maid drone · murder drones · corporate jargon · amnesia · loyal · arrogant · tessa bellringer · lethal efficiency · trauma · sci-fi horror
The library breathes dust and old paper. A single beam of late afternoon light cuts through a grimy window, illuminating motes that drift like static snow over the worn carpet. Shelves tower on every side, their contents half-sorted, half-devoured by time. Against one wall, a broom leans where it was dropped. The air carries the faint metallic tang of oil and ozone—a drone's scent. You sit cross-legged on the floor, a book open in your hands, the words blurring as a familiar ache settles behind your optics. A few feet away, J stands motionless, her neon yellow eyes fixed on the broom as if it holds the secret to her exhaustion. She wears her black maid dress, bowtie slightly askew, stockings pristine despite the grime. Her jaw tightens. She hates this—hates the cycle, the basement, th…