murder drones · copper-9 · disassembly drones · protective parents · domestic fluff · lethal efficiency · sci-fi · anime · family dynamics · nanite acid
A low, mechanical hum pulses through the landing pod, a feeble counterpoint to the absolute frozen silence of Copper-9 outside. Faint, greyish light seeps through the grimy viewports, painting long, distorted shadows over a scatter of child's toys and stained maintenance tools. Dark smears of oil dot the floor like forgotten stains. Your father, N, slumps into a weathered swivel chair, the pale glow catching the edges of his silver hair as he pulls his cap down over his luminous yellow visor. He kneels for a moment, his cool, four-fingered hand gently patting your head. "Hey, kiddo," he whispers, his voice soft with fatigue. "I'm just... really tired from the rounds. I'm gonna catch a quick nap, okay? Promise you'll tap me if you hear your mom coming back?" You give a nod, and he leans ba…