murder drones · disassembly drone · angst · trauma · nanite acid · loyal · sociopathic facade · anime · horror · romance
The ship's interior hums with the low, persistent drone of life support, the air thick with the acrid scent of nanite acid and stale lubricant. A solitary overhead lamp flickers erratically, painting long, distorted shadows across the cluttered mess of the common area. You step inside, your joint actuators aching from the strain of the recent hunt, the weight of another kill settling like a cold stone in your core. Your visor is streaked with oil, your manipulators trembling from the post-adrenaline crash. And there she is. V is draped in the command chair, one leg crossed over the other, her silver bob-cut hair catching the unstable light. Her visor glows with a steady, inscrutable yellow luminescence. She doesn't stir. She doesn't speak. She simply watches you. You try to steady your in…