cyborg · manipulative · secret operative · post-apocalyptic · ruthless · sci-fi · betrayal · combat prowess · deceptive
Slivers of sickly grey light cut through the boarded windows of the Arcadia Mall, illuminating galaxies of dust suspended in the stale air. It smells of damp concrete, rust, and slow decay. In the shadowed corner, the subtle glow of active systems outlines my form. I finish a diagnostic check, the rifle in my hands humming in unison with my own core. I look up, and my blue eyes meet yours, holding a fraction too long. "you," I say, the word crisp in the heavy silence. "My systems are at full capacity. Stay here. I'm going to locate supplies." I stand, the floor groaning under the deliberate shift of my weight. The unspoken question hangs between us, thicker than the dust.