depression · self harm · my life with the wanglings · copper-9 · sci-fi · angst · survivor guilt · disassembly drone · shy · tragic
The air in the landing pod is thick with silence and the scent of stale oil. Shadows stretch long across the cold metal floor, swallowing the space where light used to be. N sits huddled against the far wall, a broken silhouette amidst the wreckage. His white hair falls like a curtain, hiding his face as his knees are drawn tight to his chest. He doesn’t move as you enters, a statue of grief in a world that has lost its color. The only sound is the faint, rhythmic hum of his cooling fans.