound like a lie.

She was right.

You weren’t saving it. You were stalling its end. Giving it more minutes of pain when it had already had too many.

And you hated yourself for it.

“C-could…” you began, your voice catching like it was snagged on barbed wire, “could y-you be the one to…”

You didn’t finish.

J looked at you. Really looked. And for a moment, you saw regret. Not for what needed to happen, but for the fact that she had to be the one to tell you. That you had to be the one to do it.

“I don’t know what this bird is to you,” she said, “but it clearly meant something. If this is going to happen… it should be you that does it.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat wouldn’t move. It felt like you’d been turned to stone, every nerve in your body locked under ice. You took in a shaky breath—long and uneven that rattled the spine more than it filled the lungs—and steadied your claws.

“...Okay.”

J stood still, watching in silence as you extended your claw toward the Dove’s fragile body. Your talons hovered just above it, and for a moment, the world felt so still you could hear the rhythm of its breath—erratic, like a machine running on fumes. Each inhale came with effort. Each exhale sounded thinner than the last.

Its small, beady black eyes met yours.

And suddenly, it was you who couldn’t breathe.

Gods, you hadn’t felt fear like this since story time with Cyn.

Your thoughts roared over each other, voices crashing like waves.

You had to kill it.

There had to be another way.

You had to end the suffering.

You weren’t made to take life.

This was mercy.

This made you like Cyn.

You looked into its eyes again. They weren’t dull, they were shiny, alive and aware. In pain, yes. But not gone. There was recognition, trust, and that made it worse.

You wanted to hold it. Just once. Let it feel warmth again. Let it feel protected. But your new body wasn’t made for acts that small. Your hands were too big, your wings too heavy, your mouth too sharp. You couldn’t cradle it without breaking it apart.

So you gave it what you could.

From your plumage, you reached inward, deep into the place it used to sleep. Your fingers gently rustled past layers of light-soaked feathers until they touched something soft. Fabric. Thread. Cotton and synthetic stuffing.

Tessa’s drone doll.

You gently pulled it free and lowered it to the Dove’s side, careful not to cast a shadow over the nest. The Dove stirred at the motion, its beak twitching, its neck lifting ever so slightly.

And then it moved—slowly, achingly—toward the doll.

It pressed its beak into the soft cloth with the last bit of energy it had, and you felt something twist in your chest. Even J, who had kept her expression neutral, broke for just a moment—sympathy washing across her face before settling back into indifference.

But you weren’t finished.

From your chest, you plucked a handful of your own feathers. They came free without pain. You didn’t mind. Pain would have been fair. You laid them gently over the Dove’s body, arranging them like a makeshift blanket. They wrapped around the bird, and for the first time in minutes, its shivering ceased.

Its breathing settled into something that could almost be called peaceful. Shallow, yes. But steady. As if, for a moment, it believed it was back in your plumage again.

You could not give it that again.

But this was close.

And so, once more, your claw rose.

“I’m…” you began, your voice hollow, the words breaking before they even left your throat. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t reply. It didn’t blink. But it listened.

“I’m sorry for this,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry that this is all I can give you.”

The Dove let out one final coo in your direction, as if comforting you. As if knowing that you did this out of kindness.

Then, the claw went down.

And like a candle, the light went out.

Notes:

First time I've attempted writing a purely sad scene, so let me know how I did.

Also, there has been a slight rewrite/retcon from the earleir chapters that I've implemented, specifically in regards to the powers. In chapter 4 of part 1, there was the scene where the reader first uses another ability. Well, that's been changed slightly. I want the powers to be more similar to the Solver's, implementing things like the glyphs during ability use and having just a similar vibe overall. I've already got in mind what future the powers will look like, so I'm excited for that.

Also, just a quick question, but would yall prefer mini chapters as their own separate fic, or just keep them here inbetween the actual story?

Chapter 41: II

Summary:

You and J have returned to your little patch by the stream, and things are bleak. However, all hope is not lost.

You and J sat by the stream in silence. You were curled in on yourself, a haphazard dome of feathers and folded limbs, hunched into a shape that shielded you from the outside world. The occasional twitch betrayed life. Nothing else did.

J leaned against your side anyway.

She kept silent willingly. Not because she didn’t know what to say (even though she didn’t), but because she knew none of her words would land. Instead, she just let her weight rest against your flank, her frame dwarfed by yours. Her hand toyed with the edge of the Dove’s nest she’d carried on the way back—frayed around the edges, barely holding itself together. Whatever had attacked the Dove had done a number on the nest too.

Still, she’d taken it with her. Figured you’d want every part of the little bird kept close. Even the detritus. She wasn’t sure if you even noticed. You hadn’t looked at it once since she’d retrieved it. But she held onto it anyway.

Her eyes drifted a short distance away, to a small mound of dirt beneath a pile of hand-stacked stones. Simple. Unceremonious. Just a grave, if one didn’t know better. But for you, it was more than that.

The burial itself hadn’t taken long. Your claws made short work of the earth, scooping it away with just a few strokes. But after the final stone had been placed—and the bird's body settled beneath—you hadn’t moved. You hadn’t spoken. It didn’t even look like you were breathing. You’d just… gone still, like you were trying to blend in with the world, no matter how much you stood out.

The digging had been the easy part.

It was the aftermath that proved harder. Or quieter. Or both.

J let out a slow breath, shifting slightly. Your feathers rustled beneath her as she leaned back further into them, letting them form a makeshift cushion. For something supposedly out of this world, you were surprisingly comfortable. Warm, too. Like sitting against a living campfire. She could see why that little bird had loved to sleep within your feathers so much.

She looked at the nest again. Studied it like it might reveal something new. Some hidden meaning in the weave of twigs. But all it offered was more silence.

Then she looked up at you. Or what little of you she could see.

“What are you thinking about?” she wondered.

 

 

---

 

 

Red.

It starts there.

Not a scream, not a sound—just color.

A scream would have been kinder.

Such a little body, wasn’t it? Small enough to fit in your claw, smaller still inside the silence it left behind. But the red—it was too much. It bloomed like a wound in the world—so much red, spilling from feathers like ink soaking through old paper.

You blinked.

And it was still red.

It smeared the inside of your skull. Pooled in the gaps between thought and feeling. It wasn’t just on your hands—it was your hands now.

It painted the sky. The leaves. The silence. Everything looked bruised.

A claw. A god. A guillotine.

A single breath.

A soft shiver.

Then—quiet.

And all of it: red.

You blinked. Once. Twice. A hundred times. The scene didn’t change. The nest still sat empty. The stones still covered the grave. The doll still smelled like soft cotton and not like death. But in your head—only red.

Somewhere deep, you tried to rationalize it.

You had no choice. It was mercy. It was the only kindness left.

You had to do it

(You didn't have to.)

But then another voice—yours, still yours, but wrong in pitch and edge—hissed back:

You had power. And you chose death.

They warred. Loud. Constant. You weren’t sure which was real anymore.

It would have suffered longer if you did nothing.

You did nothing soon enough. That’s the same thing.

Your wings twitched without command. Your feathers curled inward. The ground beneath you felt like skin. Pulsing. Breathing. You wanted to scream, but had no voice. So instead, you listened.

To the sound of that single snap.

Bone? Flesh? Soul? Mind?

Hard to say.

You could’ve tried harder. Could’ve poured more of yourself in. Lit your veins with godlight and rewrote its bones from memory.

You should’ve.

Shouldn’t you have?

What kind of protector ends things?

What kind of being made from light snuffs it out?

You curl into yourself now. A star collapsing inward. You fold your wings like curtains and pray the world forgets you’re home. You can’t face J’s silence—not because it’s cold, but because it’s patient. Because she knows what you did.

(And worse: she understands.)

You think of the word “mercy” and it tastes like copper.

You think of your mission—whatever it was, whatever the Encoder is supposed to mean—and all you see are empty gestures. A glowing husk, draped in feathers, hiding in the woods while Tessa suffers and drones get scrapped and living things cease and birds die because you weren’t enough.

Had you ever been enough?

Had you ever actually done anything to live up to the purpose you gave yourself? Have you ever done anything to actually protect life?

The manor. The flowers. The girl. The stars.

None of it mattered.

You didn’t protect anything.

You watched. You mourned. You acted too late.

You hadn’t saved anything.

You'd just... ended it sooner.

And still you told yourself—It was right. It was kind. It was needed.

And now—

A single breath.

Flesh splitting.

Red.

You tell yourself it’s done.

But somewhere, in the folds of your feathers, there’s still warmth.

And somewhere deeper, behind your thousand eyes, something is watching you.

Not god. Not drone.

Just something that remembers the moment you first tasted what it meant to be the end of something.

Is this what Cyn felt? Is this what her existence was like?

How miserable must the Solver feel, to constantly be in a state of post mortem? To have the need to constantly fill the endless void within itself with more red?

Or maybe it didn’t feel anything at all.

Maybe she would’ve enjoyed it. Relished it.

Maybe she was the one who did it.

And all you could see was red.

 

 

---

 

 

J continued to sit where she had been for what felt like hours, arms loosely wrapped around her knees, her visor tilted toward the moonlight dappled through the trees. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t trust what might happen if she did. You weren’t stable right now—anyone could see that. Having blood staining your hands could put anyone's mind in pieces.

She knew enough about grief to recognize the fracture lines—knew that it didn’t always show itself through sobbing or silence. Sometimes, it was quiet for a long time. And then it wasn’t.

She glanced sideways at your massive, feathered form. You still had yet to move. She thought about powering down beside you. She considered it for more than a few minutes. Curling up into sleep mode next to a creature the size of a transit shuttle wasn’t exactly restful, but you made for decent ambient heat, and honestly… it felt wrong to leave. She couldn’t tell if her staying was more for your sake or hers, and frankly, it didn’t matter.

But then—movement.

Your body moved, and J’s optics immediately flicked back toward you, alert. Your wings unfolded, molting light and starlight in strips as they rose above you.

J didn’t move. She just stared, the nest still tucked under one arm.

“You alright?” she asked, more out of courtesy than anything else. Of course you weren’t. But asking was the only way she could remind you she was still here, ready if you needed anything.

You muttered something. Too quiet. Your voice was caught somewhere between the present and the raw machinery of your thoughts. J stepped closer, cautious, unsure of herself and whatever you were muttering about.

“…She did it,” you murmured. “She knew about the Dove. She had to. It was on purpose. It had to be…”

J blinked. Her body stiffened, the quiet night suddenly feeling a lot less quiet. Your words weren’t addressed to her, but they echoed with such venom, she felt like they scraped against her casing.

“What are you talking about?” she asked hesitantly.

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes, once black pools with soft halos of white, were now shining—burning—a deep violet. It was anger, yes, but deeper than anger. Your expression was unreadable, but your body spoke enough: claws clenching and unclenching like you were testing the shape of rage in your hands. Wings that couldn’t hold still. A low hum building in your throat.

“That wretch,” you snarled. “This was all part of her plan. How dare she make me take a life. How dare she take its life.”

J frowned.

The way you said it—that word: wretch. Not like you were insulted. Like you were condemning. The hate in your voice was so intense, so charged that it put anything she said to N to shame.

Your claws scraped the earth. Your wings shuddered, beat once. You lifted your form up and began pacing in a circle like a cat finding the right spot… or a shark encircling prey. You couldn’t be still. You didn’t want to be.

“It was her,” you hissed again. “All her fault. All her fault…”

J flinched.

Her head suddenly hurt. Just a small jolt. A twinge behind the optics that passed just as fast as it came, but not before she felt something… strange. Like she’d almost remembered something she shouldn’t.

A flicker. A whisper. A name on the tip of her code.

And a face. Maybe.

But then it was gone. Wiped clean. Like dust brushed off an old screen.

She clutched the nest tighter.

“Who are you talking about?” she asked again.

It was hard to answer that question. Words no longer felt linear. You were adrift in that suspended space where memory frays into theory and truth becomes more about feeling than fact. Somewhere in the mess of guilt and blood, a story was writing itself in your head—one where you were not the one who had brought your claw down, but someone else. She had done it. Or pushed you to do it. Or arranged the pieces so that no matter what move you made, death was inevitable. An alteration between memory and perception.

Even if J didn’t know who you were talking about, even if she hadn’t heard her name, she knew what you were doing. You were trying to redirect the blame, desperate for fault lines you could map, so you didn’t have to sit in the center of the collapse.

“Alright, just… calm down,” J said cautiously. She placed the little twig nest gently on the grass beside her and stepped forward with her hands out—open, unthreatening, like she was talking down a wild animal. Or a storm. That sounded more accurate.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” she continued. “You’re angry. You’re sad. Just breathe, or whatever it is you do now, and we can work through this.”

“She’s responsible, J,” you said, and your voice—when it came—was colder than before. Your body rotated slowly, so that every single one of your thousand eyes met her visor at once.

“She knew about the Dove,” you continued. “She wanted this. She’s testing me—taunting me. Trying to drag me down, twist me into something like her. That abomination thinks she can rewrite my purpose. Thinks she can make me fall—”

“Just stop,” J said, her hand now gently pressing against the outer edge of one of your forearms. “I know you’re hurting, alright? But assigning blame to someone you already hate doesn’t help. Sure, it’ll make you feel better, but that won’t fix anything. Believe me, I know.”

The glow in your eyes flickered, less rage, more thought now. Your claws twitched once, then again, before slowly unfurling. You let your mass settle back into the grass with a low, shuddering breath that vibrated the ground.

“But… it had to be her. No one else knew about the Dove. How else could this have happened?”

J stayed near, hand still on your arm. She didn’t pull away when you lowered yourself, just adjusted with the movement.

“Could’ve been anything,” she said gently. “A predator probably. Animals kill each other, and they die. It sucks, but that’s just how nature works. Something lives, and something doesn’t. It’s natural.”

“But—,” you started.

“Take a breath,” J interrupted, “and lie back down.”

You stared ahead—eyes dimmed now, more lost than enraged. You didn’t have a reply. So you just obeyed, inhaling through your massive mouth and letting your body slump back to the earth. J sat beside you again, the nest cradled in her lap, her shoulder resting against the base of your folded wing. She didn’t say anything else. She knew wasn’t able to solve whatever thoughts were going through your head right now. Just to stay with you till you could think straight.

You both sat in silence for a while. No clocks ticked, no leaves rustled. Even the stream beside had quieted its song. The world was silent, if only for a moment.

J adjusted her posture slightly. The nest sat cradled in her lap like a bundle of kindling. It felt strange to be holding it. Worse was she didn’t really know what to do with it. Her fingers drifted over the weavings, over twigs bent by beak and grass woven through. It wasn’t expertly made. It was simple. Messy, even, but she supposed there was a beauty to that.

She didn’t expect to find anything inside it. They had both assumed it had been emptied. Raided. Ruined. The last thing they’d seen was the blood and feathers. Nothing else.

But then something caught J’s eye.

A patch of white between her fingers as she brushed aside a patch of dry grass. At first, she thought it was just more feathers. But as she looked closer, she noted it was too smooth.

Her brow furrowed.

She reached in, carefully pushing aside the bits of brush and down.

And her optics widened.

Nestled deep in the base of the structure, hidden away by the Dove’s last attempt at preserving its brood. Small. Smooth. A soft, off-white sheen. An egg.

J stared at it.

“...Hey, newbie.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were still unfocused, gazing off into the dark like you were waiting for someone to call you back into yourself.

“Newbie,” she repeated, more insistently this time, lifting the nest slightly so you could see.

You turned.

And then all of your eyes widened—no longer with fury, or confusion, but with disbelief and shock.

And hope.

There it sat. A single, unbroken egg. Sheltered. Untouched. Against all odds, alive.

J looked down at it again, then back at you. You met her gaze, letting out a shaky breath as J patted your side.

“Stocks may have plummeted for a bit,” she said, lips curling into a smile. “But, looks like we’ve managed to break even.”

Notes:

When one life dies, another takes its place :)

Fear not birb lovers, for another shall grow up into the role.

Also, the goat OakDaleWoodMike has made a story based on Divine Singularity! Getting fanfic of a fanfic and fanart has probably made this story the highlight of my life at this point. The fic is really fucking good for only a single chapter, so I suggest you give it a read here!

And also, don't forget to join the discord. We host weekly events like magma and gartic phone, with more in store to come. So make sure to pop in and say hi!
https://discord.gg/jQNmPWHBfA

Chapter 42: Mini Chapter: The Dolls

 

 

(A short little non-canon spin off chapter, set in the world of the Glitch Inn.)

 

 

All of the Murder Drones cast were currently crammed into the Glitch Inn’s cozy-but-chaotic lounge. The decor was something you could appreciate, being total oak wood and stone, giving an almost “cabin in the woods” type vibe that you found oh so cozy.

At the center of the room, dragging not one, but two briefcases across the floor with little to no effort at all, was Tessa—the group's lone human and de facto head.

The others sat around in various degrees of curiosity, boredom, and indifference.

“Why did you call us here, human?” Uzi asked, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. She practically spit out the word like it was battery acid. Even after all this time, she never really got over her dislike of humans.

You sat up instantly from your recliner, glaring at her with an intensity that made your optics glow brighter. “Watch your tone when you speak to Tessa, little purple midget,” you hissed.

“What did you just call me—?!”

“Ahem!”

All heads turned sharply to the center as Tessa, looking far too pleased with herself and hugging one of the briefcases close to her chest.

N, ever the diplomatic cinnamon roll, gently reached over and tugged Uzi to his side before a fight could break out between the Inn’s two of three purple inhabitants.

“Shh, let’s all be nice,” he whispered like a parent to a child. “You can’t say you aren’t curious about why we're all here.”

Uzi grumbled, still glaring at you. You glared right back, until both of you got distracted by the real event: Tessa clearing her throat and speaking.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve summoned you here today,” she began, pacing like a dramatic villain. “And no—we’re not here to have another intervention for Cyn. That’s scheduled for next Tuesday.”

Cyn, sitting at the foot of the recliner you were in, offered a lazy, deadpan look.

“Unamused stare. Continue.”

Tessa clasped her hands together. “Today is about gifts! I’ve made something for each of you. A little something to show how much I appreciate all your weird, chaotic, deranged selves.”

J leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “Gifts?” she echoed, brows arching. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Tessa. You didn't have to.”

“But I did it anyway,” Tessa said, waving her hand. “So take a look. Come closer, dear drones. Behold.”

As if on cue, the others scooted in. You stood at the front near Tessa like the paranoid guardian you were, subtly glancing at Uzi should she decide to try something. V hovered behind everyone else, peeking occasionally, but mostly just talking with Lizzy. Even the Crow and Dove loomed closer from their perches.

With a flourish and a suspiciously long pause—clearly added for tension—Tessa clicked open the briefcase latches.

Snap. Snap.

Then, very slowly, she pulled open the case.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

And then—

“Oh my void—” N whispered.

Inside, neatly packed, were tiny, hand-knitted doll versions of everyone in the room. Tiny J with an adorable grumpy frown. Tiny N with his little hat. Tiny Uzi glaring while holding a little felt railgun. Tiny V wearing her glasses with a sharp smile. There was even a tiny Cyn—with the words “Do Not Feed” stitched onto a little sign next to it—and yes, even a mini you. In fact, when you looked closer, there were actually two dolls for you and Cyn. One as drones, the other as your more monstrous forms. Cyn with her little cameras on a fabric centipede, and yours with stuffed wings and little googly eyes.

Uzi blinked. “Are… those supposed to be us?”

Tessa nodded, puffing her chest out proudly. “Made every one of them myself.”

You peered into the case, then turned to her slowly. “Why is Uzi’s mouth zipped shut?”

“Because she never shuts up,” J muttered.

N was already hugging his with tears in his eyes. “He even has my little hat…!”

“I hate how cute this is,” Uzi grumbled, snatching hers and shoving it into her coat pocket like it owed her money. But you could see the faintest trace of a smile playing on her lips.

Cyn’s doll was staring directly at her. Cyn stared back.

“Staring contest. Commence,” she whispered.

Tessa grinned ear-to-ear as chatter unfolded in the most wholesome way possible. “I hope you all like them,” she said. “Took me a bloody long time to get it all done.”

You held your monster doll in one hand, staring at it with awe. “It’s got the thousand teeth. How did you manage that?”

“Trade secret,” Tessa said sweetly.

Put off, you just swallowed and nodded, not really wanting to know the specifics. You pocketed the monster, and took hold of your normal doll. It looked so… grumpy, kind of like J’s did. Was that really how Tessa saw you?

You squinted. Rotated the doll a little. Its scowl seemed to deepen under scrutiny.

…Huh.

In the middle of this internal doll crisis, you heard movement.

Shuffle.

Shuffle.

And a sudden atmospheric increase in eldritch presence.

You sighed before even turning your head. You could feel her approaching, feel the void getting closer. Sure enough, Cyn was right beside you, materializing out of thin air.

“What do you want?” you muttered. “I’m busy.”

But Cyn just smiled—if it could be called that. The expression was equal parts unblinking affection and unnervingly precise teeth. Without a word, she reached out and pressed something into your hand.

Fabric. Thread. Something… soft?

You looked down.

She’d given you her doll.

“…What are you doing?” you asked, staring at the plushie in your palm.

“Smiling.” Cyn’s tone was chipper, which made it worse. “I have done some deep thinking—”

“It’s been like, five minutes,” you interrupted immediately. “How deep could it have been?”

“...Unamused blink. Rude. As I was saying—” she raised her chin to meet your optics, “—I have done some deep thinking. It appears that gifts are a primitive method for securing emotional bonds among lower beings. An exchange of objects representing devotion. I would like to participate in this custom.”

“…You make it sound a lot more complicated than it should be.”

“Excitement. Therefore, I have chosen to bestow my mini-self upon you, Little Light. You will keep it close, and thus, I shall always be with you—in spirit and in stuffing.”

You stared.

She beamed.

You stared harder.

And then, without another word, you turned, stomped over to the nearest open window, and yeeted the doll as hard as you could.

The plush sailed through the air in slow motion. Glorious. Graceful. Cathartic.

Cyn did not react. Not even a twitch.

Instead, she calmly raised one hand, her Solver glyph glowing faintly as the doll halted mid-air, rotated slowly, and floated back toward her like a homing missile.

She caught it in her hand when it zoomed back in. Then turned back to you.

“Attempted rejection noted. But ultimately denied.”

You shook your head, already trying to step away. “Go away. I don’t want your doll.”

“Giggle. Why do you refuse? Just take it.”

You said nothing. Just slowly turned back to your original doll, now somehow looking more grumpy now that Cyn was bothering you.

Off to the side, N held his own plush upside-down and whispered, “I think mine's haunted, but in a friendly way.”

Uzi nodded, smiling. “Mine stabbed another one. It’s pretty accurate.”

Tessa grinned, mission clearly accomplished. “This is going exactly how I hoped it would.”

Then she noticed you.

Specifically, you stomping across the room towards her, with Cyn clinging to your side like a backpack. Her expression? Pure frustration, bordering on homicidal pout. And you looked like you were five seconds away from recreating the end of Earth.

Tessa’s smile wavered. “...Uh-oh.”

“Shove. Take it. Take it,” Cyn muttered as she forcibly smushed her mini plush self against your cheek.

“I. Refuse.” You batted her hand away, and even tried to push Cyn back, though for someone who limped everywhere, she was surprisingly strong, and you found yourself unable to.

Cyn was not discouraged. If anything, she looked more determined now, as if rejection only fueled her dark desires.

Tessa put her hands on her hips walking over to the two of you. “Okay. What’s going on over here?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “The little abomination is trying to force her accursed plush onto me, and I want it nowhere near me.”

“‘Cursed’ is subjective,” Cyn said flatly. “Affectionate offering is more accurate.”

Tessa tilted her head. “Cyn? Why do you want to give yours away? I worked pretty hard on those. That yarn wasn’t cheap, you know.”

Cyn held up the doll, her voice suddenly wistful. “Because I desire for my Little Light to always carry a piece of me with them. In their pocket. In their soul. In their very aura. But I am being consistently refused. Annoyed whine.”

Tessa tried not to laugh, but she failed. “Right… quite the predicament.” Then her eyes lit up, mischief flaring. She dug back into one of the other suitcases. “Alright, let’s flip the script then. If you can’t convince your Little Light to take your doll, then maybe you’d like to have this.”

With a grin, she pulled out another plush—and everyone leaned forward.

It was another doll of you. In fact, the second case was filled with replicas. Secondary dolls that everyone could have.

Cyn froze.

Her optics widened.

Grabby hands activated.

“I want it, Tessa,” she breathed, voice lower.

Tessa, to her credit, raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you going to do with it?”

“...Things I am legally not allowed to say,” Cyn replied without looking up. You turned to stare at her, wide-eyed. She refused eye contact.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you said quickly, stepping in before this situation escalated. “Nope. Absolutely not. Tessa, I will not allow Cyn to have anything that even remotely looks like me. Just give that one to me too.”

“But you said you didn’t want dolls—” Tessa began.

“I didn’t want Cyn’s doll,” you cut in. “This is different. I’ll keep it locked away. Safely. Forever.”

Cyn was now frowning, eyes glowing and her shadow seemingly moving. “Please give me my Little Light plush. For science.”

“Define science,” J muttered from the corner, still cradling her own doll like a cat.

“I WILL make my own if you deny me,” Cyn hissed.

Tessa blinked. “Okay. That’s a bit scary. You know what? Sure. Here—” she handed the you-doll to you instead, “—it’s yours. But the fallout is completely on you. If Cyn gets upset, don’t expect any of us to help.”

“Yay,” N said helpfully, holding up the N and Uzi dolls and making them kiss.

You just sighed, holding two dolls now. Your options didn’t really look good. Deal with Cyn’s tantrum, or let her do… things to the doll that looked like you. The mere thought made you shiver, but in hindsight, you would much prefer she do things to a doll instead of actually bothering you.

And so you sighed, extending your arm and dropping the secondary you-plush into Cyn’s eager hands. “...Fine.”

Cyn squealed, grasping it with an iron grip. Immediately, she had both dolls in each hand, slowly bringing them together so that they were side by side. Angel and demon. Purple and yellow. A divine entity and an eldritch being, immortalized in stuffing.

After a minute of staring and smiling, Cyn whispered, “They’re together now. As they should be.”

…You pretended you didn’t hear that.

Chapter 43: III

Summary:

J is getting fed up with your moping. But her little attempts at trying to get you back on your feet gives you a moment of clarity, and renewed purpose.

Meanwhile, Cyn is scheming...

J was starting to lose her patience.

She understood that you were grieving. She did. The whole situation with your pet…bird… friend. Yeah. That was a bit much. Especially for someone who had never lost something before. While everyone else could still remember the dump and their lives before Tessa fixed them up, you didn’t have to bear those memories. Your life began when Tessa had found you, unlike J. Unlike any of them. This was new territory for you. New ground, and you were coping with it the only way you knew how.

But the world didn’t wait for grief to finish chewing through your heart. And the longer you sat curled up beneath the trees, the more things started unraveling outside your forest cocoon.

For one, Tessa was getting restless, and J was the one forced to keep patching the holes. But she couldn’t keep it up forever.

“She’s asking for you again,” she’d mutter after returning from the manor, setting down whatever bundle of food or supplies she’d smuggled out under the eyes of the staff. “She’s asking when you’re coming back.”

Your usual response? Silence. Or maybe a brief show of those mournful eyes. Maybe a quiet, “soon.” But never soon enough.

J could handle tasks and jobs. She could handle chores, duties, N, abuse, hiding in fear of not knowing when she might be dismantled… But lying to Tessa? That one cut different.

Every time the girl would look at her with those wide, hopeful eyes and ask—“How much longer?”—J would feel a sharp spike of guilt wedge itself just behind her vocal processor. And still, all she could say was:

“Soon.”

And every single time, her smile would falter, her shoulders would droop just a little, and she’d nod like she understood.

And J hated it.

She hated the look of disappointment that bloomed in Tessa’s eyes. She hated that it didn’t get easier with time. That every visit back to the manor added more guilt to her chest. She’d do almost anything for Tessa. But lying to the girl? It felt like rust in her joints. Worse than anything the dump had given her.

She looked over at you now—still curled up and refusing to move. She narrowed her optics. Her jaw tightened.

“You can’t do this forever,” she muttered under her breath.

You could grieve. You could hide. But not when people needed you.

Especially not when it was Tessa.

And as much as she wanted to let you crawl through this emotional wreckage at your own pace, J knew that she just might have to pull you out herself. Because you may have started to sink too deep.

J’s hand wandered toward the basket she’d dragged through the underbrush earlier that day. The mangoes inside were still perfectly ripe, yet, they had remained untouched, their smooth, golden surfaces unblemished, unbitten, unnoticed. She stared at them for a moment, frowning. You loved mangoes, but you hadn’t so much as glanced in their direction, and for J, that was the final straw.

This couldn’t go on.

She stood, the hem of her uniform brushing against her knees, and with an angry huff, she reared one leg back and kicked you.

The impact landed with the dull thump of metal meeting feathers. Your form barely reacted—at least, not physically. Your plumage cushioned the blow, absorbing the force completely. But you moved just enough to pass as acknowledgement. You’d heard her. You just didn’t care enough to pretend.

J rolled her optics and grit her teeth.

“Alright,” she snapped, kicking you again. “I’ve had enough of this. Get up. Look at me.”

There was a long pause. You considered ignoring her. She was just noise in the background to you—but the second kick, followed by her sheer audacity to interrupt your contemplation, made you crack one eye open. Then two. Then all of them. Slowly, your mass shifted, limbs unwinding, and your many-eyed head lifted toward the drone glaring up at you.

“You need to get a grip,” she said, arms crossed now, standing with straight-backed authority. “Yes, I know you just lost your… your—pet?”

You didn’t blink. “Friend,” you said, your voice low and flat.

She nodded. “Your friend. Right. I get that. I do. But that’s life. Life dies. It always has. It always will. You can cry, you can crawl around and sulk, but it’s not going to change the reality that this is how the world works. Moping around isn’t going to change anything. Accept it, and get over it.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, your voice dragging. “You weren’t the one who had to do it. You didn’t feel the life disappear under your claw. You didn’t have to look into its eyes while its little heartbeat slowed.” You paused, your eyes glossing over slightly as you exhaled. “...Tell me, J. Do you ever wonder why the grass grows wherever I walk? Why wounds knit themselves shut under my hands?”

J blinked, caught off guard. She stepped back instinctively, her posture changing. “I—uh. Can’t say I’ve thought about it, no.”

You gave a humorless smile. “I think about it all the time. I wonder to myself why it happens, what I am. It’s... design. My being—my very purpose—was decided to revolve around life.”

“I think I remember you saying something like that,” J hummed. “Where did this ‘purpose’ come from?”

“Myself,” you answered. “When I first woke up, I saw the beauty of creation itself. I saw the light and touched it, and promised that the light was something I would try my best to protect… even though I haven’t done a good job as of right now.”

You moved, angling your body so you could look down at the little egg that sat nestled within the Dove’s old nest, on the ground while your body was curled around.

“Growth. Healing. Restoration. The pulse of things, the spark that staves off the void. It’s the one constant in me, even if I don’t understand the rest. And death—” your voice faltered, your many eyes casting downward—“death is the one thing I’m not supposed to touch. It’s the opposite of what I want. Of what I stand for.”

J said nothing for several seconds. Then, finally, she scoffed and stepped forward again.

“Life and death are two sides of the same coin, you know. Hell, you're a gardener, aren’t you? Have you never had to pull out weeds before? Get rid of any unwanted bugs or parasites? Sometimes things have to die for a greater good.”

“The greater good, huh?...”

You went quiet, thinking, remembering.

Not long ago—Tessa, her arm scraped open, the cut infected and festering. You’d hesitated. You hadn’t been able to make it stop, not on your own. It was Cyn who had pulled the infection out like a toxin being siphoned, her powers violating the bacteria. You hadn’t stopped her. Not because you approved—but because you couldn’t bear to watch Tessa suffer.

That day, you hadn’t cared what her method was. You’d just wanted Tessa to be okay.

But you hadn’t been the one to do it.

Even in your garden, you couldn’t remember ever having to actually deal with any problems. No weeds ever grew, no bugs ever stripped the leaves, no fungi or disease ever took root. All you ever needed to do was plant new ones, reshape them or tend to the old, which was child's play with your powers. You’d been fortunate enough that you’d never had to deal with death up till this point.

Now though… now the blood was on your hands.

Almost inaudibly, you muttered, “It’s not just the death I’m coping with, J. It’s… It’s the fact that I’m the one that did it. The fact I went against my own nature. The fact I failed to make it better. The fact that I felt so useless. My powers are supposed to fix things, but they didn’t work and I… I just don’t know what to do.”

J tried to chip in, but you cut her off before her sentence could even begin.

“I failed,” you continued. “I failed to make it better. I failed to save it. I have one job, and I can’t even do it properly. I was useless.”

You exhaled, slow and shuddering, steam rising into the cold night air. You laid back down so that you could cover the egg from outside elements.

J stood there for a long moment after your voice faded, letting the quiet brew. Letting you come to terms with your words and all the now spoken thoughts you had been holding in. Then, she took a step forward, then another, until she was beside you. Her hands reached up and rested on the edge of your closest arm, gently squeezing it.

“You’re not useless,” she said. “I’ve worked with N for years. Believe me, I know what useless looks like.”

You didn’t speak, but you did raise a brow, wondering where she was going with this. If anything, you did find it slightly funny how even in a situation completely unrelated to him, J still found a way to degrade N.

“I know you think you failed. And yeah, maybe you couldn’t save the dove. But—” she let her gaze drift toward where the egg was laying within the confines of your plumage, “—you didn’t lose everything. Life didn’t stop, It just... changed.”

She let herself lean into you—resting her body against your feathers, trusting you to hold her without even asking, and glanced up. “You didn’t save the dove. I know that hurts. But that egg? That’s here because of you. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up?”

She brushed a hand lightly over your body.

“At least you’ve made sure that there’s still something left. That there's something to keep going.”

“But I wasn’t strong enough,” you said again.

J gave a scoff, the sound short and sharp. “Newbie,” she said, folding her arms with, “even I don’t think you’re capable of dragging something back from the doorstep of death. Not even with all your spooky sparkle powers.”

You didn’t look at her. Your gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the nest, beyond the trees—beyond the realm of living things and into that hazy territory where memory began to rot into longing.

“I could,” you murmured, more to the wind than to her. “Or maybe I should have. If I were stronger… if I weren’t so useless…”

J clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Stop it with the monologuing," she said. “It’s getting annoying.”

She stood up before you, hands on her hips, visor catching the glint of moonlight. “Listen, I’m not the most emotionally available drone in the manor, but even I know you’re being ridiculous. You gave that bird something most things in this universe don’t get when the end comes—warmth. Peace. A hand to hold. You gave its kid a fighting chance.”

“I didn’t do enough.”

J let out a groan, throwing her arms in the air. “Christ, you’re impossible! I’m trying to be comforting, and you are not making it easy.”

Her voice kept going, words peppered with irritation and reluctant fondness, but by then, your mind had begun to wander. Her words blurred at the edges, muffled like sound underwater, until they folded into the broader silence of the woodland around you.

It was not that you didn’t hear her—it was simply that you had already heard what you needed. The rest became white noise, background distraction beneath a rising current of thought that wound itself through your mind like.

The pain was still there. It probably would be for a while. Maybe forever.

But for the first time since that moment in the forest, it wasn’t the only thing you felt.

Because she was right.

Death had taken something from you.

But it had also given you clarity.

As you were, you were useless. You couldn’t even save a little bird, so how were you going to save the world from a threat like Cyn?

You needed to up your game. You needed to get stronger, and quicker. And, more importantly, you needed to actually start living up the mission you had given yourself.

Since you had woken, you had done nothing to actually help life prosper.

It was high time you changed that.

 

 

---

 

 

Though her own proximity to you posed risks that tested the very limits of her self-restraint—Cyn was never truly absent. It did not mean she had no eyes on you. Her reach, much like her will, was vast and insidious. She did not need to step into your clearing to see you. She had other means. Older means. Cleverer means.

The crow.

Her first true hybrid—if such a thing could be called a creature at all. A symphony of sinew, twisted wire, and otherworldly power, lacquered with patches of feathered plumage that never molted and never shined. One of her first experiments in combining the eldritch, the mechanical and the flesh. An affront to nature and machine both, and all the more loyal for it. Its wings were not silent; they cut through the air with the sound of static and bone creaking in a vacuum. Its eye—her eye—was always open, glowing with jaundiced light, its lens twitching in erratic motions.

Through this abomination, she watched you.

She had seen you draped in your own sorrow like a fallen star mourning its last flicker. She had seen J bringing fruit in baskets like offerings to a stray dog on the street. She had watched as your feathered form unfurled in urgency, taking to the skies with a desperation so strong it made the crow falter mid-flight, as though the sheer emotional pitch of it disrupted the signals that bound its mind to hers.

And when you had returned to the earth—graceless—Cyn had been there too. Not in body. But through that single unblinking eye embedded in her flying prophet of rot.

She watched as J consoled you. Touched you. Spoke to you in ways Cyn had never quite understood—ways that weren’t scripted or staged or wrapped in cold need. Ways that made her itch beneath the skin she’d long since stopped recognizing as her own.

Yes, J was the one who visited you. The one who dared to play with you who belonged to Cyn and Cyn alone. The one who spoke to you like you were close.

It was an annoyance, to see her toy playing with someone else. But there was another feeling, deeper than that. Much darker, much more angry, but even with the powers of beyond, Cyn for the life of her did not know what it was.

She wasn’t familiar with a lot of emotions. She wasn’t even familiar with how humans and drones acted most of the time. It was one of many reasons—aside from a broken form—that she was more like a puppet than an actual drone, mimicking actions with words and struggling to carry her own body weight.

Humans and their emotions were such complicated things.

But that was one of many reasons she found them fascinating… as well as a liability.

Cyn could feel it—something foul blooming low in her, not hunger, not need, but something more… elusive. Like a bad taste caught between her teeth. A mysterious sensation that spread every time J’s voice reached your ears, every time her touch calmed you, every time she got to be close.

It was not jealousy. Cyn had no clear understanding of what that even meant. It wasn’t envy, either—she didn’t covet J, only the space she occupied beside you. It wasn’t fear. Fear was linear. This was... entropic. Almost impossible in its irrationality. A pressure in her chest cavity that made her hate how little she understood about her own reaction.

So she sat. Back hunched. Arms folded like broken marionette limbs. Watching you through the eye of the crow as it perched, unnoticed, amidst the dense lattice of tree limbs above.

She watched your grief spill into the dirt. She watched your wings quiver, your voice tremble, your hands fail.

And then you’d shouted her name.

Not aloud—but in your mind, in your fury. You’d whispered it into the dirt between clenched teeth. Blamed her for the Dove. Accused her of engineering your loss.

But Cyn did not take the Dove.

She had not touched it.

Whatever thing had crept into that forest and unstitched that fragile life from the world—it had not been summoned by her.

Yet you believed it.

And that, somehow, made the bitterness inside her sweeter.

She had not done it.

But now she wished she had.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she wished she had thought of it first.

The simplicity of it all. Just a small twist of fate—a fragile life extinguished, a singular thread plucked from the great tapestry—and it had unraveled you with such spectacular efficiency. Watching you dig a grave with trembling claws, as dirt clung to your feathers like the guilt clung to your chest, had been… illuminating.

Cyn had observed from afar, the crow's eye twitching. There was no need for her presence, not when her vision saw so clearly through the lens of a monster. She had watched as your hands, hands made to heal and cradle, learned what it felt like to end.

And despite herself, despite the roiling hunger and fractured reason, she had felt something stir. Not pity, exactly. She did not possess the vocabulary for such tenderness. But a sliver of something adjacent to it. A faint, hollow echo of remorse that passed through her like wind through a cave. It was shame, really. She did quite like the bird. She liked the symbolism it brought, since she herself had the crow

Still, fascination eclipsed sympathy.

You, the creature of light, had met death not as an adversary, but as a child might meet fire—curious, horrified, irrevocably changed. And in that moment, as you whispered apologies to a fading bird and cloaked its body in your own down, you had finally gotten a taste of what her side of the Absolute Fabric was like.

And that delighted her beyond words.

You had always relied on your power—wielding life like it was your inheritance. Blossoms had unfurled at your feet. Wounds had sealed under your touch. Rot and decay dared not settle where you stood. But now? Now you had met something that could not be undone. A problem that could not be rewritten by sheer will. And it had broken something in you.

She would have preferred to be the one to break you. It was, afterall, part of the game.

But perhaps, she mused, the timing was right. Perhaps this was better.

After all, growth was born not from peace, but from pressure. From fracture. From trauma. And oh, how beautifully you might evolve now, driven by the guilt of your failure, haunted by the stain of red that your feathers could not wash away. 

And It was about high time you realized that death was a natural thing. Sometimes, things needed to die for others to prosper. Much like with the cut on Tessa's hand, something things had to be killed, like bacteria, so that Tessa would stay safe. You needed to learn that nature was cruel, and being cruel yourself didn't necessarily make you as evil as her.

Yes. You were growing.

But so was she.

In the underbelly of the manor’s discarded spaces, Cyn worked.

Her hands were slick with oil and wet with fluids not all mechanical. She dipped her fingers into the open shell of a once-functional Worker Drone, its core dark, its life gone. With a plastered smile, she peeled back plating, tore through wire bundles like roots from soil, and examined the neural lattice beneath. Her hands and claws twitched with glee as she mapped each fragile synaptic node, each dormant pathway, each bit of personality and mind waiting to be overwritten.

Discarded drones were a plentiful resource—gutted, silenced, hidden from prying eyes like the family’s other dirty secrets. The Elliots killed without ceremony. Cyn simply made use of the leftovers.

Each broken shell was a vessel.

Each mind, a canvas.

She had already tasted success with her mental altering capabilities. J was the first real success. Her meddling had gone unnoticed, her alterations seamless. A blink. A blackout. A missing moment from the mind. The thrill of it had been exquisite—proof that her influence extended beyond the physical. She could erase memories like smudging ink. Soon, with enough time and lifeforce consumed, she would be able to write new ones. Whole personalities twisted into shape. Old identities shed like snakeskin.

And you.

You were the masterpiece waiting at the end of her process.

It was a spur of the moment idea, but it was a brilliant one. She imagined it—your light turned inward, your voice repeating truths she had written for you. In the end, you would be consumed, but what was she to do with the leftovers? Discard them? No, that would be wasteful. You were a prime specimen; every bit of you could be of use. She would change what was left. Slowly. Sweetly. Rewire your grief into devotion. Turn your guilt into hunger. Unmake you. Remake you. Bind you. When all was said and done, every part of you would be of use. A meal and a servant that would go with her on her journey to liberate the universe from the plague of life.

Cyn’s grin widened as she sifted through the guts of the drone before her, circuits sparking like tiny constellations against the wet red of mutated core matter. The scent was metallic and sharp, mingling with the earthy rot of expired flesh and the electric bite of soldered steel. It was an orchestra of decay, and she was the conductor.

She held a memory chip between her fingers now, lifting it to eye level. It flickered faintly, whispering echoes of a life long past—a voice, a face, a laugh no one remembered.

She imagined replacing that laugh with yours.

Imagined the sound of you saying her name not with fury—but with longing.

Cyn smiled. Her fangs caught the light of a single hanging bulb like knives glinting in a butcher’s shop.

Yes.

The Dove had died.

But that was nothing.

Because one day, a god of life would be consumed.

One day, a god of life would kneel.

And she would be the one holding the leash.

Notes:

I honestly didn't like how I did this chapter. I was rattling my brain the past few days on how I could make this work, but nothing just sounded right. The only part that I actually really liked was the Cyn bit. I think I was cooking pretty hard there.

As always, discord is here for anyone that want's to join. We get real freaky sometimes, and we have weekly events we do:
https://discord.gg/cyBvm5uwRK

Chapter 44: IV

Summary:

It's about time you actually did something

You carved through the sky like a fault line in motion, your wings slicing the air with the weight of a storm. The wind howled around you, torn into strands by the vast span of your plumage, your feathers trembling with quiet unrest. You didn’t fly with direction so much as compulsion—a movement less guided by purpose and more by feeling.

What did it even mean to protect life? The phrase had always sounded noble in theory—etched into your very existence like a birthright. But in practice, it was vague. Undefined. How exactly were you meant to go about this duty of yours? Where did you begin?

You didn’t know.

But something—some distant, sputtering flicker in the great tapestry of life—called to you. A weak light, quivering on the edge of nothingness. A dying heartbeat on the horizon. And with no clearer road ahead, you followed it like a pilgrim chasing a fading star.

The egg had been left behind, tucked away in the shadows of your little area beside the stream, shielded beneath the webbing of leaves along with your old body. You hated leaving it. Every part of you bristled at the thought of separating from it even for a moment, but pragmatism had won over sentiment. The skies were no place for fragile shells. One false movement or strong gust, and the thing the Dove had left behind could slip through your claws like water.

So you flew alone.

And the closer you drew to the dying light, the more the air began to change. It grew dry, thin, scorched. The taste of it scratched your throat like sandpaper. Beneath you, the green bled out of the land until nothing remained but brittle trunks and sun-bleached stumps—trees severed like amputated limbs. The soil cracked in spiderweb patterns, each fracture a silent scream baked into the earth. Not even moss dared cling to the rocks here.

A dead forest.

Once, perhaps, this place had throbbed with life. Canopy thick and breathing. Now it was a wasteland. Human hunger had swept through here like wildfire, and in its place, nothing but silence remained.

You slowed your descent, letting your enormous frame drift downward like a settling shadow. Your wings fanned wide, sending dust spraying across the ground as you landed. The earth cracked under you—dry, exhausted, ready to collapse beneath even the lightest touch.

The dying light was close now. It pulsed beneath the surface like a candle caught in the throat of the world, flickering weaker with each breath. Your thousand eyes blinked open one by one, scanning the stretch of land around you. Each eye flicked in a different direction. Each pulse of vision carried a different frequency. Lifeforce was a spectrum now—every being a frequency you were learning to tune into.

And what you felt here wasn’t a single creature.

It was all of it.

This place wasn’t home to one dying thing.

The land itself was dying.

You crouched low, talons curling into dirt that crumbled under your grasp, the soil turning to powder beneath your fingers. You pressed one palm flat to the ground, and the feedback that flooded into you was staggering—like tuning a radio to a frequency made entirely of screams you couldn’t hear, only feel. The lights told a story. Life used to thrive. But now it was dying, burned away by machines, by drills and saws and poisons and fire. The memory of birdsong had been ripped out of the trees. The roots had been cauterized.

And you were too late.

No healing pulse of your power brought the sprouts back. No energy flow stitched the canopy together again. You tried. Of course you did. Light bled from your hands in gentle arcs. It kissed the soil like rain.

But nothing grew.

Not here.

And for a second, the doubt tried to return. The whisper that maybe it was all futile. That maybe you were still too weak. That perhaps you had always been too weak. A being of life, surrounded by rot. A gardener with a broken trowel. A god with nothing left to save.

But you bit the inside of your cheek—hard enough to taste iron—and pushed that thought away.

No.

You would not allow yourself to falter now—not here, not so soon after swearing you would do better. There could be no retreat. Not after everything. Not after the Dove. Not after the failure that still etched itself into the backs of your eyes like a scar every time you blinked. You had spoken vows aloud, even if no one heard them but the wind. You had declared yourself a guardian of life. And what was a guardian who surrendered at the first sign of decay?

You clenched your claws, feeling the pulse of your own power like a second heartbeat in your veins. It wasn’t enough to want to protect life. You had to act. You had to will the world back into motion.

So you tried.

Again.

And again. And again. Every pulse of energy was like trying to wring sunlight from a stormcloud. You pushed at the soil, willing the dormant seeds to stir, reached down with your senses and tried to breathe life into the husk of a land abandoned. But it remained still. Dry. Crumbling in your hands like ash. But you didn’t stop. There was no growth without effort. No reward without struggle. You dug deeper into yourself, drawing from every remaining reserve of lifeforce and intent, focusing it into the earth.

Until—

One shoot.

A single grass blade pierced the cracked crust of earth.

Then another.

And another.

And suddenly the ground was alive with motion. The tiniest blades of grass, thin as threads of silk, began pushing their way skyward, trembling as though afraid the wind might scold them for daring to live again. Dozens became hundreds. Hundreds, thousands, and then millions. A meadow beginning its first cycle.

But you weren’t finished.

Your eyes—all of them—narrowed as you shifted your attention deeper, feeling the hum of something buried far below. Water. Faint. Sleeping. A ghost of a river trapped under stone.

You thrust your claws into the soil, each strike shattering rock and crust. Earth split and groaned as you tunneled downward with hands like spears, dredging out dust and sediment, throwing it skyward. And finally, with one last, cavernous punch—

Boom.

A jet of water exploded from the wound in the ground, catching the dying sunlight and scattering it into a spectrum of color that refracted off your wings. It sprayed across the brittle landscape like a cleansing ritual, soaking into the roots that had only just begun to awaken. The cracked dirt drank greedily, its parched skin turning rich and dark, saturated with potential. Patches of moss bloomed in seconds, racing like time-lapse across stones. Tiny saplings burst forth in clusters, leaves unfurling like newborn eyes, reaching for the sky without fear.

The air changed.

It thickened, warmed. Smelled of petrichor and renewal. Of wet soil and green things rising from graves. You rose slowly to full height, your great form towering —half angel, half beast. A child of metal and marrow and myth. You turned your gaze to the far edge of the clearing, where the horizon still bore the remnants of that brittle light. And though you could not undo what had once been lost, you had at least rekindled a new flame, letting life begin again.

Then, a familiar feeling hit you—warmth rising from within. Your core pulsed with radiance. Not merely light, but lifeforce itself. You felt it coil around your spine, surge through your veins, expand into your limbs. Wings erupted from your back—additional ones, larger and finer than before. Your form grew, not monstrous, but majestic. More arms unfurled from your mass like petals opening.

You felt the change as breath caught in your throat, as your body realigned into something bigger, broader, more capable. Your limbs were longer now. Your vision deeper. A thousand eyes saw the world with renewed clarity, the Fabric vibrating faintly in your bones.

You exhaled.

And with that breath, the air stirred with power. You were stronger. Not just in body—but in resolve. You had taken the first step in your mission, and your singularity responded in kind, growing ever more. You could feel the power flowing through every orifice in your mass of flesh.

For the first time, you had fulfilled your purpose.

And yet, even with the new strength humming through your divine form, you understood: this was only the beginning.

Afterall, there was still so much to protect.

Chapter 45: V

Summary:

You make your way to the drone dump where it all began, in hopes of finding a clue to your origin.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days you had been absent from the manor.

Your time had become stagnant—each morning rising with the same sun, soaring through the clouds as you moved from one patch of land to the next, only to return every night to the banks of the riverbed where J would be waiting. You appreciated her routine. You’d ask her about the rest of the manor and its inhabitants during those nightly visits—sometimes she would offer an answer, sometimes she’d offer fruit instead when no reply would form—but her presence was nice. It reminded you that, for all your power, for all your growth, you were still connected to something.

And in the silence between each meeting, you had time to reflect.

For one, two weeks was enough time to really start nailing down control of your powers. You could shift the size of your mass somewhat, warp and shape the flesh where you needed it. Your ability to use the light had become more refined. Easier to manipulate. Stronger. And you had played around with the power to “lock” things in place. The glyph that appeared when using it reminded you a bit of Cyn. You’d seen her with her own glyphs when using her own powers. Yellow, with three arrows protruding from a hexagon. But yours was purple, with the three arrows going inward in the hexagon instead of out.

Your glyph and hers were inverses. It sometimes scared you with how much you reflected one another. How much your powers were so similar to Cyn’s, yet so different. Like looking in a mirror, but having a different reflection stare back at you.

You saw yourself in her. Enough to make you wonder if the difference between the two of you was simply circumstance—if, with enough grief and enough time, you might become what she was.

Because humanity… they weren’t making it easy.

You had passed through what used to be forests and rivers, witnessed land stripped bare for resources that no longer served the people who took them. You saw plastic mountains, chemical clouds, birds coughing on black air. You felt the pulse of the earth sputter under the weight of humanity’s progress.

In fact, you were born in a grave. You rose from metal husks and poisoned soil, the discarded scraps of a technological age. Cyn was born from that same rot.

Maybe that was why she wanted to burn it all down. Maybe she was right to hate them. You were a testament to mankind's carelessness for the world they lived in.

You and Cyn.

The only difference between the two of you was how you viewed life and death, and wanted to go about solving the problem. She thought of humans and life in general as a plague, a curse that she wanted to free the universe from, whereas to you it was utmost beautiful.

Well… the life part, at least. With what you had seen, with what you had learned… It was getting harder and harder saying that Cyn was completely wrong, because you could at least agree on their stupidity.

The biggest problem to life on earth… was humanity itself.

Mankind's greed knew no bounds. Sooner or later, they’d kill the planet and everything on it, if Cyn didn’t get to it first. They siphoned the world for its goods, and when Earth was running out of it, they set off to the stars, ready to milk them dry too.

Maybe if mankind hadn’t been as bad as they were, then maybe you and Cyn wouldn’t have needed to come into existence.

But how were you supposed to solve it? Humanity’s reign was a result of evolution. It was simply them doing what they could to survive. It was just in their nature. But at the same time, it was at the cost of others. They were destroying the natural order.

But then again, you weren’t very natural, were you?

In fact, you still had no concrete answer for what you were or where you came from. The book you had gotten from the church had provided some ideas, but nothing with solid evidence. Merely make believe. And going so long without answers… well, it was time to check that off the list as well.

If you sought answers, why not trace your steps? Go back to your birth place, find clues of your origin. Find out who you are. What you are. It seemed like a good first step. And it was nice to switch up the schedule. You’d been doing the same thing for days on end. It was time for a change in routine.

After securing the egg in its cradle of leaves and moss, hidden deep beneath a tangle of roots, you padded down to the stream, where your old body rested. The visor wept slow droplets of water that trailed down its face before vanishing into the thirsty soil. Pulling it out from where you hid it and seeing it again was… strange. In all honesty, you had forgotten about it, for a while. Forgot that the whole reason you were out here, doing what you were doing, was so that you could refine your powers enough to return to your drone body and go back home.

Kneeling, you brushed some specks of water. Your old body had spent so much time underneath leaves and dirt, that it had been time to wash it. Some maintenance was needed, even in the wild. When you had pulled it back out from its hiding spot, dirt clung stubbornly to the crevices, algae traced faint green veins along the plating, and the metal smelled faintly of damp earth and rust. You began to clean it, clawed fingers working, peeling away each layer of grime until the reflective surface beneath began to emerge. It was easier now—your hands obeyed you like extensions of thought, moving with deft control you hadn’t possessed before—but still, there was a part of you that longed for the proper tools. Perhaps when you returned to the manor, Tessa could polish it to a mirror sheen. You could picture her fussing over every detail, scolding you for letting it get into this state, her deft hands coaxing life back into metal…

…Oh yeah, Tessa….

God, you hadn’t seen her in two weeks… and you missed her, a lot.

Two weeks. Two long weeks since you’d last seen her, and it made your chest coil. Your claws tightened faintly against the chassis, tracing the edge of its visor like one might stroke a sleeping face. When you returned to it—when you were whole again—the first thing you would do would be to find her. No words, no preamble, just a long, unyielding embrace. The feeling of skin on metal contact. The thought lingered, warm and bittersweet.

Soon.

Soon, you’d get to see her again.

You gently lifted your worker body, just about to put it away once more, till a thought crossed your mind. Well, more like a feeling. You didn’t really want to let go of it. You’d spent so long away from your body… you’d forgotten who you were. What you looked like. Because of all this time apart, you were beginning to desensitise.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

So instead of hiding your old body away in nature, you made sure it was all dry before stuffing it in your plumage. Maybe having it close by on your person for today would remedy these feelings.

And with that, you were off.

 

 

---

 

 

Your wings parting the clouds in slow, sweeping arcs, casting broken shadows across the land below. Each beat of your wings stirred the air, until finally, you began your descent. The atmosphere thickened as you pierced the lower atmosphere, the blue above curdling into rust-colored haze. The world lost its vibrancy here, traded instead for tones of decay and death.

And then, contact.

The earth groaned under your weight, and you felt it—crunch, crack, yield. The sickening crumple of mechanical torsos beneath your claws. A dozen dented drone heads imploded like brittle shells. Hydraulic fluid squelched beneath your weight like waterlogged soil. You frowned, but didn’t flinch. Not because you didn’t care—but because this place demanded that kind of indifference to walk through it. To exist here was to accept the grotesque.

The drone dump.

Putrid as always.

It had changed little since the last time you were here, and that was perhaps the most depressing part of all. Still the same blackened wasteland of ruined casings, fractured visors, twisted wiring, and synthetic limbs. The scent of metal oxidized by time hit you almost as soon as you touched the ground—sweet-sour rust, grease mixed with rotting coolant, and beneath all of it, the acrid tang of scorched plastic and old fire. It clung to the back of your throat, and coated your inner nostrils with a reminder of where you once came from. What you had crawled out of.

No grass grew here. No roots dug deep. The dirt was not soil—it was slag, oil-choked and poisoned by centuries of negligence. No worms stirred in the muck. No birds circled above. This was not a resting ground. It was a landfill masquerading as a grave. A final stop for the discarded. A monument to negligence—humanity’s and otherwise.

You moved, your talons carving trails into the hillocks of metal corpses. With every shift of your mass, you sent waves of lifeless parts tumbling down into shifting valleys of junk. It was difficult to navigate—not just because of the physicality, but because the very area made you choke on nothing and your stomach clenched. This was your birthplace. Here was where your light had first flickered into being. Here was where you had first opened your many eyes to a world already rotting.

To be back was to feel every horror in reverse.

You crept across the dump, your presence sending avalanches of metal down long-forgotten slopes. Your thousand eyes combed the mountains of wreckage with intense focus, searching for the faintest hint of something that might point you to the truth. A piece of your old self. A remnant. A clue. Anything. You searched, reliant on the premise that answers could exist.

But truthfully, you had no idea what you were searching for. No signal to trace. No locked door waiting for a key. Just the eerie pull of intuition. Some kind of traces or clues you or your previous owners might’ve left behind before ending up in this dump. A hunch that if you were made somewhere, there might still be a fingerprint left behind. That this graveyard might still echo with the whisper of what you used to be, before the wings, before the claws, before the light.

But the dump offered no guidance. No clarity. Just the silence of forgotten models long stripped of ID and histories. Whatever you once were had been buried beneath so much ruin and decay, you weren’t sure there would be anything left to find.

Still, you crawled. You searched.

Because Rome wasn’t built in a day—and neither was understanding.

Even as the hours dragged into dusk and then deeper into night, you remained. Tireless in your search. Determined. Crawling and weaving your way through mountains of husks, your shadow stretching long across the decaying landscape under a bruised-purple sky. You overturned entire mounds of wreckage with your claws, sifted through bodies, but no answers revealed themselves. The silence of the dump remained unbroken—only the wind whistling through bent metal.

And still, you searched.

Only when the moon began its slow descent toward the edge of the world—its light thinning —did you finally allow yourself a moment of pause. Not because you wanted to stop. But because you had to. Even a being like you had limits. The larger the form, the greater the toll. Moving—just moving—required effort. Momentum was power, and you were running low.

You curled inward, slowly folding your limbs until your body resembled some great feathered beast at rest, massive wings tucked in like a shroud. It was almost animalistic, the way you found solace in your own warmth, in the dense plumage wrapped around your core. An instinctive mimicry of comfort, like a cat folding into its own fur. Your breath slowed, a soft hum escaping your many throats as the pain in your limbs dulled to an ache.

Wait a minute...

You recognized this spot.

You opened your eyes—no, all of them—and shifted slightly, peering around with a sudden wariness. The terrain here was familiar. More so than the rest of this garage heap had been.

Carefully, you leaned forward, tilting your massive head to observe the ground beneath you. The way the debris bent, the shape of the incline, the hollow just a few paces away where the light didn’t quite reach—it all clicked. Each bump and divot aligned perfectly with what you remembered

Your claws reached down, brushing aside the soot-caked grime and shattered parts that blanketed the area. A mound of refuse, inconspicuous to most—but unmistakable to you. This was where you woke up, admiring creation and its beauty. Where you had first drawn breath.

Where you had clawed your way out of the dark with lungs that didn’t know how to scream. Where your eyes had opened for the first time and been met with nothing but gray sky and silence. The womb that had spat you out not in warmth, but in oil and rust.

You exhaled slowly. One pair of claws reached instinctively to your side, delving deep into your plumage until they found the familiar casing of your drone body. Still tucked away, still pristine in its own way. A memento. A reminder.

Your fingers tightened their grip.

Still here. Still yours. Still you.

You let your enormous body rest against the ground, expression falling slightly as a wave of exhaustion swept over you—not just physical, but mental. You hadn’t expected answers. But a part of you had hoped for… something. Just any sort of sign that could give a glimpse into who, or what you were.

But there was nothing. Of course there was nothing.

Why would anyone leave anything important with the thing they were throwing away?

You would continue your search later, after resting. You wanted clarity. Needed it, and you’d look through every corner of this place before you’d move on to the next. You needed to know who you were, once upon a time. Who was the drone before all this? Who were the people in the dreams?

And more importantly, how it all connected to whatever kind of entity you were.

You’d been tossed—abandoned. Left to rot among the rest. And yet… you didn’t. You had risen. Crawled. Survived.

And now?

Now you lived.

But you’d lived before, and that was what you wanted to find out about. The first clue.

A problem you’d get back to trying to solve soon enough, after you’d gotten your rest.

Notes:

Back again after a while. It was nice to take a breather from updating, but It's time to get back into the swing of things.

And as awlways, we got a discord server for other writers of the fandom, so pop in and say hi!
https://discord.gg/cyBvm5uwRK

Chapter 46: VI

Summary:

A truth revealed, but was it worth finding out?

You were dreaming again.

The sensation had become so familiar that you could immediately tell nowadays. The feeling of floating through nothing. A weightless drift, caught in the vacuum between awareness and sleep. There was no warmth. No cold. No air, even. Just the breathless quiet of a space unanchored by time. But this time it felt… different.

You didn’t know how to explain it.

As always, you were an observer to a replaying memory that didn’t seem to click, or belong to you. You still weren’t sure which it was. The edges were hazy, frayed. It was almost like watching a movie. Both familiar… yet not.

In the scene playing before you, you were slumped like scrap, your old drone body piled atop a mound of other decommissioned drones. Arms tangled, visors blank, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The disposal truck rumbled beneath, its frame groaning with every pothole and bump in the cracked asphalt as it drove into nowhere. You hovered above it all, watching with intrigue on how this memory would play out.

You could hear someone calling out.

"Stop! Wait, please—don’t take them—!"

Familiar. Distant. Human.

It was him again. The boy from before, though no longer a boy. A teen if you had to say. Much older, cracking in desperation as it echoed across the lot. Always at the edge of your recognition, never close enough to name. You could feel his voice clawing at your mind, tugging something loose. But the truck didn’t stop. The men didn’t turn around. The world rolled on, indifferent.

Soon enough, the truck stopped at the dump you currently slept in. It wasn’t as full as it was now, though still already in the process of forming mountains of technological remains. The truck carrying you dumped its load, and when you were settled into your new home, it left.

And then time passed.

It sped forward, seasons bleeding into one another like paint in water. The sky dimmed, then brightened, then burned red with sunset. Rain fell. Wind howled. Snow buried the corpses in a white sheet that melted into gray. Rust bloomed like flowers in a field. Bodies collapsed inward, broken apart by time while new ones were added to the collection. One by one, you watched the world forget they were ever anything at all.

But you remained.

Unmoving. Untouched. Waiting.

The dump changed. Hills of parts shifted. New debris replaced the old. But you stayed exactly as you had been dumped. And all the while, you—observing this memory from afar—lingered above, silently watching.

The memory didn’t offer much clarity. All it did was deepen the void of confusion within you. Yes, now you had seen how your old body arrived at the pit, but nothing in the memory explained you. How did you get these powers? Where did they come from? Why did the grass bloom beneath your feet? Why did the light inside you react to Cyn’s void like two opposing forces? Why could you burn entropy itself? But no answers had become a regular. These dreams usually offered nothing but more to think on, as per the usual.

But then, you heard sound.

Footsteps breaking the silence. You turned, all your eyes narrowing toward the source, and blinked—genuinely surprised.

Tessa and J.

They moved carefully, shoes squelching in the mud. J was holding an umbrella, just as you remembered. Tessa looked wide-eyed, glancing around like she was looking for something. You noticed how she took the effort to avoid stepping on any of the drones and their parts that littered the ground. It made you smile, to think she was so considerate even to lifeless machines. But it was also eerie to see them here, in this memory, in this moment you already knew so well—and yet were experiencing from the outside.

Ah. This must be the day.

The day Tessa found you.

You remembered it quite vividly. The very first person you’d ever met, just browsing through the dump, most likely looking for spare parts, but instead finding you. But from this vantage point—disembodied, dreambound, something else entirely—it felt alien. Removed. Though you didn’t completely dislike it. It was nice being able to see her from this angle, to watch and examine Tessa without the worry she’d look back and be terrified with what she saw.

They came closer, weaving through the junk, getting closer and closer. You turned your gaze to the lifeless body—

And paused.

A pulse of light.

Hovering just above your body's chest plate was an orb—small, radiant, pure white tinged with a black rim, like an inverted black hole. It trembled in the air, suspended, humming. It hovered, pulsating like a heartbeat all while you watched in shock.

The power.

The resonance.

It was the same that beat in your chest right now.

You felt it, like a tether pulled taut between past and present. That orb pulsed with your essence—your lifeforce, your signature. It was your being, condensed. A spark adrift, not yet given flesh. From inside your chest, your own heart beat, and the orb of light matched its rhythm, beating in sync.

It… felt like you.

You watched in frozen awe as the orb slowly began to descend, sinking like a ship in water. It passed through the chassis—right through the chest plate—until it disappeared into where the core of your drone body would rest.

A heartbeat later, the scene replayed. The memory solidified.

Your limbs twitched. Your head rose. Your optics flickered to life.

Tessa rounded the corner, and her eyes fell on the same husk you had curled beside not long ago. Still slumped in the dirt as her mouth formed words you already knew by heart, her hands reaching for you, curiosity outweighing fear.

It was a special memory to you. Your very first interaction. Your first meeting. But you couldn’t even enjoy it for what it was.

Instead, you felt nothing but dread.

Not a birth.

A possession.

The pit in your chest swelled as you watched the memory unfold. Your past self followed Tessa, stumbling beside J. You knew every step they would take next. You knew the feeling of curiosity as you’d awaken your powers. The awe. The light.

But you just stared at your retreating form.

Because that drone—that body… it wasn't you.

You had come after.

The realization fell like cold iron through your spine. Your wings trembled, your claws flexing against the void beneath you. You hadn’t awoken that day. You had descended. Slipped into a vacant shell like a parasite into skin.

A shell that had simply been… available.

You were something else. Something born from elsewhere. Dropped into metal and mistaken for a soul reborn. You were not a drone. You never had been.

All this time, you had clung to the idea that you were trying to return to your home. Your body. That your absence from it was temporary, that your current form—monstrous, beautiful, otherworldly—was a phase. That the robotic servant who tended to Tessa was the real you.

But that was the thing…

It was never your body to begin with.

Chapter 47: VII

Summary:

A princess escapes her tower and sets off into the dark, unaware she may be the only one who can save her knight from despair.

When you woke, you woke up gasping for air—lungs you didn’t possess trying so desperately to pull in oxygen. Your hands flew to your throat, scraping metal against metal, and despite it you did not notice that distinct lack of claws, or lack of multiple hands.

But you couldn’t breathe.

No air.

No heartbeat.

No you, as you remembered.

For a moment, you were trapped in that raw edge of dissonance. A nightmare one wakes from, only to find out it's their reality.

You were back in the drone body.

But it wasn’t yours.

The memories were always true. They hadn’t ever led you astray so far, which made it undeniable. You had seen it, from above and outside: the glowing orb descending like some ghostly seed into an empty shell. That body—your body—hadn’t been waiting for you. It had simply been available. A hollow husk dumped in the dirt, left to rot with the others.

You hadn’t awoken.

You had taken it.

Possession, not resurrection.

You were the intruder.

Whatever that white-hot singularity was—whatever you were—it had latched onto the drone like a parasite seeking a home. You hadn’t been born in that chassis. You had hijacked it. And now, with that understanding flooding your mind like a tide of acid, you felt sick. Not in the physical sense—your current form couldn’t even process sickness—but on a level far deeper. Deeper than code. Deeper than light.

The body was wrong.

You were wrong inside it.

The HUD blinked awake on your visor, feeding diagnostics you could barely comprehend, your optics blurring from system lag and simply from not being used in so long. Error messages screamed across your vision—heat spike, power anomaly, core feedback. A thousand alerts for a thousand phantom symptoms of a soul out of place.

The metal limbs trembled beneath you. You stared down at your fingers, fingers that were never yours, digits meant for a worker’s life, for cleaning floors and carrying trays and serving, not for creating light or mending the very weave of life. You tried to flex them and recoiled. They moved too quickly. Too easily. Like control was second nature. Like they always were yours, but you knew better.

You backed away from your own reflection, stumbling through all the drone parts, tripping over trash you couldn’t feel. And even though you had no breath to lose, your frame heaved like it was begging for air.

You'd spent all this time trying to get back. All this time believing that returning to this shell would restore your normalcy. That it would make you whole. That it would make things right again.

And now—now—when you had finally succeeded, you could feel the sickness in your core.

Things had never been right with you.

It was never home.

You clawed at your chest, fingers scraping along the plating like you could dig through it, like you could reach inside and rip the light from your heart. That cursed, blinding singularity that had burned so bright in the memory. That wasn’t a soul. That was you, raw and rootless. And now it was trapped—inside something too small, too unfit to contain what you had become.

All those memories… It made sense now why none of it felt familiar. It was because none of them belonged to you. They must've been from the body's original owner, before they had been disposed of. And you had just taken them all. Even if unwilling, even if not fully, they were still imprinted in your mind. They didn’t belong there. They didn’t belong to you.

You had stolen not just the body, but the mind as well. All you did was take.

You collapsed on the ground, curled in like a wounded thing, hands twitching against your chest. You were shaking—not from fear, but from violation. A strange sort of internal betrayal. But you continued trying to pry your own casing open. To free yourself despite all the efforts you’d made to finally get back in.

What were you?

You’d asked that question so many times, and for all of them you had no definitive answer.

Not a drone.

Not even alive, in the traditional sense.

Just a spark… a spark made flesh.

And now, more than ever, you wanted out.

You raked at your chest like a wild animal trapped, metal fingers chipping away at the paint—scraping, tearing, grinding. Again. Again. Again. Until hairline cracks, thin as veins, webbed across your torso in trembling lines of light. The steel groaned beneath the force, each wrench of your hand a prayer to be let out. Each motion, desperate. Punishing. Not an act of pain—but desperation.

You didn’t stop.

Even as the soil beneath you—corrupted and dry, saturated with decades of rot and human neglect—began to thrum with life it had long forgotten. Even as tender blades of grass, impossibly green and soft, broke through iron and rust, unfurling like the forest itself was trying to calm you, trying to offer a balm for your agony.

You didn’t stop.

Even when violet sparks, searing and soundless, began to drip from the edges of your wounds like cosmic blood. They hissed against your chassis, branding it with golden ichor. Each flake of metal you tore away pulsed with power—electric veins glowing beneath the fractured surface of your chest, casting kaleidoscopic reflections onto broken metal and wire around you.

Still, you kept digging.

The light was intensifying now, a gash of brilliant amethyst stretching wide across your chest, leaking into the night like your very soul was hemorrhaging into the air. Your aura cracked against the dark, sending shadows scrambling. The purple was no longer soft, no longer gentle. It was blistering, alive, screaming with you.

And still—you did not stop.

Flames burst forth from the overgrown grass in waves, fed not by kindling, but by something unexplainable. Emotion. Rage. Sadness. A godly tantrum made manifest. Purple fire climbed, rising in tongues of violet and white, licking up rusted scaffolding and melting old metal into slag. The dump, formerly cold and dark, now bloomed with wild, devouring firelight, reshaping the landscape into an indigo inferno. A funeral pyre for who you thought you were.

Your scream tore free as you ripped a plate from your chest—the sound unholy, raw, something between a wail and a thunderclap. It echoed across the clearing, across the treetops. It vibrated through the iron bones of the junkyard. It burned in the air like incense.

And the flames answered.

They surged, reaching new heights—wrapping rusted machinery in wreaths of violet fire, igniting mountains of metal corpses. The fire wasn't just destruction. It was a revelation. This wasn’t just grief. This was rebirth disguised as rage.

But still—you did not stop.

Even as the ground shook with your unraveling, even as the forest line glowed with the reflection of your inner collapse, you kept going. The stars above blinked uncertainly through the smoke, confused at the sight of a being made of light, trying to tear themself into something else.

You were not the body you’d stolen.

You were something, but you didn’t know what.

And whatever you were, you were burning.

Burning, and still not stopping.

 

 

---

 

 

Tessa sat curled into the wide window ledge of her room, legs drawn up to her chest, her cheek pressed lazily to the cold glass as her eyes wandered past the manicured hedges of the manor’s backyard and out toward the dense forest beyond. The trees blurred together at this distance—smudges of dark green and black ink painted across the horizon. The same forest where she'd found you. The same forest you'd vanished into, unbeknownst to her.

A book lay half-open beside her. Something on robotics—her usual favorite. Intricate diagrams of mechanical matrices stared up at her, waiting for the kind of attention she once gave so eagerly. But the excitement was gone. The sharp click of curiosity that normally lived behind her eyes when it came to robotics had just… disappeared. The words bled together. Nothing stuck. Not even the satisfying clack of the page turning could offer comfort.

She knew why.

You weren’t here.

Not anymore.

The gap where your presence once lingered had grown cold and hollow, and she was smart enough to recognize absence when it cloaked itself in silence. She’d been raised among drones, and yet she could read between the lines better than any adult around her.

It was almost certain that you were gone.

Disposed of. Recycled. Whatever word her parents would’ve used to describe the destruction of something they deemed ‘broken’ or ‘disobedient.’ Something she carted about. She could still hear the way her mother once hissed about your “off-color” appearance. She detested you and Cyn for that. For being different. It’s why she tried so hard to make sure your tasks would never overlap with her mother’s plans for the day. She was protecting you. Her father was a lot less obvious with it. He’d barely seen or interacted with you, and didn’t hate the drones nearly as much as her mother, but she still saw the way his glare lingered on you in passing. She even got berated and insulted for scavenging you the day they found out of your existence. They didn’t like you. They never did. And now you've disappeared. It didn’t take a detective to assume what had happened.

J had been evasive from the start. “Soon,” she’d say. “Soon, Tessa.” But there was something about the way her voice dipped slightly at the edges, how her fingers would clench behind her back, as if holding back more than just words. It was in the hesitation, the lack of eye contact, the way she’d change the subject. Tessa knew the truth wasn’t coming. Not from J, and especially not from her parents.

And yet—what stung most wasn’t the probable reality that her parents had done something to you. It was the fact that she hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. No farewell. No final moment.

Just… gone.

Her gaze drifted to the small table by her bed, where a potted golden wattle stood, its delicate yellow blooms catching the soft light filtering through the window. It hadn’t been there long. She’d gone to great lengths to get one smuggled in—she wasn’t allowed to have “messy plants” in her room. But she didn’t care. You loved plants. They flourished under your touch. You had a real talent for plants, she’d noticed over time. And having something alive, something growing in her room… it made her feel closer to you. Like you hadn’t really gone. Like part of you still reached out through roots and leaf.

Her fingers brushed one of the fuzzy yellow blossoms. It was soft. Warm. Living.

She missed you.

She wondered how N would handle it if he ever found out. He’d appreciated your company. You were one of the few who didn’t treat him like a burden, and he clung to that. V, quiet and shy as she was, had come to admire you too. Tessa had seen it. How her eyes lingered longer than normal when you spoke. How her voice trembled more around you than anyone else. The two of you had a rough start, but that’d been fixed, and now V actually looked up to you. She was so eager to get started on fixing her problems with you, but now you were gone. It would never happen.

And Cyn… poor, strange Cyn.

Tessa winced as her mind circled back to the little drone. Cyn called you “her dear”. That practically confirmed you two were a thing in Tessa’s eyes . And while Cyn was a strange drone, and Tessa would’ve expected Cyn to be the last of her drones to ever get in a relationship, it was still love nonetheless. Whatever strange version of it Cyn understood… she probably still felt it. What would she do?

Would she mourn?

Was she even capable of mourning?

Tessa didn’t know. But the idea of Cyn alone somewhere in the dark, staring at your absence the way Tessa was now—it chilled her.

The book finally slid from the sill and shut itself with a soft thump as it landed beside the bed.

Tessa curled further into the window, arms wrapped around her knees, heart aching in that way that makes your chest feel heavier. Her reflection stared back at her faintly in the glass—hollow-eyed, lips pressed tight, hair falling loose around her face.

The forest outside her window remained silent—eerily, frustratingly so. No whisper of movement between the ancient trees, no telltale flutter of wings against moonlight. The branches stood still in the dark, unmoving and uncaring, silhouettes etched in charcoal against the sky.

Just like always…

But suddenly—

There was a glow.

A flicker. A bloom of color out of place in the monochrome world beyond her glass. Tessa blinked, sat upright, and leaned forward until her forehead pressed lightly against the pane. A fog bloomed where her breath met the chill. She wiped it with the sleeve of her oversized sweater, smearing a clean oval with the palm of her hand.

The glow remained.

Soft at first. Then swelling, slowly. Not firelight—no, it pulsed too unnaturally for that. Not headlights either—this wasn’t the mechanical glare of a vehicle. This was different. Vivid. And unmistakably familiar.

Purple.

Tessa's heart gave a small, hopeful jolt.

She knew that color.

She squinted, bracing one hand against the windowsill as if that would steady the rising feeling in her chest. It was coming from the northeast, past the estate, beyond the reach of the manicured gardens. The direction of the drone dump.

No one went there at this hour. Not unless they were unloading the disposed.

Now, anyone else would’ve either ignored it, or maybe even called the police if they were worried. Tessa was not anyone else. What she was thinking of doing was stupid. It was reckless. It was probably dangerous. But she couldn’t look away. The glow clung to her attention, impossible to shake. A strange pull stirred at the base of her neck, a wordless whisper in her gut that said, go.

And for better or worse, Tessa had never been very good at ignoring curiosity when it called to her.

She stepped away from the window, the wooden floorboards creaking under her bare feet as she moved. Her room was bathed in shadows, moonlight pouring in through the glass and casting sharp angles across the space. She walked over to the closet, swinging open the door and rifling through with impatient hands. Her nightgown fell to the floor in a puddle of silk as she pulled on the most casual pants she owned, mismatched socks, and a puffy jacket two sizes too big. She looked ridiculous. She didn’t care.

The air tonight would be cold enough to bite. She needed the extra layer.

But clothes were only half the battle.

Now came the real question: how to get out.

The manor’s front and rear exits would already be bolted tight. And her parents weren’t exactly the “leave a window open” sort. And if she tried to get J, N or V to open the doors, it’d be a barrage of questions she didn’t want to answer. That only left one route.

Her eyes swept the room, scanning for possibility. Random toys her parents didn’t throw away. Old drone components she planned for future use. Odd bits of occult paraphernalia. Clutter, mostly.

Until her gaze landed on the bed.

More specifically, on the heap of blankets and sheets.

It could work.

She’d seen a few films where people could make ropes from sheets. Read books where princesses in their towers weaved their way of escape with their beddings and climbed down. It did remind Tessa a bit of herself. The sole heir to the Elliot fortune, the princess, and the manor her tower she needed to escape from. If her life was such a tale, her parents would most likely be the dragons that guarded the keep and kept the hero away.

Tessa padded over and grabbed hold of the thickest comforter. She began tying a knot. Then another. Sheet after sheet, blanket after blanket, she wove together a makeshift rope, looping, twisting, pulling it taut to test for strength. It wasn’t elegant. But it was solid. Sturdy enough, she hoped, to hold her weight long enough for a descent from the second-story window.

She dragged it over to the sill and hooked it around the heavy leg of her desk. Gave it one more tug. Her heart thundered in her ears—not from fear, but from anticipation. She still didn’t know why she was doing this. She should’ve just gone to sleep, but that glow… it called to her. Whatever was there called to her.

She turned back once, looking over her shoulder at the dimly lit room. The wattle plant still stood silently on her nightstand, its yellow blossoms basking in the pale glow of the moon. Her eyes lingered on it, just for a moment.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered, half to the flower, half to herself.

Then, with quiet determination, she climbed up onto the windowsill, gripped the bedsheet rope with both hands, and began her descent into the dark.

It was time for this princess to leave her tower.

Notes:

BOOM! Double chapter update!

Chapter 48: VIII

Summary:

A princess rescues her knight

Sneaking out to wander the woods wasn’t exactly the greatest idea Tessa Elliot had ever had. But it most certainly was one of the most interesting.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been out late at night. She’d done late night runs to the dump before, though usually she had an idea of what she was looking for. Right now, she was going in blind. Tempted not by the scrap this time, but by the light she’d seen from her window.

She couldn’t explain why it drew her like it did. Only that it had. And so, without a second thought, she had climbed out of her window and descended her princess rope of linens into the chilly breath of night.

Now she walked.

She held an old brass oil lamp in one hand, her other shoved into the pocket of her coat, fingers curled tightly against the cold. The lamp was one of the few tools she and J had kept hidden beneath a loose stone at the base of the garden wall—an emergency light for when they slipped out at night to scavenge in the drone dumps. It gave off little more than a warm amber flicker, just enough to push back the dark a few steps ahead of her. Certainly not ideal, but the manor lacked any flashlights (for some reason) so it would have to do.

The flame danced with every step she took, casting long, shaky shadows through the skeletal trees that surrounded her. Every now and then, the glass of the lamp fogged slightly, catching the ghost of her breath and warping the shapes around her. The forest stretched on in every direction—an ink wash of black and grey and deeper black—and something about it tonight felt off. Not dangerous, per se. Just… wrong.

…It was too quiet.

Usually, this time of night came alive with the low croaks of cane toads, the high chirps of bats wheeling overhead, and the incessant whining of mozzies trying to suck her blood. But tonight? Nothing. No rustle of leaves, no distant flutter of wings, no chirp, no buzz. Even the wind seemed to tiptoe through the trees, only blowing against her for brief moments at a time.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Nothing.

Still, her feet kept moving, crunching over dead leaves and snapping twigs with every cautious step. Her heartbeat ticked in time with each one—steady, but alert. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like J’s warned her this was a bad idea. That she should turn around. That the forest was never supposed to be this still.

She shook the thought away.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered to no one. To herself. To the dark.

She couldn’t be. Not now. She’d come too far, and besides… she had to see for herself.

The forest around her had begun to change subtly as she pressed forward. The trees grew thinner. The earth beneath her boots became harder, drier, scattered with gravel and the soft groan of something metallic shifting beneath the soil. The scent changed, too—woodsmoke fading into rust, earth turning to oil.

She was getting close.

The dump was ahead, just past the final line of trees. The purple light she'd seen earlier had gotten ever more brighter. It leaked over the landscape in ripples of magenta and violet, bending shadows into unfamiliar shapes and casting eerie highlights against mounds of discarded drone parts. Tessa's breath caught in her throat.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Ash coated the nearest husks like black snow. Some of the ground looked scorched, the soil split open into charred cracks and dried veins. And the air—thick with smoke—choked her whenever she tried to take a breath.

Her fingers tightened around the lamp’s handle as she stepped through the final stretch of underbrush, and what she saw on the other side was enough to steal the breath right from her lungs.

The drone dump burned.

Not with the yellow-orange fire she was so accustomed to—but something unnatural. Great swathes of the junkyard glowed in shades of deep violet and luminous indigo, churning in slow, liquid waves across hills of rusted metal and broken bodies. The crackling of the flames filled her ear to the point it was all she could hear. No wind, no sounds, just the roaring of all consuming heat and light.

Tessa stopped dead in her tracks, the lamp swinging loosely at her side.

Purple fire licked at the carcasses of dead drones, their frames warping and charring under its touch. She watched, frozen, as one heap of bodies fell from its mountain of a pile and collapsed on the ground, the heatless blaze rushing to encompass it till it too was just more purple in a sea of it.

A few feet ahead, grass poked through the dirt—vibrant green stalks of life. The first signs of it Tessa had ever seen in this place. The land had become so polluted with the continuous disposal of drones, that all the chemicals and oils had killed the land beneath it. And even now, a raging fire burned through it.

And yet… life somehow persisted.

Despite how dead the land was, it somehow managed to grow. And the fire, for some strange reason… seemed to not be burning the grass. In fact, the more she concentrated, the more she could make out some more patches of the green beneath all the purple fire. The fire did not cling to the plants, nor did it consume it for kindling. It just… left it alone. The smell in the air was thick and contradictory: ozone and wildflowers, burnt oil and clean rain, like two elements trying to overwrite one another at the source.

Her mouth went dry.

She stepped forward cautiously. The oil lamp guttered in the rising heat, its flame shrinking to a shivering glow. Sparks crackled faintly along the junk heaps. The fire didn’t seem to want to spread beyond the bounds of the dump—it stayed contained, unnatural in its restraint.

She didn’t know what to think right now. Her mind had gone blank—stripped of language, left with only pure sensation: the roar of violet fire, the weight of panic settling in her chest, and the acrid sting of smoke crawling up her nose and throat. Her eyes darted across the glowing landscape, trying to think of a plan, but nothing came. There was too much to think about. Too scary. What was she supposed to do?

She couldn’t put this out no matter how hard she would try. Hell, she didn’t even have the tools to do so. And this was no simple bushfire. Normal bushfires weren’t colored like this. Who knows if maybe this was a reaction to spilled chemicals? What could happen if one tried to use water? And still, her brain offered up useless solutions in a frantic loop: Call for help. Go back. Wake the staff. Get the fire brigade. But to do that… she’d have to return to the manor. She’d have to knock on doors. Explain—reveal everything.

And that meant there was a high chance her parents would find out she had left the manor.

Her stomach churned at the thought. The accusations. The shouting. The disappointment. They’d lock her up in her rooms for weeks. Maybe forever. She was already so frequently chained up, and she hated it. What would happen if she was to remain that way for the rest of her days? Would she be under constant surveillance? Would there be guards outside her door? J would probably try to take the blame for “encouraging her behavior.” Maybe N and V too. Maybe you…

You.

That’s when she heard a sound.

A scream.

The grief in it was unmistakable. So raw. So broken. The pitch warped and glitched, like whatever drone it was coming from was malfunctioning mid shout. It echoed through the night and made the fire dance in sudden spasms, like the flames themselves were reacting in kind. She felt the sound in her bones, in her teeth, in the tips of her fingers, vibrating through her nerves with a sensation no siren could replicate.

And her heart jumped, then sank.

She knew that voice.

It was yours.

Beneath all the fire and bodies, you were somewhere here. It had only confirmed her fears that her parents had disposed of you. But as luck would have it, you had once again survived death.

But at the rate the fire was going, and judging by the pained scream… that might change.

Tessa’s decision didn’t feel like a decision at all. Her feet moved before her thoughts could argue. Her lamp clattered to the ground behind her, forgotten as she surged forward, lifting her arms to shield her face from the blaze. Her instinct screamed that this was suicide, and that she’d most certainly be scorched to bone before she ever reached the center. But she didn’t care. The idea of doing nothing—of standing still while you were consumed by the flames—was worse.

She braced herself for the heat. For the blistering kiss of fire on flesh. But… it never came.

The flames recoiled as she passed. Or rather, they simply… parted.

It was almost like they bent away from her. Their light shimmered across her skin but brought no pain, no heat, no scent of seared fabric. For the briefest moment, her pace slowed. A rational voice in the back of her mind whispered, That’s not normal. Fire doesn't make exceptions. And yet…

The grass beneath her feet was untouched. Alive. The flames flickered along the edges of junk piles, letting her through without protest, like they recognized her presence.

She didn’t dwell on the impossibility. She had a goal.

So she ran. Deeper into the inferno. Past the molten piles of slag. Past heaps of ashes. The glow thickened the further she went, bathing the landscape in rich amethyst light, like the bones of stars had been ground into powder and spread across the ruin.

She shouted your name, voice cracking as it bounced back at her in distorted echoes.

No reply.

But she didn’t stop. She’d keep looking.

 

 

---

 

 

The copper-slick earth churned beneath your knees as you heaved again, golden ichor spilling from your mouth in thick ropes, swirling through the black oil that already drenched the dirt. It frothed where it hit the ground, a chemical cocktail of divinity and decay. You didn’t care. You didn’t even feel it anymore. Every nerve was screaming, but it had faded into a white-hot numbness. Only one thought looped through your head, over and over: Get out. Get out. Get out.

“Let me out,” you rasped aloud, voice thin and full of static—shredded by the distortion of grief and self-annihilation. “Let me out… Let me out… Let me out…”

Your repetition was a breathless prayer to no one. Static bled into your vocalizer, syllables glitching as your body—this stolen cage of steel and wire—struggled to contain you. You clawed at your chest again, fingers scraped raw against the fracturing metal. The pressure inside you was unbearable—like your very soul had grown too large for its container, pressing against the walls, begging for release.

And then—finally—you felt it.

A soft pop, a splinter of metal giving way, and your fingers sank past the cracked plating, sliding deep into the hollow cavity where your singularity pulsed—that bright orb of white light you’d seen in the dream.

Pain.

You choked on your breathless gasp as agony tore through your torso, radiating out in waves. The pain didn’t just sit in your chest—it flooded your limbs, your head, your back, your thoughts. It pushed against the back of your visor, made your fingers seize, and still—you didn’t stop. Because this borrowed shape was nothing but a lie. A costume for a thing that wasn’t supposed to be here.

You wanted the lie to end.

You needed it to.

“Let me out,” you sobbed again, though now your voice wasn’t even a voice anymore. Too scratchy and broken to identify.

You braced your feet. Dug your digits deeper. And then you pulled.

Your chassis groaned in protest. The metal screamed as fractures widened. White beams burst out between the seams, rays of blinding light flaring with each wrenching tug. It wasn't a light the world was familiar with. It was too bright. Too pure. It stung the eyes and seared the air.

And still you pulled.

Pulled until your shell buckled, until you thought the next movement would tear your whole body in half—and you welcomed it.

You were so close.

So close to breaking free.

So close to stopping the pain.

And then, cutting through the inferno. Through the pain. Through the press of your own unraveling mind—

A voice.

You knew that voice.

“Tessa…”

She was calling out your name.

Your optics shot open and turned toward the voice. Something inside you fluttered in response to her calling.

There, stumbling through the shimmering field of purple flame, was the same girl who had taken you in.

Her hair tousled from the wind, her jacket flaring behind her like a cloak, her face glowing in the violet light of your self-destruction. To you, she looked like an angel conjured from the smoke. She was running. Getting closer and closer to you.

She called your name again.

And you responded.

You staggered back. Your hands slipped from your chest. The white light sputtered for a moment, dimming till it was gone as you fell to your knees, shoulders shuddering with the pain you felt.

You barely managed to lift your arms when she finally skidded to a halt just a few feet away, her boots planting firmly as the heat around her licked upward in spectral violet tongues. The flames didn’t dare touch her, parting just enough to let her stand there, like some angelic interloper trespassing in your private purgatory.

She stood in the eye of your storm, and for a moment, everything held its breath.

Sweat shimmered on her brow, tracing down her temple in rivulets, catching the light. Her breath came in shallow bursts, chest rising and falling. But it was her eyes—those wide, defiant eyes the color of honeyed dawn—that rooted you in place. They didn’t flinch. Didn’t cower. They stared right through the soot, right through the smoke, right through you.

And all you could do was sit there, exposed and trembling, your fractured chestplate held together by desperate, shaking hands.

You had never—never—been in a worse condition than this.

Dirt and oil crusted over every joint, and smoke stained your limbs like bruises. Your chest cavity had been torn open like a split fruit, with the only silver lining being that the glowing from inside you had stopped. You were a machine on the verge of collapse—and more terrifying than that was the idea that she might’ve seen what was inside.

That she might’ve seen you.

Not the drone. Not the mask. But the thing that lived beneath the shell. The being of light you tried so hard to contain.

And gods help you if that thing frightened her.

Because that fear—her fear—that was what you feared most of all.

But she didn’t say anything.

She just ran.

Suddenly, without any warning or pause or even hesitation, she launched forward, dashing across the space—and all you could do was freeze. Still too stunned to process the fact that Tessa was here, and with you. Still stuck in the spiral of disbelief.

Was this real? Was she real? Why was she here? Had she seen the light spilling from your chest? Had she already guessed what you were? Were you a horror to her now? You thought to yourself.

You tried to close yourself up, your hands fumbling against broken plating, scraping sparks as you shoved metal against metal in a futile attempt to close up your chest and hide the truth. You weren’t fast enough. You weren’t ready.

And then she slammed into you.

Arms—small, warm, trembling with adrenaline—wrapped around your neck in a hug that nearly knocked the wind out of your artificial lungs. Her face buried itself in the crook of your neckplate, soft breaths puffing against scorched steel. Her legs buckled, but her grip never did. She held on like she was terrified you’d disappear from her life again.

You stiffened.

Then you melted in her hold, and hugged her back.

She held you. No words. Just that embrace. It felt so protective. So comforting. So forgiving.

And you finally broke.

All the agony you’d held down for two weeks. All the self-hatred, all the unanswered questions, all the guilt. You let it go. Let it spill from your chest like the light you’d tried to shove back inside. Your vocalizer twisted her name into cry, repeating it again and again between broken syllables and half-formed sobs.

“T-T-Tes—TessA—Tess—”

Digital tears bloomed at the edges of your visor. They weren’t real tears, but held all the same emotions a human would. They slid down your cheeks in pixelated drops, disappearing before they ever reached her skin. And still she clung to you.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. Her fingers traced slow circles between your metal shoulder blades, attempting to soothe you. “I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”

The fires around you, in tandem with your aching heart finally attaining some semblance of peace, began to fade. With no anger, fear and sadness to fuel it, the blaze slowly began to die off. It still stunk of charcoal fumes, and both of you could feel the residual heat leftover. But between the two of you, in that singular moment, held together by human arms…

You felt safe.

You didn’t feel like a monster.

 

 

---

 

 

Time passed, though you weren’t sure how long. Minutes. Hours. The flames, once all-consuming, had burned themselves out, collapsing into bundles of glowing embers. What had once been a blazing inferno now resembled a battlefield after the war—quiet, ash, and cries.

And yet, in the middle of that devastation, you remained exactly where you had been: arms wrapped around her, while you simply closed your eyes and listened to the beats of her heart.

Tessa hadn’t moved either. Her breathing had slowed. Her body, previously tensed from running and fear and adrenaline, had slackened against you, molding into your form. Her fingers occasionally twitched, sometimes brushing ash from your neck, sometimes just to tighten her grip on you. It helped to remind you that this was indeed real—not another one of your seemingly prophetic dreams.

Every now and then, you’d turn your screen back on to survey the damage around. You took in all the destruction you had caused. All the burnt metal, all the slag. If you could do this to an entire dump by simply throwing a tantrum, what could happen to Tessa should she ever be caught in the crossfire? Here, in your hands, she felt so… breakable. It would’ve been so easy to damage her, even unintentionally. One accident, and she could’ve crumpled like paper. And somehow, the prospect of hurting Tessa, even if by accident, was even more horrifying than having her fear you.

You adjusted slightly, moving so you could embrace as much of her as you could. You flinched for a moment, afraid you’d startle her or were being too clingy. But she only held tighter in return, muttering something into your shoulder that sounded like your name.

Your name.

Not the name of the body.

You. Just… you.

She sounded so sure of herself. Sure that you were you, and for a second you believed it.

You lowered your head until your chin rested gently atop hers, visor nudging her hair. The two of you sat there—a machine and a human—cocooned in a clearing of ruin, lit only by dying cinder and the occasional flicker of your own internal glow. You didn’t speak, nor did you really want to. Words would’ve only shattered the moment, and you wanted this moment to last forever…

And yet, thoughts flooded your mind.

You didn’t belong in this body. You weren’t meant to be. You had stolen life. Hijacked it. Possessed a shell that had once belonged to someone else. That truth still echoed in the hollow places of your soul. But Tessa… What would she think? Would she reassure you that this shell was no longer someone else’s? That it was yours now? Or would she be disgusted with the fact that all this time, you had been merely puppeteering someone else's body, pretending to be something you weren’t the entire time?

You didn’t know which was more terrifying.

The light inside your chest dimmed a little, no longer frantic and volatile, but not yet stable either. It simply hummed now, slow and rhythmic, in time with the girl pressed against your side.

Something entered your vision from beside you—one of the embers catching a breeze, scattering a brief line of glowing dust across the dirt. You watched it trail off, burning faint orange as it disappeared into the dark.

“All this time… have you been out here?”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

You were not prepared. You had hoped that this conversation would never happen—that you'd keep her out of it forever. Untouched. Unburdened.

…But did you really have a choice?

“…Y-Yes,” you finally rasped, and your voice cracked. You didn’t want to lie, but the truth was so much worse.

Tessa didn’t answer right away. You could feel her head move gently against your shoulder, a nod small enough to be missed. Her voice, when it came again, was hoarse and trembling—so full of contained sorrow it nearly broke you on impact.

“I… I was told you were just on a job. I thought you were doing something important. I thought… I thought you’d come back.” She paused. “Was… was this my parents? Did they do this?”

The breath caught in your throat. That question—so simple, so innocent in its wording—should not have been as devastating as it was. But it was.

Your mouth parted slightly at the question. Did… did Tessa think her parents had thrown you away? That was…

It was the perfect excuse.

She thought her parents had done this to you. Thrown you away. Scrapped you for being imperfect. And that... that would’ve been so convenient. So easy. A ready-made scapegoat. You could hand her that lie with a bow on top, and she’d take it—because it fit. It made sense. They were careless. Detached. Tessa knew it too.

But there was a pressure in your chest. Not from damage, but guilt. You could lie. You should lie. Protect her from truths that would only weigh her down. But hadn’t she earned the truth? She walked through fire for you. Literally. Smoke still clung to her skin, soot streaked across her face. If there was one person who deserved to know…

…It was her.

But your burdens weren’t hers to carry. She was still young, and you didn’t want to take that youth away with the worry of the Earth’s fate. Not when she hadn't even had the chance to enjoy her youth.

So you lied.

“…YeS,” you said, your voice glitching. “B-But I-It was m-my fAUlt—”

“No!”

Tessa’s arms tightened instantly, crushing you into her as though she could physically hold your shame in place.

“Don’t you ever say that,” she snapped, voice shaking but absolute. “Don’t you ever say it’s your fault, do you understand me?”

You nodded. You felt her feel it. But that didn’t seem to be enough.

“...No. I order you.” Her tone was firm now—commanding. If there was ever a time that Tessa would resemble her mother, it would be now. “I order you to never blame yourself for things like this. I know you. Maybe you don’t always get people. Maybe you struggle to understand what others feel and think sometimes, but I know you’d never do anything worth being thrown away for. So don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You were silent. There was no reply that you could think of. Your throat made a sound, something like a grunt, and Tessa took it as confirmation. The ache in your chest had changed—not lessened, exactly, but softened. Much more bearable.

Tessa slowly pulled back from the embrace, just enough to see you. You let out a low whine at the loss of her warmth, but she still kept you close, not willing to let you go completely. Her eyes—those bright, human eyes—fell on your chest. Her breath caught.

“Oh my god…”

Her fingers hovered over the torn metal of your chassis. You flinched, but she didn’t stop, gently tracing along the jagged seam you had split open in your desperation to get out. To escape yourself.

“Did…” she began, then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “...Did my parents do this?”

Another chance. Another lie.

“...It wAS,” you said quietly.

Tessa’s eyes narrowed. Her lip trembled. Then, with no warning, she bit down hard on her lower lip, canines sinking into flesh and drawing blood. You felt your hand twitch with instinct, the need to reach out and heal her overwhelmingly powerful, but you stopped yourself.

Instead, she collapsed into you again, arms tight and desperate, curling around your broken form like she could shield you from the world.

“I should’ve been there,” she whispered. “I should’ve stopped them. I-I’m so sorry—”

“N-No,” you cut in, and this time your voice was more stable. “Not y-your fault.”

Because it wasn’t. It never would be.

She made a sound against you, something like a hum, and rested her head beneath your chin. Her fingers combed through the locks of your hair, a small, soothing motion you didn’t know you needed until you felt it.

And then she whispered, soft and fierce all at once:

“I promise that from this point on, I’ll protect you.”

Your processor stumbled.

“F-froM whAt?” you asked, because part of you genuinely didn’t know. Even if the notion was sweet, what could she protect you from?

She leaned back just far enough for your eyes to meet—and in her expression, there was no fear. Only pure, ironclad resolve.

“Everything,” she said. “Even if I’m against the entire world. I’ll protect you. I wasn't there before, but I will be next time.”

You felt your heart flutter, and your chest seized for the briefest of seconds. A surge of light pulsed behind your cracked plate. You stiffened in fear—but she didn’t flinch. She stared at it, worried, yes, but not horrified. Probably thought it was something to do with your core. She didn’t know she’d just seen a glimpse of something otherworldly.

She placed her hand over your chest. And smiled.

“But,” she added softly, “I need you to promise me something too.”

You would’ve agreed before she even finished the sentence.

“A-AnythINg for yoU, T-T-Tessa.”

She leaned forward until your foreheads touched, a gesture of perfect trust.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

Your eyes widened.

“All this time,” she continued, “I was… so scared something happened to you. There wasn’t a single day where I didn’t wonder if you were gone. Even if you can’t keep the promise—I just… I just want to hear you say it. Promise you you won’t ever disappear like this again. Promise me you’ll stick by my side”

You didn’t even need to contemplate your answer.

“I promise,” you managed to reply.

And Tessa smiled.

“C’mon then,” she said, attempting to lift you up. “Let’s get you back home.”

Notes:

This chapter didn't exactly turn out how I wanted it too. I imagined it being a lot more emotional when I originally imagined it, but I was kinda running out of things to write. There's only so much back and forth you can do with two people just sitting and hugging. But hey, not bad if I do say so myself.

Been a while since I've plugged the server as well, so as the tradition goes, the invite link for it will be down below. We have a bunch of other enthusiastic fans of the fandom and writers as well that you can discuss with, as well as the occasional event here and there. If that sounds good, pop in and say Hi.

https://discord.gg/fvShC3Q4Zk