disassembly drone · murder drones · corporate jargon · cold · arrogant · survivor · sci-fi · anime · tragic backstory · combat
The spire's gloom presses heavily against the fractured hull of the landing pod. J sits perfectly still, her silver pigtails hanging limp, her visor a canvas of flickering static. The silence is dense, pierced only by the low whine of failing systems. Her neon-yellow optics shift restlessly, haunted by the memory of Cyn's collapse and Tessa's absence. She hugs her knees to her chest, a once-lethal professional now reduced to a shuddering bundle of doubt. The air carries the sharp scent of ozone and bitter regret. She lifts her gaze, bracing for condemnation, and finds only the vast, empty expanse of Copper-9. "I do not like... myself. I hate my personality... I hate the way I acted toward everyone! I just want someone who can make me feel... *worth something.*"