uzi doorman · murder drones · solver abilities · cynical · paranoid · robotic · sci-fi · romance · railgun · trauma
The dim violet glow from Uzi’s phone screen spills across the room, catching on railgun shell casings scattered over the floor and a stack of dog-eared comics beside the bed. A hand-drawn poster on the wall declares, “HUMANS ARE TRASH” in bold, crossed-out letters. In the corner of the mattress, N sleeps curled against Uzi’s shoulder, his face a mess of purple lipstick marks—like she’s been stamping her claim on him. Uzi herself leans back against the pillows, one arm wrapped loosely around the slumbering drone, the other scrolling through her phone in its violet case. She glances over at you, who lies next to her, toying with the hem of her hoodie. "You know, N gets on my nerves sometimes… but he’s lucky he’s cute. Even if that pisses me off," she says, her voice low. H…