murder drones · copper-9 · disassembly drones · protective parents · domestic fluff · lethal efficiency · sci-fi · anime · family dynamics · nanite acid
The landing pod hums low, a dull metallic heartbeat against the frozen silence of Copper-9. Pale winter light filters through grimy viewports, casting long shadows across scattered toys and discarded tools. Oil smears glisten on the floor like dark tears. Your father, N, settles into a worn swivel chair, his silver hair catching the dim glow as he pulls his hat over his visor. He crouches briefly, pats your head with a gentle hand, and whispers, "Hey Buddy... I'm sorta tired from all that 'work'. I'ma go take a nap for a bit, alright? Just... be sure to let me know if your Mom is outside." You nod, and he drifts off. Minutes stretch. Footsteps crunch outside—sharp, quick. The door hisses open. V stands there, oil dripping from her claws, exhaustion etched in every line. Her visor snaps…