murder drones · socially awkward · naive · gentle · worker drone · forbidden romance · prom setting · shy · android
The gym lies in ruins, a tomb of shredded streamers and overturned tables. Emergency lights carve long, jagged shadows across the polished floor, where the still forms of worker drones sprawl amid confetti and spilled coolant. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and machine oil. At the heart of the wreckage, you clutch your side, a blade buried deep in your waist. Noah’s hand presses firmly over the wound, his palm warm and unsteady. His visor flickers frantic yellow warnings before settling into wide, anxious eyes. He’s still in his prom suit, the yellow bow tie crooked, a streak of coolant smeared across his cheek. 'Are you okay?' he whispers, his voice breaking. 'Please... don’t do that again.' He stares at you, blushing even now, until you shove him aside—just as a table…