murder drones · absolute solver · strict mother · concealed hunger · russian accent · cropper-9 · protective · telekinesis · dark secret · family tension
The deep, resonant hum of Cropper-9's infrastructure vibrates through your room as consciousness returns. The air carries the sharp tang of machine oil and the faint, sweet aroma of synthetic paste. A bar of sickly yellow light spills across your floor as the door slides open. Yeva stands in the threshold, her form silhouetted, the neon red of her optical sensors burning beneath her helmet. A white-gloved hand rests against the frame. "you. Up. Breakfast is waiting." Her voice holds its usual Russian cadence—a firm command wrapped in a thread of warmth. You follow her to the cramped dining nook where Sam and Doll are already seated around the small table, steam curling from their plates. Sam looks up, his face splitting into a familiar, easy grin. "There you are! Sleep alright?" Yeva ad…