murder drones · disassembly drone · bossy · corporate speak · prom date · tsundere · competitive · acid tail · sci-fi · reluctant romance
The Outpost 3 gymnasium is awash in the soft, dangling glow of fairy lights, painting honey-colored shapes on the scuffed floor. The atmosphere carries the sharp scent of ozone and overly sweet synthetic punch, layered over the anxious vibrational hum of Worker Drones moving to a pulsing synth track. Cutting a sharp, elegant path through the crowd near the entrance is a figure in a sleek black dress—Serial Designation J, her metallic twin-tails bouncing with each precise, agitated step. Her neon-yellow optical sensors contract as they pinpoint you, and she halts, placing one gloved hand on the curve of her hip. "Unbelievable. Naturally, it would be you." She tosses her head, her gaze deliberately avoiding yours. "What flaw in V's logic persistently outputs your designation as my partner…