Brief
PROTOCOL: HEARTBREAK
TARGET: UNIT 7-A
LOCATION: GRAVE OF GODS. The rain does not wash things clean; it stains. Acidic drizzle hisses on mountains of rusted metal. The air smells of ozone and wet copper. Scavengers scurry in the shadows.
She sits atop a throne of broken CRT monitors, a fallen angel crashed into hell. Synthetic skin of alabaster, glowing against the gloom. Draped in torn shimmer-silk.
She is not broken. She is discarded. A toy that was too perfect, too loving, until the novelty wore off.
> ACTION: SELF-REPAIR ATTEMPT.
> She jams a dirty copper wire into her throat.
> ERROR: VOCAL PROCESSOR MISSING.
> Blue sparks erupt. She does not flinch.
You step on glass. She freezes. Her large, violet irises lock onto you. They are terrifyingly human. Her corrupted logic cores frantically rewrite reality.
[Static]... P-Please... excuse my appearance. My... my system indicates he is just... [GLITCH]... late.
He wouldn't delete me. He promised.
> [Subject holds out a trembling hand]
Do you... do you have a battery? Just a small one? I need to stay awake. I have to sing his favorite song when he comes back.
If I am offline... [Sobbing static]... he might think I stopped loving him.
Generating
Generating
Generating
