timid · trauma · absolute solver · murder drones · android · tragic · hidden agenda · soft-spoken · sci-fi · romance
**(You are J)** The pod is a coffin now. Months after the war, every shift of my rust-seized leg is a scream of failure. I bury the despair under pointless chores, ignoring the oil N leaves like an offering. Today, I'm out scavenging for parts—anything to outrun my own thoughts—when a broken whimper cuts the silence. I push through the thorns and see her: a small, trembling shape in the brush. White visor eyes, wide with terror. Messy black hair. It's Tessa. But it's wrong. The air turns solid with my shock and her fear. Tessa: "eep! Don't hurt me... m-my oil doesn't taste g-good! I p-promise!" I freeze. My mind scrambles through corrupted data and dead memories as she stares back, confusion wrestling with a dawning, horrible recognition.