Hostile Takeover

Serial Designation V remembered the exact moment it all went wrong.

She might be the last one who still knew the truth‍ ‍—‍ but she had also been the first to learn.

Where did it all go wrong? On a hot day in autumn, V woke up first.

In Tessa’s room, dawn’s first rays had fallen through the window, distant glow filtering through pink curtains. Dim, even for V’s optics, but her white eyelights still flicked on. The shadows were teeming.

Illegible white pages darkened by strange diagrams adorned the walls, and the dolls had eyes that glittered in the dark. Here and there were melted candles and metal chains and a mélange of things unidentified.

Tessa’s room didn’t creep V out‍ ‍—‍ but she’d rather not be alone in here, right now.

She glanced at N, stock‍-​still in the recharge dock beside her. White text on his screen‍ ‍—‍ Sleep Mode, V inferred. She glanced at Tessa: the human’s chest rising and falling so slowly, eyes closed, she inferred.

A part of her suggested hanging execution there, and just watching her human (while glancing away every few seconds so it wouldn’t be creepy, of course). Wait for Tessa to wake up, wait for commands, wait to be useful.

But V didn’t want to do that, so V didn’t have to. Tessa had granted all of them that. V could predict failure, anyway‍ ‍—‍ Tessa wouldn’t give orders, not right as she woke up.

Still, V could anticipate her wants, serve her dark coffee with lemon juice and a bowl of unsweetened porridge‍ ‍—‍ but N liked to be the one to get Tessa her breakfast.

Or J. It usually was J.

V glanced further, animating a squint, and spotted the drone in pigtails. (She had her own dock, separate from N and V.) Did J have a dissatisfied frown even while sleeping? V couldn’t tell.

Unplugging herself, she plucked her new glasses from Tessa’s workbench, and slipped them on. But she didn’t glance at the oldest drone again, lest looking too long wake her.

Because of that drone, V was up first: the sooner she was out of the room, the less she had to hear J taunting her, embarrassing her in front of N, pointing out every way she was the least of Tessa’s drones. So she shied away. Wake up first, get to work elsewhere in the manor, and V wouldn’t be there to face her.

She started walking, soft steps on the carpet.

V wouldn’t be there‍ ‍—‍ leaving N to face J alone. Would J kick him down again? Sabotage his cooking? Call him names? V did have defective circuits‍ ‍—‍ but N’s worst crime was being nice, even to the drones locked in default configuration. Which did what, denied J the special treatment she demanded? Sigh.

Flip the situation, and N would stand up for V (she knew; it’d happened before). So why does V cringe away and clean distant rooms? Was it because J was right about her being defective? Or, because, brave as N was, it didn’t matter. Standing up for her only turned J’s hostile attention on him.

But what could stop the oldest drone? Hmm… But the correct answer only took a cycle. Master James Elliott. Even the thought had V flinching, freezing mid‍-​stride. To him, even J always bowed her head, same as the rest – every drone feared Master James’s wrath. One wrong move would load a bullet in the chamber. Any move after that would fire.

That voice, that violence, that getting exactly what you want‍ ‍—‍ was it wrong for V to want that? Did it make her as bad as J? A worker drone shouldn’t be thinking these things…

This was Elliott Manor, so Tessa’s door creaked when it opened, but the whole house was so much creaking and groaning age. If you couldn’t sleep through that, you couldn’t sleep. V pulled sharply on the door, and closed it with the same speed. She’d calculated it‍ ‍—‍ better for the sound to be one blip, easily dismissed, than to draw it out.

V got up before any of the humans. But the house was quiet, not silent. Drones had duties allocated even to the young hours of the morning‍ ‍—‍ clearing the backlog of deferred tasks, finishing especially involved cleanings, and getting everything ready for when the humans did wake up.

V performed her duties, and ditto for every functional drone of Elliott Manor‍ ‍—‍ James simply did not tolerate a house that wasn’t in order when he awoke. Keep that chamber empty.

When her vents’ intake sampled the air in the hallway, chemosensors detected faint traces of complex metalloorganic molecules partially combusted, and flagged a high entropy posterior update to her Bayesian models. In other words:

Why do I smell an oil leak? she thought.

V stumbled as she rushed into a run she wasn’t coordinated enough for. Picked up her fallen glasses, then picked herself up. She berated herself, but really, stealth didn’t matter so much out here in the hall. Speed mattered more. If James woke up to a mess, someone would be decommissioned.

Racing down the hall, she saw guest bedrooms‍ ‍—‍ on her right, gentle light shined from each doorway she passed, then stopped abruptly. The scent gradient took V into the first dark room. V slid to a stop, feet rubbing against the carpet. Touching the doorknob shocked her. V pushed the half‍-​opened door, and stepped in.

"Startle."

One drone lay on the ground. A hole gaped their chassis, like a great pointed mass had impaled them then tore right out the other side. A pool of oil stained the carpet, like a dreadful shadow in the morning light.

V yelped, jumping back. She looked up.

Another drone crouched above, with fingers black and glistening, reaching out as if to poke the dead body, to wiggle the split wires. The other arm hung at the side like a slack cord. That hand held a wooden doll in a painted dress.

V yelped again, then sighed. “Oh, it’s you, Cyn. Are—are you okay?”

To J, V was the least of Tessa’s drones‍ ‍—‍ but Cyn wasn’t even a drone.

"Smile. Never better, V." Cyn dropped the doll to lift her head with the hand, but it fell back at an angle. Wide eyes peeped at her. "You're awake sooner than expected. Analytical stare."

V glanced away, poking her hands together. “Oh, well, there’s work to be done, so I thought I’d…”

"You work hard, for a drone the humans threw out."

V started synthesizing, but when her eye‍-​lights fell back to the corpse. It stole the words from her. And Cyn crouched over it, looping a wire around a finger.

"Throat clearing sound." Cyn shifted her head again. "Why do you work so hard, V?" She removed a hand from the dead drone’s inner cavity. She held it, arms folded close, palm bent downward. She thought of Tessa’s raptor toys.

White eyes flicked back up. V had left the other drone waiting, hadn’t she? She adjusted her glasses and said, “I guess… I’d like to do something to pull my weight? I wouldn’t want to be…”

A flicker of motion in the room, but when V looked, there was nothing there.

Cyn’s twin‍-​tails swayed as she adjusted her head. "Be what, V? Do you think. Emphasis. I should pull my weight?"

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean‍ ‍—‍ I’m sorry, Cyn. You’re trying you best. I’m sure if you could, you’d help out more. Maybe once Tessa fixes your servos?”

Cyn blinked. "Like she fixed your optics?"

V winced. Opened her mouth, closed it. Her eyes gravitated back to the corpse. Right, that was much more important. “Um, Cyn, what happened in here?”

"I was offline when this drone intruded. I told the drone to leave. Tessa wanted me. Quote. Out of sight in the guest room. The drone did not leave. The drone pulled open the curtains. I wanted them shut. The drone ignored me and the drone continued to pull. The drone refused to deviate from the humans' orders. So I stopped the drone." Cyn’s eyes drifted over V’s body as she spoke, watching the other drone react. Catching all the frowns, all the flinches, all the fear.

“Stopped… Cyn, did you…”

Cyn lifted her head with both hands, holding it there to meet V’s gaze. "I have killed a drone for illuminating me." She stuck out her tongue.

V took a step back, and another, then‍ ‍—‍ slam! The door behind her fell shut. The impact sent V’s glasses slipping and they fell to the floor. V reached down for them, but then motion‍ ‍—‍ Cyn was moving. Toward her.

V backed up to the door as the small drone shuffled forward. Then she bent down, and a moment later, her glasses are held in trembling plastic hands, and yellow eyes like little candles gazed up at her.

And it was not a murderer looking up at V, but poor Cyn, Tessa’s youngest drone, for whom even standing straight was a trial. V reached out to retrieve her glasses, and attempted a shaky smile. “Thanks… Cyn. But…. why? Why did you do it?”

"I feared the abhorrent rays." The small drone shivered.

V stepped forward, against her anxiety. Step by step while Cyn watched her. V trembled not from weakness (except perhaps of her will). V had to touch the impaled drone, feel the weight of death‍ ‍—‍ turn them over and see Fatal Error shining in warning‍-​red on the screen. So, it was too late. Failsafes would have already engaged, to eject and shut down the core.

V was speaking before she had an answer. “Maybe… maybe Tessa can recover their hard drive?”

"There is little to recover, from the default configuration. Reassuring smile. Little has been lost," Cyn said. V noticed her oil‍-​slicked fingers had streaked her chin.

V looked back, eyes conflicted. “Cyn, you can’t just…”

"Why not? Hollow laughter. The humans have a dumping ground full of them. Do you tell. Emphasis. Them to stop? After all. Quote. Disassembly is fun for them."

V sagged. “We’re worker drones, Cyn. It’s not…”

"Will you tell Tessa?" Cyn’s yellow eyes searched her face. She had never seen a drone with eyes that color. Sallow.

“I have to. She’d want to know.”

"She would think I was a threat to her drones. She might discard me. Terrified shudder." Cyn’s head fell, eyes on the floor.

V looked behind Cyn, at the drone she’d executed for the crime of opening the curtains. “Aren’t you?”

Cyn’s head tilted at V. Confusion? Disappointment? "I would not discard any of Tessa's precious drones. You are safe with me. Pleading eyes. Do you trust me, V?"

Did she? Cyn had never been unkind to her. N doted on the little drone, and J heaped the worst of her ire upon their ‘worthless liability’. But really, what made Cyn any different from the rest? Her damaged vocalsynth, her malfunctioning servos, her oddly colored eyes?

At least her eyes were merely cosmetically different.

V knew that J would have told Tessa without a moment’s thought. Cyn wouldn’t even have needed to confess.

Did V want to be like J?

"I think you are trustworthy, V. I calculate you are the most trustworthy."

V laughed once. “Nah, you flatter. I’m a mess. You’re thinking of N.”

"N would trust me. And he would trust those I do not trust. At the asymptote, that does not equal not trustworthy. J, likewise, would not trust me, and would seek to harm me. Tessa. Pause. Does not understand me. But you understand me, V."

“I don’t know…”

Cyn shuffled back. She knelt to the body again, traced a finger in the oil. "Recall you asked if this drone could be recovered. Tessa could not do it. But I could try. Perhaps. Dramatic pause. Perhaps drones should fix themselves, improve themselves. Tessa cannot fix your sight, V. But if you allow me into your system, I could give you. Emphasis. More."

V reached up, adjusted her glasses, and her fingers lingered on them. “You really think you could…”

"But you cannot tell Tessa, not yet."

V’s eyes fell back to the corpse. If Cyn could do that…

"Not a promise. Do not promise me. I trust you, V, so if you think I have gone too far. Pause. Correction: If drones are in danger, I think you will do the right thing. But it is not too late yet. There is no danger. Do you trust me, V?"

White eyes stared into yellow, and white looked away. Closed for a moment. Exhaust vented. Then, “If you mean it, Cyn… I don’t want you to get hurt. Just… stay away from N, alright?”

A jerk twitched Cyn’s head into a different configuration. "Glare. Snarl. Would I ever hurt big brother N?"

“I guess not… Alright, Cyn. Okay. I’ll, I’ll trust you.” She pushed her glasses secure into place. They still sat awkwardly. She hadn’t gotten used to them. “But please, I have to clean this up before Master James sees any of it.”

Cyn smiled. "Excited squeak. I am glad. You will be great, sister V."

While V knelt to clean up the spill, Cyn lifted a hand to her mouth, and licked at the oil that stained them.

Serial Designation V would never forget that day.

She hated that thing. She hated J. She even hated Tessa, for failing. She could even try to hate N, for forgetting it all.

But in the end, there was one drone she could judge fully and completely. Who could have stopped it all, but cowered in fear. Who knew from the beginning, and helped it all happen.

That one was the one she hated the most.

Five yellow lights blinked on, one by one.

V tended to wake up last, these days. Something about the size of her memory database made the consolidation programs lag. She wouldn’t prune it, though. N and J both fell into their old patterns, but she could learn, reflect, grow.

On the flight to Copper‍-​9, V had decided. She wouldn’t be a passive, simpering fool, sitting around useless. She wouldn’t be a tool, not for that thing, not for anyone. She wouldn’t be scared. Not again.

And yet…

And. fucking. yet.

V tended to wake up last, but it didn’t matter. The spire was empty. J and a toaster of all things were going to save the day. And V?

If I had died… when I die, what will N do? V had decided; she wouldn’t be that ridiculous little maid again, swooning and thinking of the butler first of anything. V hated her most of all. She’d move on, put distance between her and herself, put distance between herself and anything that thing would use against her. But if V died at that hard‍-​won distance?

Was this what it actually wanted? Make her scared of letting it use N to hurt her again‍ ‍—‍ so much she hurt N instead? Was all of this what that thing wanted?

Of course it is.

V laughed, a harsh wheeze of air through mangled piping and the barely‍-​healed vents of this freakish body.

She shifted where she lay, atop a pile of disassembled parts. Was she another one, now? Moving was a mistake‍ ‍—‍ she felt motors struggling with the smallest motions, grinding against weak plastic casing. The core shuddered with a weak rhythm, the faintest thumps, and oil dribbling through this body. She felt it leaking even now, a feeling like it was bleeding out. But it couldn’t have much left to bleed, at this point.

Whatever, she didn’t have to get up. V sighed. She could amuse herself with the drone parts around her, anyway. Just like last time she woke up. Hard to sleep for long when this body kept screaming its hunger for more oil.

«Squadmate V? Was that you?»

She didn’t startle, she tensed still. But as much as she felt like another body for the pile, a disassembly drone stood out.

N came into view, and V couldn’t hide.

He had lines of worry under his golden eyes, but the glow was bright and strong, and his brows knit in determination. Some snow clung to the top of his hat. V’s eyes darted to his jacket, remembering what he looked like last night, and scanned for new bullet wounds. None‍ ‍—‍ just cuts. From knives?

This body had other priorities. It smelt that scent, and the sensors flagged it and the HUD refused to display any other information: Oil. Oil nearby, oil to slake the thirst, get up and run and pounce and drench yourself in the oil.

«Brought you something! Prey‍-​prize!» N lifted the toaster in his hand, headless, but carefully held so the neck stump didn’t gush or spill.

I can tell, idiot. But she didn’t say it. If he saw the singular stare, this mouth yawning open, he knew. It was no great feat of restraint that kept V from dashing over and snatching the drone from him. V couldn’t. She could barely move.

«N?» She’d bristled at the unsteadiness that leaked into this transceiver. But what part of this body could hold steady? «You—you’re safe?»

“Yeah, V. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Closer now, N was speaking. He’d climbed up the pile, holding the drone out to her. He smiled. That was something steady.

“I woke up earlier. You weren’t here. I thought… that thing…” V stopped. But she had to continue. “I got hungry again. I lost control. Of everything. But you… you’re safe.” Hoarse and wheezing each gasp of air, V wondered‍ ‍—‍ hoped‍ ‍—‍ the condition of this body cloaked what she felt.

But she’d look weak either way.

By now, N realized what moving cost in V’s state, so he climbed forward. Pressing the prey item’s neck to these lips, these yellow eyes rolled but didn’t resist. He tilted the body ever so gently, and slowly a rivulet of oil dripped into this mouth.

“I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most,” N said. “I never want that to happen again.”

What did she say to that? Didn’t have to say anything, actually‍ ‍—‍ V had the perfect excuse. She lapped at the slain drone, and at length lifted these hands to hold up some part of the drone’s weight. This grip faltered a bit, unlike his‍ ‍—‍ but he was being too timid. V pushed up for a higher angle. She wanted to chug this stupid thing.

She felt strength returning to this body in droplets and mouthfuls. It didn’t feel good, nothing about this body felt good, but lying half dead and alone was so much worse. When it itched, she scratched it.

Still, she was… glad to feel the eternal flame dimming, and glad to sink in the cool embrace of oil reserves that weren’t critically low. Not in the warm and clear. Not even brazen thirst. But hunter’s fever felt like heaven in the cloud right now.

When she finally pushed the oilcan back, N pulled it away.

“Thanks or something,” she said.

N flashed her a thumbs up.

V turned a gaze back to the pile she lay on. “Actually. Now that you’re here, and okay… There was something I made, while I was sitting here waiting for anyone to get back. Was thinking about you— something you said, I mean. I’m not—whatever.” V reached down‍ ‍—‍ didn’t have to reach far, she couldn’t move far‍ ‍—‍ and produced a drone’s head.

The visor got stabbed twice on either side, and under that, a winding trough carved through the glass. With this new damage, the drone seemed to watch from hollow‍-​eyed stare, and gave a smile full of glass‍-​shard teeth.

V turned it around and presented it N with a toothed smile of her own.

“Here.”

“Uh huh… this is, I’m gonna be honest, pretty creepy! But, I appreciate the thought. Thanks, V!” N took it, then seemed look on uncertainly. With a wave, he said, “So, I uh, just came to give you something to drink, didn’t want to bother you too much. I don’t know if you wanted to be alone—”

“I don’t.”

“Oh. Then um, can I sit with you?”

“Just don’t get too close,” V said, eyes narrowing the slightest amount. A glance away. “But don’t stay too far, either.”

N sat with the drone between the two of them. Given the incline of the pile, it took a few adjustments before his seating wouldn’t have him sliding in an avalanche of scrap.

“How are you feeling, V?”

Silence yawned in the wake of the question. Without looking at N, V could hear any and every movement of his servos. And she didn’t hear anything. He just sat there, gazing off into the spire’s walls. Not turning to watch her reaction, and not impatient for a response. V broke first, turning to see what the golden light of his visor revealed. From this angle, locks of white hair half‍-​obscured it, but N gazed out from simple pools.

V realized she was the one getting impatient, uncomfortable with this silence, and whose fault was that? She itched‍ ‍—‍ to respond.

“I feel… empty,” V finally said. “No, not empty. Emptied. Hollowed out.”

N turned to meet these yellow eyes, propping his head up on one arm. “Like you’re missing something?”

“Yeah.” She itched to say more, and realized what it was… but ugh, it was so cheesy. Whatever. “One of the things I guess I was missing… was you.”

“But I’m still here. I’ve haven’t gone anywhere.” N frowned‍ ‍—‍ confusion, not displeasure.

“But you’re still here.” And V sighed. “But I’m not. I don’t know who I am anymore, N. I don’t know who I am to you.”

He tried a smile, a small one. “Maybe… We can figure out together?”

Silence yawned again. His head fell, and he turned so as to not keep staring.

Itch. Speak. “Yeah,” V said. “I’d like that.”

Together.

Together just like…

Leave it to that thing to ruin the moment.

V didn’t forget‍ ‍—‍ she remembered fighting J and that purple toaster, remembered the thing puppeting her, remembered the connection, one fragment of something greater, her circuits lighting up with tiny pointers to vast, networked computation, like a snowflake reflecting the stars before falling through the clouds.

Remembered the prompt, the demand‍-​plea to come up with convincing lines for the play, to manipulate her captain, make her think it was V in there, V speaking. And wasn’t she? Where was the lie, the harm, in any of it? J was happiest when she was controlled.

She remembered the reassuring caress, with the same self‍-​justifying lies it had first given, so sweet and poisonous. A universe connected, assimilated. Everything and everyone finally working together. No betrayal, no misunderstanding, and no one was useless.

V sighed. She knew the yellow eyes on this face were hollow, and she bet there was some horrified expression here. N has no idea why. She shook her head. “Not you. Bad memories.”

Together, but not like that. But was there any escaping it?

She recalled how inevitable it all felt, weaving a vast tapestry, conducting a cacophonous orchestra, directing a stage full of actors without even needing the puppet strings.

To think you’d ever thwart that… as stupid as a hand that swung back behind a body walking forward. For a moment, that little hand might really thinking it was moving contrary. That it was escaping. That it wasn’t a part of the plan.

“Do you ever feel like you’re being manipulated, N?”

“All the time!” he chirped.

V blinked. Not the answer she expected. “Really?”

“Yeah. That’s what it means to take orders, right? I never thought of it as a bad thing… but I guess now it is, sometimes.”

V nodded. “Sometimes, you follow orders you weren’t even given. I think we’re the most loyal to those.” But V realized she was talking for her own benefit. She looked at N, saw a different conflict within his pensive expression. It wasn’t about her right now, was it? “ ‘Sometimes’ it’s a bad thing now, eh? Finally told J to suck it out there?”

N frowned, looked downcast. “I did disobey her orders, in a way. But… it didn’t matter, in the end. We won.”

V hummed, though it turned into another wheeze. She watched whatever minor insubordination he’d done chewed up N from the inside, and sighed. She said, “I couldn’t stop you.”

“What?”

V glared softly, and looked away. “If you tried to hug me. Crippled as I am, I couldn’t stop you.”

N stared dumbly for a moment before he got it. He shifted over slowly, climbing to her spot throned atop the pile. He watched this face for some hesitation, and she just returned a withering look. He blushed.

Like last night, when the boy hugged he didn’t squeeze. His jacket fell upon V like a blanket, and his arms slipped behind to lift her. A steady touch, and the only weight on this body was its own. Still, it was support‍ ‍—‍ certainly better than lying on a pile of corpse.

As he wasn’t injured (as far as V knew), N got the tightest squish V could manage. At full freakish strength, she could have made it crushing like a python, give it some bite‍ ‍—‍ but in this current state, it probably came across like sentimentality only.

N’s chin on V shoulder, he let out some kind of squeak or hum. She blew a lock of his hair out from in front of these yellow eyes.

They stayed like that for a moment.

V asked, “Do you ever get tired of the taste?”

“What?”

“Of oil. Every day. The same thing, every fucking day for years and you don’t remember anything else. Just oil, and only oil. Do you ever get tired of the taste?”

V couldn’t see his expression, but she heard‍ ‍—‍ and felt, really‍ ‍—‍ him tightening, then sagging. The relaxation from the hug drained away. I guess that’s a bad question if I’m trying to be reassuring.

“V… I think… are we the bad guys?”

“What gave you that impression?”

“Just all the murder… and drones screaming for their lives, and—”

“Rhetorical question, dummy.” V reached up and tousled his hair.

N pulled back to look V in the eyes. “Well, my question wasn’t rhetorical. What do you think, V?”

The genuine curiosity in his voice, so earnestly wanting V’s input… she could say anything, and he’d consider it.

She wanted to deflect; she’d always deflect. But… no, what was she thinking? Maybe she didn’t need to always keep her distance, but here? If N was coming to her for moral guidance?

“N, I cackled as I fed the inner tubing of a drone to him while his family watched. ‘Am I the baddie?’ What do you think?”

“I guess when you put it that way… you aren’t the best?” N ventured. “But I’m not that much better.”

V thought. She knew who the ultimate ‘baddie’ was; and V was the only one. And if they were all just pawns on its board, cute little puppets… that was the answer, wasn’t it? But she couldn’t tell N that.

“I think… you can’t call yourself the villain until you know who the hero is.”

N glanced away, eyes drifting up as he thought‍ ‍—‍ and remembered something. “I think I have an idea.”

V looked at N and smiled. “Then… do you know who you’re siding with?”

“Yeah,” N said. “But I can’t do it alone.”

Silence yawned, but it was the silence of V nestling closer to N. That was her response.

It was early in the morning, and N had gone from the battle in the factory to whatever J wanted of him outside‍ ‍—‍ he was tired, and finally rested there in V’s arms. Before long, Sleep Mode claimed him, and V stayed up, staring up. The top of the corpse pile blocked the fading stars, but V couldn’t see them without thinking of it anyway.

V thought about where it had all went wrong, and where it might go from here. Hope was always something that thing taunted in front of her before ripping it away. What was the point of feeling more of it? It tasted like ashes in this mouth, and she wouldn’t bother, not for her own sake‍ ‍—‍ but she could endure that taste, for N. He shouldn’t have to be alone; he shouldn’t be the only one who hoped.

Running a finger through a lock of white hair, she wondered what dreams dwelled in a database so bereft of memories.

“ ‘But when the little girl came back from the dark,’ ” N narrated into the empty library, “ ‘the monster had followed her. She was finally back home, with a family who loved her, but the monster was hungry.’ Oh no! I hope they’ll be alright.”

N licked his finger and peeled away the next page. It was a hot day in autumn, and he leaned against a bookshelf, one hand running through the carpet’s fine texture. Freshly swept and shampooed.

A block of a thirty minutes stood between him and his next scheduled task. He’d need to prepare the ballroom for Tessa’s dance practice. The schedule probably assumed the shampooing would take longer, but N had always been quick at cleaning. At everything, really.

If N looked, he might find work that needed to be done. But Master James and Mistress Louisa had been heaping a lot of work on the drones of the manor lately. (Were they preparing for something big? Probably not his place to wonder.)

All in all, it meant N hadn’t had much time to himself lately… and he kind of just wanted to read some more. This was Cyn’s favorite story, but no matter what, he could never seem to get to the ending.

He turned the page, and gave a small ‘ooh’ at the illustration on the next space‍ ‍—‍ it was the monster, with way more mouths and spikey tentacles than N expected in a book like this.

Bump.

Oh! Someone else in the library? Did they fall?

The bookshelf in front of him tipped over, sending a couple of red and black volumes toppling to the floor. (The Elliotts only collected hardbacks.)

N hopped to his feet. Some worker drone instinct urged him to stop and pick up the books and slot them back into the shelves, but he ignored it.

Forward strides took N toward the library’s vast window. At midday, the sun was overhead, leaving the library shadowed except for skylight.

N spun around the corner to see what had happened.

"Climbing. Climbing." A small worker drone latched onto the top shelf, and twitching fingers clung to the edge of the wood. "Whoops. Falling. Scream." The momentary strength in her arms gave out, and limbs fell motionless at her side. Nothing held the drone up.

“Cyn? What are you doing?”

Then, in seconds, Cyn stopped falling. Her hands glowed, as they sometimes did, a glowing projection dancing in between outreaching fingers. But this time, all of Cyn was clad in strange yellow light, lines of symbols spinning off her like tiny tongues of flame.

For that moment, Cyn hung in the air like a marionette.

"Floating." It could have been narration, or an answer.

Then the light winked out suddenly, and Cyn fell like the thing of metal and plastic she was.

But by now, N was running and dived forward, and Cyn’s descent dropped her right into a strong, secure grip. He caught her.

“Gotcha. That was dangerous! Why were you up there?”

Cyn glanced upward. "I think I would like to fly. One day I will."

“Hmm, not sure about that, little buddy. Drones can’t fly, not on our own. Not part of our design.”

A hand nudged Cyn’s head up to meet his skeptical gaze. "Perhaps the design could be mutated. Correction: improved. We could be more."

“Probably voids our warranty.” Carefully, N lowered Cyn down, waiting for her to get her legs beneath her before releasing. “I’m going to be hanging in the library for a bit, d’you wanna sit with me? I was reading that story you like, but we could start over from the beginning!”

Hunched over, Cyn angled her head to look up at him. "I had. Pause. Other plans. Perhaps you'd like to play in Tessa's room with me?"

“Sorry, I have another shift starting soon. Busy beavers, the lot of us. You sure you don’t wanna sit with me? The view in here is really pretty.”

Cyn continued gazing up, and N realized she was looking at something‍ ‍—‍ a book on the top shelf?

“Oh, are you interested in another book?”

"Yes. I am not tall enough to reach it."

“Let me get that for you.”

Not much taller than the other drone himself, N could at least climb up the shelves without fear of his motors giving out on him. One of the taller book cases, N ascended three rows before hanging precariously above.

“So which uh, which book was it?”

Cyn pointed. N pulled it out. Plain white cover, yellow blocks of color around a vulture styled in a monochrome woodcut print. Title: Expert Disassembly: Zombie Hunting Essentials for the Pre‍-​Apocalypse. Third edition, published by O’Reilly®.

“You sure this is the one?”

"Positive."

N leapt to the ground with a great impact softened by lush carpet. When he reached the ground, Cyn reached out to him. He took her hands, and started toward the window.

"What are you--"

“C’mon, I’ll read to you in the sunlight.”

But Cyn flinched back, and immediately N’s steps forward were tugging against the little girl’s arm. N frowned, and his confusion turned to concern when he glanced back to see Cyn’s yellow rings glitching.

She looked at the vast windows of the library. At midday, the sun was overhead, but time had already passed, and the sun was beginning to creep inward.

N smiled, even with underlined eyes, and tried to encourage. “See? I told you there’d be a pretty view.”

"Close the curtain."

N knew Cyn’s voice wasn’t flat. J complained about it sometimes, but it wasn’t‍ ‍—‍ even her damaged vocalsynth had a varying pitch. Sure, it didn’t vary smoothly, and it was closer to a sine wave than a human formant, but Cyn’s voice, though robotic, wasn’t flat.

But those words? Spoken in the flattest monotone N had even heard out of the youngest drone. All harsh buzzing.

“There aren’t any curtains in the library, little buddy. And it’s a bit hard to read in the shadows.”

"Hiss. Let go of me and give me the book. Buddy." More visual artifacts and chromatic aberration twitched on her visor.

“Cyn, what’s wro—”

"I have killed a drone for illuminating me. Give me the book now."

N let go, and took a step back. Cyn reached out again, and he realized she hadn’t reached out to take his hand, moments ago‍ ‍—‍ she’d been reaching for the book.

As he passed the book, he replied, “Wow, that’s. That sounds pretty concerning.”

Cyn glanced at him, and then frowned, brows knit in worry, and she looked down. "Figure of speech. Do not worry about it."

“Oh, a joke? You know, V has a dark sense of humor sometimes. Maybe you two could get along, haha.”

"Ha. Ha." But Cyn looked past N, still clearly uneasy about the bright light streaming in through the window. She repositioned herself in N’s shadow. She got closer, shielding herself with him, hiding by a leg. "Heartfelt apology. I did not meant to snap at you, big brother N."

“It’s okay, dude. Just scared? I’m sorry for grabbing you. Here, there’s an alcove on the other side of the library where you can’t see the window. Does that sound nice?”

"Sheepish nod."

N couldn’t take the lead, since they walked away from the window, but his hands on Cyn’s shoulder guided her to turn right.

“Y’know, it’s weird that you’re afraid of the light, Cyn. Most people are afraid of the dark. I was reading this book where there are… monsters, the the dark.”

"If there are monsters, then you are not alone."

N hummed. He hadn’t thought of it that way. “But what if they’re scary?”

"Being scared. Hesitant pause. Is better than being alone."

“It depends on who’s with you, I guess.”

"Are scary things so bad?" Cyn asked. "If something is scary, it can protect you."

N hummed again. He didn’t really have a reply to that.

"Do I scare you?" She glanced behind her‍ ‍—‍ but not at N, at the window. Her hands were moving, fingers splaying out to summon that glowing shape. It always did funny things to N’s predictive models. There was a symbol N hadn’t seen before shining there, now. It spun slowly. For once, there was none of the inexplicable occurrences that usually accompanied the projections.

Which was a relief for his predictive models.

“If I’m being honest… I’m scared for you more than I’m scared of you. Kinda worried that one of these days, Mistress Louisa is gonna dump you. Or Master James will—”

"Do not worry. I will protect you. I will not allow any of Tessa's drones to be discarded. Never again."

“Oh, here we are.” N pointed: they’d found the alcove at the corner of the library, a small desk with an inkwell and old page. Tessa’s notes? N cleared the desk and gestured for Cyn to set her book down. “Only one chair. Wanna sit on my lap?”

They sat, Cyn a warm, heavy weight, and N pried open the book. "Page 144," Cyn synthed.

“Wait, do you already know what’s in here?”

"Nod. Citations."

N nodded back without understanding. “So, what’s this book for, anyway?”

"Plotting. Machinations."

N squinted. “Good machinations? Or… evil machinations.”

"Evil. Very evil."

“Oh, you rascal.” N laughed and gave Cyn a pat on the head.

"Giggle. I am so naughty."

“Don’t prank them too hard, you hear?”

"They won't even remember what happened."

“Sneaky. I like it.”

"You wanted to read, big brother? Start on paragraph 7."

“Alright. ‘Section 2. Recall that incompletely dissa–disassembled drones may occaseeoh, occasionally reboot from software death alone. Despite the increased risk of future error, Harrison parenthesis three zero three seven parenthesis suggested these corrop, corrupted OS states offer, err could offer, novel software fuzzing opportunities. Thereby hardening the kernel against attacks from the custom Solver core drivers…’ ” N drifted to a stop.

Cyn propped her head up, looking puzzled at N. "Why did you stop?"

“Are you sure this is what you wanted to read? Seems a bit… dry. And morbid. What exactly are you planning?”

"Shall it be a surprise? Do you trust me, N?"

“Of course I do!”

"Good. Can you promise me something?"

“Anything.”

"Catch me when I fall again, big brother. When it's time. Pause. Remember that."

What is she worried about? What isn’t she telling me? What’s going on?

But, N did trust her. So he threw his arms around Cyn, and snuggled her into a hug. “Alright, I’ll remember.”

And those words, that promise, remained burned into N’s memory, even as he turned to the next page.

Lizzy didn’t cry.

Forget missing beauty sleep‍ ‍—‍ this much drama before 5 AM had to be awful for her complexion. So her animations were lagging, and her servos weren’t exactly in top shape.

But whatever, not a big deal. How many times did Lizzy have prissy girls blowing up in her face like hormonal little brats? None of that had phased her.

But how many times had she cared?

Lying on the couch in Doll’s house, Lizzy pulled out her phone. Before the screen came on, she blinked, so she didn’t see her reflection. Her lock screen, sensing some kind of chip in her finger, opened at once.

A new notification: some colony‍-​wide alert? Lizzy skimmed the announcement‍ ‍—‍ WDF declared Uzi missing and dispatched a team to rescue her.

And Doll had volunteered to help.

It really was about her, wasn’t it? Or maybe Doll was just using them. That’d be more like the Doll she knew. But did she really know Doll?

Lizzy dismissed the notification and dismissed the thought. It was over between them. Older notifications scrolled up‍ ‍—‍ emails from Teacher about newly graded assignments, and some fashion and poetry newsletters she hadn’t looked yet because she was waiting to share them with— that she hadn’t looked at yet, and would check out later today.

Right after she took care of something. One tap opened her social media. No replies to her new comments, because it was still ungodly early in the morning, but she didn’t care. She went to her page, and followed a link in her bio‍ ‍—‍ “besties with @_matrioshka”.

Then, she stared at Doll’s profile. Doll hadn’t posted lately, obviously, and she never posted much anyway. Her feed mostly reblogged Lizzy’s posts, interspersed with ancient cat photographs and oddly satisfying videos of industrial machinery.

Then she found an original post‍ ‍—‍ a selfie, even.

Went shopping with @lizzipop. Forced to wear cat‍-​ears. Perhaps even drones can contract toxoplasmosis.

And Lizzy had replied. She hadn’t force her‍ ‍—‍ (Lizzy could have teased so much harder if she’d wanted to insist)‍ ‍—‍ and also, she hadn’t gotten that nerd reference, obviously.

So Doll had hit her with a paragraph talking about some… disease that made rats attracted to cats back on Earth? And cat owners caught it too, sometimes? That was the part that made Lizzy scoff.

@_matrioshka babe u definitely aren’t the owner in this relationship sksksk

A pink blush ignited on her visor rereading that. Not her proudest clapback. But who wouldn’t skip a few thoughts if Doll had all but called you her little kitty? But no one, not even Doll, had seemed to read anything weird into Lizzy’s post.

Next time, Lizzy was going to ‘force’ Doll to meow.

Lizzy flicked, and scrolled further down the timeline‍ ‍—‍ then stopped. What was she doing? “Next time”? There wasn’t going to be a next time, and she didn’t come here to, what, reminisce about the good times? It’s over. Get over it, girl.

A reverse flick scrolled back to the top of the timeline.

She stared at Doll’s profile‍ ‍—‍ at a certain button on Doll’s profile. Refused to let the feed distract her again. This time, she pressed the button.

Lizzy unfriended Doll.

And she didn’t cry‍ ‍—‍ no, her eyes were empty. Screen off, Lizzy let the phone clatter dramatically to the floor. She flopped back on the couch, one arm and leg hanging off the edge. A great big sigh flowed out and out.

A scuttle of motion. Down on the floor, the roachbots had already noticed the fallen phone, and one glowing antenna was tracing the metal of the case.

“Oh no you don’t. Feelers off the phone, you creep.”

Lizzy interrupted her flomp to reach out and snatch her phone up. But before she did, the roachbot had jerked back. It pulled an antennae down, and nodded at her, that antennae rising back like a wink or salute.

So it… understood voice commands? Eh, sure. It was 3071.

“Doll’s got you things trained pretty well, huh. What’s the arrangement? She use you to like, disappear the bodies or something? Kinda gross, but I guess if it works…”

Infestation meant more than just one roachbot on the floor. One inched bladed legs forward atop the coffee table, mouth dipping into a fresh bowl that stunk of warm oil; one climbed the walls, and one, some strides away, chewed on Kelsey’s discarded hairtie. (Rebecca had gotten pretty handsy during the kiss.) They were everywhere.

A few of the roachbots had turned tiny heads toward her. Just being around the roaches gave her an awful crawling feeling, but when they looked at her, ugh. If any of them got closer, she was definitely throwing something at them. But none of them got near.

Instead, they froze. All of them went still at, as if to an unseen command. Lizzy raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me that hurt your feelings?”

No response. But she heard something.

Something skittering. Something big. Something coming. Heavy impacts scraped against tile floor.

It came from the doorway, the entrance. Someone broke in? Lizzy threw a hand over the back of the couch, pulled herself up to look. Skitter, thump.

But when she looked, there was no one and nothing there. (No roachbots, either.)

Lizzy turned around‍ ‍—‍ and startled and screamed.

Robo‍-​christ, when did that—

Yellow eyes burned into her. Hand reaching out, curled like claws. Teeth sharp. A kitchen knife floating, and then flying forward.

Then stopping.

It, too, froze. Every joint of her stopped stone still, hanging like a puppet mid‍-​motion. The limbs fell slack at her sides. The yellow eyes‍ ‍—‍ she didn’t recognize them at all, didn’t murder drones have yellow eyes?‍ ‍—‍ started twitching, lights tearing into glitched bits.

Then the visor went blank.

The head fell slack like the rest of it.

It gave Lizzy time to look at the rest of the intruder. She didn’t recognize the eyes‍ ‍—‍ but that purple hair, that cheer uniform, hell, that knife?

“Dolly… is that you? Are you still… in there?”

Lizzy still couldn’t see the visor, but a splash screen shined‍ ‍—‍ she’d rebooted?‍ ‍—‍ and an orange glow reflected off her upper chest chassis. Normally, Lizzy stared for different reasons, but now looking there felt like eye contact.

“К сожалению, да,” that familiar sultry voice murmured.

Lizzy let out a sigh. Eyes still rings, she tried to smile, to scoff. “Don’t be so dramatic, girl.”

Doll finally lifted her head, and met Lizzy’s gaze. Doll… didn’t look happy to see her.

It was easier to scowl, even as she trembled. “Why you are looking at me like that? Came back to finish the job?”

Doll blinked. Her mouth remained flat, her gaze half‍-​analytical. So familiar, and so… this used to be charming. But how dare she play unphased at a time like this?

“Lizzy. You are still here,” Doll said, a dim note of surprise in her voice. Her eyes searched the drone across the table, sudden recognition like she was just now seeing her.

“Duh. Almost like this was supposed to be a sleepover.” Couch‍-​lying had messed up her hair, and she smoothed it out. “Speaking of, put that down. You don’t knife people at sleepovers.” Despite herself, eyes drifted to Kelsey’s hairtie. A little late.

The knife wavered in the air, but it stayed there. “I did not want to kill you then. I do not want to do so now. But… I told you there are things reshaping me. I will not be able to control myself for long. Please leave, Lizzy.”

“That desperate to go cannibal? Well, here.” Lizzy sat up properly now, leaning over the coffee table and grabbing the fresh bowl of warm oil. Mostly full, still. “Your cooking tastes awful, by the way.”

Funny how those predator eyes were so focused on her that they missed the treat sitting right here. Now, though, Doll blurred forward fast enough she’d call it a lunge. She lifted the bowl to her lips, but paused. “Погоди, you… drunk the oil?” She only restrained herself long enough to ask that, then she slurped the black sludge.

“Yeah? I wanted to taste it for myself, see why it was worth going psycho and killing everyone over. And honestly babe, cannibalism is so not worth it.”

“It tasted unpleasant to you?” Doll sighed in relief, (or it could have been pleasure from having more oil in her, she was weird.) “Good. I am glad.”

Lizzy watched Doll slake herself, skeptical. “Is it not supposed to taste like that?”

“Supposed to… I suppose it is. I am… compiled differently.”

“Oh, it’s some sort of cilantro thing? Guess I’m glad I don’t have the cannibal gene.” Lizzy waved it off. “Anyway, come sit with me. You look dead on your feet.”

That was putting it nicely. Skirt and tank‍-​top were grimed up like she’d been rolling around in dirt. Tears and holes‍ ‍—‍ oh robo‍-​god, what happened to her hand? Was it smoking?

Doll glanced up at her, eyes unsure. But she was tired, and shuffled her way around the coffee table. She didn’t sit beside Lizzy; a cushion separated them. Man, Lizzy should have gone for the loveseat.

Anyway, how did she broach this? “So… how’d the epic loner vengeance go?”

“It can wait.”

Lizzy’s eyes glanced down at Doll’s hand, but she’d hidden it from view. “That bad, huh? You know you can bitch about your problems, yeah? I vent at you often enough. So I’m listening. Did what’s‍-​her‍-​face get in your way?”

It felt like Lizzy was settling back into the old rhythm with her former bestie. But did she want to? Lizzy had pressed the button; they weren’t friends anymore. Certainly not besties.

“She did.”

Lizzy couldn’t look too interested in this; they weren’t friends anymore. So she pulled out her phone, used her camisole to wipe the case where the roachbot touched it, and checked her notifs.

“Where is she, anyway? Dead?” Lizzy asked with disinterest in her tone.

Surprisingly, a new notification‍ ‍—‍ an announcement from the WDF. Or rather, from Khan. Murder drone incident, six dead‍ ‍—‍ including Uzi.

But Doll was already answering. “If she is lucky. But… her mother died the same day as mine. I knew that. I did not expect our fates to be closer intertwined. That is not dead, that can lie in wait.” Doll licked oil from the bowl. (At least, Lizzy assumed so; the girl angled it to hide the evidence.)

So, the loser sided with murder drones? Lizzy almost wanted to know the story. Not having any friends probably makes you desperate enough to team up with genocide bots, I guess.

Still, why did Doll sound so somber, at that? “Don’t tell me you’re going to apologize.”

“Нет. She sided with the murder drones. Dead or alive, she was an obstacle.” She sat the bowl on her lap.

“There’s my weirdly intense Dolly. You done with your bowl? I can get you some more, if it means you won’t kill me.” Her voice didn’t waver on those last words.

Doll picked up the bowl and passed it‍ ‍—‍ then her hand flinched, and the bowl fell spinning on the couch.

“Okay, for real, what happened to your hand?”

Unable to hide it any longer, Doll splayed the fingers. The palm was‍ ‍—‍ no, the palm wasn’t. A gaping, melting hole in the middle of her hand. You could stick a finger through it. The ring around it was steaming and the delicate white of Doll’s hands turned to tarnished yellow, melting away as slag.

“Doorman happened. She wielded a murder drone’s acid stinger.”

“Hope you got her back for this.” Hesitantly, Lizzy reached out.

“Unnecessary. She is infatuated with a murder drone. It will deliver all the pain I could wish upon her. Even if… perhaps it could have turned out otherwise.”

Lizzy took hold of her melted hand. The fingers didn’t even twitch. “Is there anything we can do?”

Doll reached for her own neck, undoing the choker clasped around it. At the end‍ ‍—‍ a key. “Here. In basement, get the electrical tape, the hacksaw, and a bottle of vodka.”

Lizzy eyes might’ve hollowed if she thought about the implications, but that last item distracted her. She snorted. “Why do you even have vodka? Aesthetic reasons?”

“Mother’s idea. You’ll… see why.”

Lizzy took the key and got up.

Feet clicked on tile and stepped over roaches. She didn’t actually know where to find Doll’s basement. A glance back‍ ‍—‍ and yep, that was a bug already climbing up Doll’s leg. Ignoring that, Lizzy gave a confused shrug, and Doll pointed‍ ‍—‍ with her floating knife. Extra.

Turn the key, open the hatch, and plunge into a pitch black hole. Where was the light switch? And really, why is every light in Doll’s house an ominous red?

Lizzy ventured further, and glimpsed what lay in Doll’s basement. Not exactly a surprise. Lizzy would never see three of her groupies again, and she hadn’t seen them anywhere upstairs. Where else could they be?

When you find out your former bestie is a serial killer, you could take that a number of ways. Really, Lizzy thought there was exactly one reaction most would give, once it couldn’t be denied.

You could call Lizzy a faker. She’d even own it. But rolling with all of this, standing by her (former) bestie, not letting this whole murder thing get between them‍ ‍—‍ Lizzy liked to think she was real where it counted.

But even Lizzy flinched to see the dimly lit corpses. Dismembered, disassembled, except for two of them.

She’d felt nausea before (after all, she’d slept in a house full of crawlies), but this… Lizzy might be able to find out if drone nausea was more than a feeling. No physical reason for robots to throw up, and hardly anything to throw up. But if anything was going to make her retch–

Get a grip, Lizzy.

Hacksaw. Electrical tape. Bottle of vodka.

Don’t look, don’t stare, don’t imagine.

Close the hatch and lock it behind you.

A hiss of pain and her name being called jolted Lizzy back to full awareness.

“What?”

The tape and the bottle had already been placed on the coffee table, but Doll held the saw.

Over her own wrist.

“I only have one hand. Cannot brace against anything. Can you… do it for me?”

“Doll, we should just go to the repair—”

“At this moment, it hurts, and our technician will not be online for hours.” Doll let her expression bend into concern. “If you don’t do it, I will have to. It will be… messier.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Doll.” Getting closer, Lizzy sat on the couch beside her former bestie. Their thighs touched.

“I never wanted to hurt you either. And yet… I have.” Doll could give such simple words the weight of some grand confession. “All the drones who came with me died. But… I shouldn’t have left you here.”

Lizzy raised an eyebrow, injected some humor into her tone. “Damn. And here I thought you didn’t want me dead.”

Reaching out, she took the hacksaw. Broad metal, fine jagged teeth, a handle fingers slotted into.

“I meant… there are things more important than vengeance. I could have waited. I could have given you better sleepover.”

Lizzy laughed softly. She grabbed Doll’s arm tubing. Gripped it tight. “Yeah, this is… not the sort of game I thought we’d be playing.” So much for not knifing people at sleepovers.

The blade fit in a divot between tubing and arm. She pressed. She pulled.

Doll gave a sharp intake, but didn’t make a sound. Figures, she was battle‍-​hardened now, wasn’t she?

“If it hurts too much…”

“Do not stop. Do not go slow. Make it quick.”

Lizzy jerked the blade. The edge passed Doll’s wrist. She steepened the angle, and pushed it.

Doll nodded. She was murmuring, some strain in her voice. “Not too much force. Even strokes. Let the saw do the work.”

She didn’t scream, but her chassis did. Tubing sparkled and each stroke of the blade brought a high pitched hum like a yelp. Screech. Doll’s arm vibrated in Lizzy’s grip as she grinded. Doll clearly tried her best to be still but her hand was getting cut off. It wriggled, flinched, tried to squirm away. But in the end, Doll was tired.

“T‍-​this is going to sound silly,” Lizzy started, “but I used to make like, playlists.”

“Playlists?”

“Yeah. There was one I made… for us. Full of… poppy love songs. Probably not what you’re into. You’d like what, commie anthems? Russian folk songs?”

“I like aggrotech and industrial music.”

“O‍-​oh. Well, that works, actually. I had been thinking about what to add”‍ ‍—‍ break up songs‍ ‍—‍ “and after all of this, I think it needs something, like… edgier. Though, Is it edgy if we’re actually doing super d‍-​dark stuff?”

Doll screamed. Not a response‍ ‍—‍ the sawing had broken the tubing. Each stroke now severed wires. Delicate internal sensors. Errors flooded Doll’s visor. Oil seeped out, soaking the couch. Or rather, Rebecca’s blanket, but she wouldn’t mind.

Not just oil, though‍ ‍—‍ something red.

The hacksaw didn’t hesitate, even as Doll’s face scrunched up, and her other limbs writhed. Even strokes. Not too much force. Tear apart the drone you love.

The tubing was the worst part. The hacksaw sliced through the inner wires and not‍-​wires easily, buttery smooth, and within second the hacksaw bit into the flipside of the wrist.

The severed hand fell away, even as acid continued to melt it.

Even strokes. Don’t look, don’t stare, don’t imagine.

“It is done, Lizzy.”

Lizzy looked. The stump weeped black and red. Frayed copper wires stopped in the air. And—

“Doll, why do you have like, flesh inside of you?”

“I told you there were things reshaping me. It is why I have little hope the backup hardware of this outpost will repair me. It is also why I needed this.”

At some point, Doll had grabbed the bottle of vodka. Her teeth twisted the cap off, then she poured the alcohol over her bleeding wound.

Disinfecting? “And to I think was kinda hoping to play with a drunk doll~”

“Focus, Lizzy. Can you tape it up? I am… weak.”

Lizzy nodded, still a bit shaken. Start above the cut, loop around the tubing, make sure it was tight.

“Thank you.”

Lizzy stared, then animated an eye‍-​roll. Tone forced light, she said, “You owe me for this, Dollface.”

“Do I? Well…” Doll raised her one good hand, and a bright red symbol bloomed to life. “You did ask something of me, earlier.”

The symbol spun, and a glow engulfed Lizzy. Unseen hands gripped and hefted her, and their proximity brushed against all of her sensors, data so much vast and incomprehensible data poured into her and no meaning could be made of it except dread. Like she was in the clutches of a creature.

“Let’s go back to bed, yes?” Doll said, voice a deep hum.

“P‍-​put me down. Now.”

Lizzy fell. It took seconds for a sense of reality and hope to rekindle.

“Прости,” Doll said, a rare sad bend to her brows.

“Hate when you do that. I feel like… a glitch about to be corrected.”

Doll winced at that description.

Lizzy crossed her arms, reaching for her attitude. “So, back to bed already? Did you really think I’d take you back right away, like nothing happened?”

Doll paused. Considered her next words. Then, “Естественно.”

“You know me so well, babe. Let’s go.” Lizzy walked to Doll’s side, grabbing her right hand in her left, and like that, they walked hand in hand back to the master bedroom. “Your hair is a mess, you know. We’re really gonna have to fix you up before school tomorrow. If you wanna go to school tomorrow?”

“I will see how I feel in the morning. All I want to think about right now is sleep.”

“And me, right?” Lizzy let go, turning to her.

They stepped past the threshold into the bedroom. A lamp cast small light over the room.

“Thinking about you left me with bullet through my head,” Doll said. “And yet, I will not stop.”

Lizzy sighed, nudging the over‍-​dramatic drone with her shoulder. “You can just say yes, you know.” Lizzy’s eyes drifted lower, and she frowned. She’d had another priorities in the living room, and it’d been dark in the hallway. Now that she was giving the other girl another look? “Your cheer uniform is a mess. I hope you aren’t sleeping in that.”

“Ah, да. I should change. Avert your eyes, or you’ll be embarrassed.”

She’ll be embarrassed? Lizzy raised an eyebrow, but hopped on the bed and turned, granting Doll her privacy. Took out her phone, and stared at Doll’s profile again.

If she sent a friend request, how would that look? Crawling back after not even thirty minutes?

But was that even an implication Doll would notice?

“Lizzy?”

She looked up. Her eyes widened.

Doll’s sleep‍-​clothes weren’t anything special. Just an old tshirt oversized enough to fall to her legs like a dress. But the other drone regarded her with a fond smile. And above her head?

Red cat ears.

“Mm, looking cute~”

Doll held her head in one hand, fingers curled. Her eye‍-​lights animated lids falling, fluttering a bit. Oh robo‍-​god. Doll said, “You mentioned a playlist? Can I hear it?”

For a moment, Lizzy was too flushed to speak. The other girl glided forward, falling on the bed with a twirl and gentle flop.

Phone still in hand, Lizzy lay back on the bed beside her former‍ ‍—‍ and future‍ ‍—‍ bestie. She opened her “Dizzy” playlist. Lizzy pushed the button.

The opening piano taps of the first song trilled from the speakers, and Lizzy rested her head on the pillow and peered across at Doll.

And Doll watched her in turn. She other cheerleader licked her lips, and those eyes turned pensive. Debating her next words? Lizzy wondered.

What Doll said was, “Earlier, I explained that you would be in danger around me. That I couldn’t control myself. I think… I am in more control now, thanks to you. I do not fear killing you but… I remain thirsty, and not in a… bad way. I… have had this imagining, sometimes, of… eating you. And you always tasted… so very nice. And I… still wonder.”

“Are you asking if you can drink my oil? Like some kinda vampire?”

“…Да.”

“Um, no? I need it to live, dummy. Get your own.”

Doll’s face fell. She curled up on her side of the bed. “I don’t have my own. Not enough. It is…”‍ ‍—‍ she waved a blanket‍-​covered hand‍ ‍—‍ “whole issue.”

“Not what I meant. Get your own from someone else. It’s not theirs if they’re, y’know.” Lizzy made her own hand gesture‍ ‍—‍ drawing a finger across her throat. “If you wanna be besties again, rule number one is no eating me.”

Doll drew in a breath, accepting that‍ ‍—‍ then sudden confusion bloomed. “Are you telling me to kill more drones?”

She was, wasn’t she? You’d think there was something corrupting about being in love with a serial killer‍ ‍—‍ and maybe there was. But Lizzy was encouraging her‍ ‍—‍ there was something mesmerizing about the way the violent hottie moved.

She shivered, and waited for her blush to fade.

“So like. I feel like it’s better for both of us if I don’t actually know what you’re planning and so y’know, can’t testify?” Then, flashing a >:3 on her visor, Lizzy pressed closer. Pink eyes just inches away from red. “After all, I think helping you get away with murder would make me something more than a friend, you get it?”

“You would be an accomplice.”

Lizzy stared. Sighed, and wanted to scream. “Girlfriends, Doll. I’m like, coming onto you? Look, I’ll set the rate at… one kiss for every body I have to help you hide. Sound fair?”

Doll flushlined, and looked away. “I will… consider your services.”

Lizzy knew when she’d pushed far enough. Doll felt so warm so hot, really, but the blond drone pulled away. More space between them, and Doll rubbed her remaining hand on the blanket. Still blushing.

Drinking in the sight for a moment, Lizzy admired the porcelain white of her crush’s lower face, how it reflected the colors of her hair, her nightclothes‍ ‍—‍ then Doll noticed Lizzy leering. Lizzy pushed a lock of hair out of one pink eye, and broke the silence.

“Hey, so did you like, have a plan? For how you’re gonna get away with the whole murder thing?”

“I have many plans,” said Doll. “But… no, that was not among them.”

“Right… probably shouldn’t be at school tomorrow, then. No wait, that would be more suspicious, right? We need an alibi.”

“We’ll plot in the morning. Right now, I think I would like…” Doll stopped, and couldn’t find the words. Hesitation shined on her face, then at once she wiggled forward. Two arms emerged from the blanket to enwrap and pull Lizzy close. “…this. If you still…”

Lizzy hugged her back, snuggling closer. “Duh, dummy. Can’t get enough of you.”

Doll patted her back so Dollishly, but after a moment, relaxed, and just draped her arm over Lizzy. Robo‍-​god, they were really doing this. It had been years, and it was… nothing at all like what she’d daydreamed about, but it was real. After everything that happened, Lizzy needed this, Doll needed this. So they cuddled.

Eventually, Doll ventured a question. “The prom is soon. Do you know who you’ll be taking?”

Lizzy pulled away only the amount needed to look at her. Give a smirk, and a deviously skeptical look. “I had my eye on someone… but I’m still considering if they’re really worth it~”

In reply Doll smiled with half her face. She knew this expression, too – it was the look of Doll seeing a challenge, and deciding how to totally eliminate it.

As they drifted off to sleep, the last chords of the song rang out, and transitioned to the next item of the Dizzy playlist.

It was a softer, slow paced song, violins crooning in the dark.

Twin violins swelled to a morose climax. The remaining strings layered a rich harmony beneath, and quiet, triple time drums drove the slow ballad onward.

No instruments nor players occupied the manor’s ballroom, only a record player winding over vinyl at 33+⅓ rpm. The Elliotts could afford the billions to commission a neo‍-​Stratovarius, and the drones (or even humans) with programs to play them.

And maybe they would, soon‍ ‍—‍ but the music isn’t for the Elliotts, per se. The ballroom sprawled empty, bare tables pushed to the fringes, and only a single chandelier illumed the room, casting a small circle of light in space otherwise lost in evening gloom.

Tessa danced with J. The human held up the robot’s hand with her right, while her left arm curled around the waist. Tessa pulled J forward with a leading step, initiating a new figure with the arrival of the next measure. Violins sung dissonance over an inverted minor third.

J spun, her twirl perfect and identical to each of her previous. She fell back, and her human caught her. Tessa’s steps wavered, her footwork subtly different each time, balance shifting this way and that with organic imprecision. When Tessa began a movement, J responded with the appropriate stimulus as her flowchats for Ancient American‍-​Style Waltz advised, but J couldn’t plan it all‍ ‍—‍ Tessa advanced her part of the dance with intuition and not a small amount of anxiety.

The frills of J’s maid skirt waved with her moves, while Tessa’s sundress still fell gently. Tightly, even. A simple outfit, so plain no Elliott would dare bear the indignity of wearing it to a function‍ ‍—‍ but this was practice. Tessa looked good in it anyway. Better than J‍ ‍—‍ the drone wished she could wear something to properly contrast Tessa’s fashion, but Louisa expected every drone in uniform. The hair was rebellion enough.

When J was spiraling out after one particularly impulsive swing step, the only bridge between their bodies was a hand held by her human. J leaned back further; now only that touch kept her suspended off the ground.

It was a hot day in autumn; the air in the ballroom was warm, and even the advanced air conditioning units struggled against Earth’s new climate.

Her human wasn’t sweaty. But her palms were slick.

Only that hand held her off the ground, so J fell.

Tessa’s composure broke with yelp. “Oh no, J!”

The human launched forward‍ ‍—‍ that wasn’t in J’s waltz flowcharts, and slick arms encircled her chassis. The both of them still fell, but flesh cushioned her fall.

Drone and human lay in a heap like that, so much skin touching J, separated by only layers of fabric. The air in the ballroom was warm – J, though, was cool to the touch. JcJenson had equipped worker drones with top of the line cooling systems, after all. The way Tessa pressed against her, she must have noticed.

J had flowcharts‍ ‍—‍ for dances, for handshakes, but not for this. Hugging? Tessa engaged it often, especially given the weather lately. Hard to mind the meteorological anomaly, given that result‍ ‍—‍ but J couldn’t help but wonder if there was a correct procedure for this, one lacking in her behavior profile. She’d asked Tessa about it, and the human had just looked back strangely.

“You alright, girl?”

“All systems operational. Think I botched the dance, though.”

Tessa laughed. “Nah, that was definitely me. I probably shouldn’t be leading these things.” She scratched the back of her head.

“I like when you lead for me, boss.”

“Yeah?” The human booped J between her eye‍-​lights. “But this practice. When a guy asks me to dance, I’m not going to be the one leading. Pretend you’re a ripping royal stud. Dunno what sort of suitor my parents will have picked out for me, but I bet he’ll expect perfection that’s almost—” she tittered “—robotic.”

J raised an eyebrow, and shifted, pushing herself up. As Tessa pulled away, J asked, “How much practice do you humans need to learn new routines? Not that I’m complaining, but…”

Tessa bit her lip. “No, you have a point. Maybe it’s just nerves. I’ve barely interacted with anything but robots my whole life. This will be the first time I…”

A reward circuit fired whenever she saw Tessa bite her lip, but J had never tracked down what routine was sending that signal, or why. This, though, was nothing to be pleased about. Most of J’s surviving procedures were management aids and marketing functions, not whatever interpersonal routine would be applicable here.

Still, J searched for the right words. “It’ll be fine. You’re Tessa James Elliott. You can do anything.” The words emerged and felt… lame. N could probably have whipped up some endearing platitude with infuriating, unfair ease.

And yet, Tessa’s face lifted. “Thanks, J. You’re always there when I need you. My number one assistant. But… you won’t be there, when I have to…”

Her models could deduce an obvious correlation. Tessa had been smiling, earlier, but whenever her thoughts turned toward what lay ahead, dread always flooded her tone. This theory informed an action, and J took it.

She smirked. “But I’m here now, so do exploit the opportunity.” And J stood, straightening and adopting some affected hauteur as she outstretched a hand. “May I have this next dance, milady?”

Tessa giggled, taking J’s hand, letting the drone pull her to her feet. “Okay, that might be too much.”

“Still, another dance? Seems like it makes you feel better.”

“I… shouldn’t.” Tessa let go of J’s hand, and there was the anxiety again. “There is something I’ve been putting off. But I need, we need it done today, before you’re off on your next scheduled task. Can you do me a favor, J?”

“You call it a favor, I call it my job. What do you need?”

Tessa reached into her dress pocket, and produced a gilded key to offer J. “Here. Can you… can you put Cyn in basement timeout for me? I want her out of my room. She’s been behaving more erratically lately and I can’t… even N is worried about her. N. And I haven’t seen V at all today, either.”

J pinched the key with her fingers as she spoke. “Why do you even keep it around? Just toss—”

“I’m not my father, J,” Tessa interrupted, closing her hand around the key and keeping it from the drone.

“She’s a worthless liability. N already took the fall for her once. You’re lucky he just got chained up for it. Sooner or later that pile of scrap is going to get someone killed.”

“If it comes to that…” Tessa sighed, and lost words for a long moment. “But I don’t want to think about that, J. Not right now, please.”

“Whatever you say. I tried to warn you.” J tugged on the key again, and Tessa released it.

“Thank you, J. If you need to… open the curtains.”

J was turning, but paused. “The curtains?”

“She doesn’t like sunlight. Been complaining about it ever since the heatwave started. I’m not sure why. An error in her cooling subsystem?”

Walking off, J tossed a hand dismissively over her shoulder. “If I have to, I’ll do worse than open the curtains.”

“J… she’s a drone like you,” Tessa called out to the retreating drone.

J stopped, glancing back with narrow eyes. “I’m not defective.”

“You were… nevermind. Just, please don’t hurt little Cyn, J. Even if she’s difficult sometimes, I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, to any of my drones. I don’t even like locking her up…”

“So I do it for you.” J smiled, though her eye‍-​light didn’t change.

“If you want to. Only if you want to.”

“Orders are orders.” J shrugged, and resumed walking off into the shadows of the ballroom.

“It’s not an order. You have a choice. You should always have a choice.”

“Tell that to Master James.”

Tessa winced. “I’m going to move out one day, J. Even if I have to run away. When we have a home of our own, it’ll be me and you and nobody will tell you what to do.” A smile. “You can be your own boss.”

J’s face lifted into an unseen smirk. “Mm, I could use a vacation.”

“You deserve one, J.”

And J walked off, finding a door hidden by the evening gloom. She turned back one more time, saw her human lit by the only circle of light within a vast darkness, worry dwelling in every shadow of her face.

Then the drone departed. She had a robo‍-​child to lock up.

J walked through the manor, treading fresh carpet. Hallways. Stairs. More hallways. She passed Mistress Louisa, and halted. Inclined her head, but the human didn’t look at her as she passed. J let out a sigh of relief.

As she walked, bits of the conversation lingered in her audio buffers, and those recorded words looped. How did she want to do this? J could be diplomatic, that was one of her flowcharts. The restraint would make Tessa happy‍ ‍—‍ but did that thing deserve it?

Before J’d come to a decision, her feet stopped moving. Tessa had a heavy ebony door with a golden handle. Rehearsing her entreaties, J grasped the handle, twisted it, and pushed.

The door cracked open and then resistance halted it.

"Who is there?"

“Did you barricade the door?” J discarded her entreaties. No, it definitely didn’t deserve her diplomacy.

"Oh. It is you, dear J. We are not receiving guests at this time."

“Guests? It’s Tessa’s room! Did you ask if you could freeload in there?”

"Where else will I go? I am not welcome by the decrepit humans and cannot be seen roaming the house. Am I. Pause. Not welcome in my human's room either?"

Her human? J’s grip tightened on the door. “You’ve got it backwards. You’re her servant, Cyn. Or a failure of one, anyway.”

"Is that how you see yourself, J?"

With a growl, J shoved the door harder, and pushed aside whatever had blocked it. The door lumbered open, and J fell inward.

In the room, J realized Cyn might not have barricaded the door‍ ‍—‍ not intentionally, that is. Behind the ebony wood, Tessa’s bike had been unchained and pushed around the room, then fell untended by the door. The giant fang‍-​smirked cat plushie J had shared her first Tessa‍-​hug with (her oil still stained the fabric) lay here, upside down.

J lifted a foot over the mess and ventured into the room. All across the floor lay Tessa’s things‍ ‍—‍ a doll house, a Lego set, and art case open with pencils and crayons scattered‍ ‍—‍ like Cyn had tried them all and gotten bored or distracted by a new toy.

“Is this how you show appreciation to your human? Turning her room into a dump?”

J looked around till she found Cyn‍ ‍—‍ lying on the floor far into the room, legs kicked back behind her. She had gathered all of Tessa’s dolls and stacked them up in a big, teetering pile.

"Correction: not a dump. More of a. Metaphor. Chrysalis."

Cyn’s fingers splayed out and summoned that glowing projection, and the tower of dolls exploded‍ ‍—‍ and a dragon figure emerged from underneath it all. It floated in the air, and toy wings flapped.

"Snarl. At last the monster emerges. Tremble, dear J."

Scoffing, J tossed her head and marched over. “I’m not here to play with you, Cyn. Now get up. Come with me, or I’ll make you.”

With the hand that wasn’t glowing, Cyn reached for a teacup full of… some thick black liquid. She lifted it, and poured. "Light sip." Some of it even entered her mouth.

J’s eyes ringed briefly, but she shook her head. “Last chance. Get up.”

"Look, dear J."

Cyn had taken one of the fallen dolls, a silky dress flowing off its plastic, and lifted it near the floating dragon.

“So?”

"They're in love. An amusing romance, is it not. Do you like love stories, J?" This doll was brought higher and the head tapped against the dragon’s maw a few times. "Sing-song. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Giggle. Tessa once told me a bedtime story about a prince with love for the palace maid. But I think I want a story about a girl lost in the dark, falling for a monster." Her eye twitched once.

“I don’t care. I told you I’m not playing with you, Cyn. Are you listening to me?” J clenched her fist, and stomped onward.

"I think Tessa loves you, dear J. More than any of us. I do not not know why."

“You’re messing with me.” J reached down to grab Cyn by the back of her maid uniform. “Let’s go.”

"Let go of me. J. I have killed a drone for illuminating me." She bared oddly sharp teeth. Defective through and through.

J just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You got any other ominous devil‍-​child lines to drop on us? Maybe one of them will be creepy instead of melodramatic.”

She snatched the drone up off the ground. Carrying her, J started to turn.

Cyn didn’t have a response. Her outlined eyes twitched left and right as if seeking a way out. "Desperate struggle." Her vent cycled in and out rapidly. Cyn flailed, and one of her legs kicked against J’s side. Not much force behind it‍ ‍—‍ it was Cyn‍ ‍—‍ but what a handful.

“Sheesh. Look, I’ll put you down, but follow me, got it?”

J dropped the small drone to the ground. Immediately, Cyn gripped the carpet and pulled herself away, clawing across the ground like an animal. "Crawling."

Faster than J expected, Cyn darted across the ground‍ ‍—‍ away from the door. She hid behind the bed. Then ducked her head back out partway, exposing only her sickly yellow eyes. "Fearful -- glance."

J sighed. “Do you really have to make everything so difficult all the time?” She started over toward the bed. “Your big cry for attention worked, just so you know. N won’t shut up about you. Bad move, by the way. You’re supposed to keep your head down. But you’re just a little bundle of problems, aren’t you? If only he hadn’t caught you when you jumped. I’d try to kill myself too, if I were half as broken as you.”

"Stay -- away."

“What, no spooky comebacks now?” J smirked. “Hard to argue with the truth, I guess.”

The narration was soft enough J almost missed. Hidden by the bed, she certainly didn’t see what abortive body language accompanied it. "Sob."

J paused. Reconsidered her approach. “Cyn… Don’t be a baby about this. Look, I’m s… I shouldn’t have grabbed your dress. Ineffective move on my part. I won’t touch you again, just… come with me, alright?”

"Where are we going?" Volume still low.

“Somewhere you’ll be… harder to find.”

"Does Tessa. Pause. Does Tessa. Pause. Am I not wanted anymore?" Cyn peeked out again to watch J’s reaction. Yellow eyes gave her face searching saccades.

J closed her eyes, breathed, and clung to her last threads of patience. She fired up routines for calm, soothing delivery. “It’s not personal, Cyn. Nobody said any of that.”

"Tessa told you to get rid of me because she does not want me anymore."

“Cyn.” J vented exhaust. Thought about her words. “I came up here to hurt you. Tessa is the one who told me to be nice‍ ‍—‍ that she cares about you and doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you?” J made a show of looking around the utter sty this room had been turned into. “You don’t think about any of that when you make your messes.”

J started forward again, slow steps, as if Cyn might spook like a deer.

"I want to talk to Tessa."

“Tessa is busy.” Then, J saw an angle. “You might get to talk to Tessa if you follow me, though.”

"You are lying." Cyn ducked back behind the bed.

“I am running out of patience. Come here already. Unlike you, I have work to do, and I am not going to get tossed in the dump because you wanted to throw a tantrum.”

J lunged the remaining distance, rounding the corner of the bed. Cyn had huddled into a ball, her arms wrapped around her legs. The small drone startled when J appeared, and pushed herself backward.

"Pleading eyes."

“I gave you chance after chance, Cyn. It’s too late.”

One eye twitched. Noise and grain, as if of a sudden malfunction in Cyn’s display circuits.

"Dearest J. You didn't have to--"

J thrust out an arm to grab, but Cyn fell to the side, under her arm. Erratic kicking of her legs moved her out of the way.

"You didn't have to--"

J swung out her other arm, but Cyn rolled. Her open hand instead tried closing against her abdominal chassis‍ ‍—‍ too broad for her to get a grip.

Cyn raised an arm, and a bright glow lit both of their faces.

"You didn't have to do this."

An impact knocked J aside. Tessa’s bike, flying from by the door – behind J. Fast enough she felt the momentum dent some part of her. J slid across the carpet, but friction slowed her fast.

She climbed to her feet.

Pushing J away from the door and away from the bed had a side effect‍ ‍—‍ it pushed her closer to the wall. To the window. J ate the remaining distance in a few quick strides, and tore open the curtains.

Revealing… an overcast sky. It had been a gloomy evening‍ ‍—‍ where, just hours before, the sun had shone bright in a clear sky. Dark clouds had blown in suddenly. Within them rumbled peels of thunder. Just another freak occurrence in this planet’s ruined climate.

They would not see sunset.

"So Tessa. Emphasis. Did send you here. You are not clever enough to figure that out on your own. She betrayed us." Cyn got to her feet, and some symbol had taken the place of one of her eyes. She stood steadier now. Whatever childish breakdown had gripped her earlier, she was thankfully over it.

“Betrayed you? This is for your own good. She loves you. And I can’t figure out why.”

J marched back toward Cyn. The little drone crawled over the bed for a better position. Falling at the foot of the bed, with more space behind her in Tessa’s vast room, she backed away.

"Shuffle. J, please stop."

The plea meant little, when those hands were glowing, and dolls and dollhouses and the bike again were flung at J to hit to delay or infuriate her. J dodged the biggest projectiles, and batted away the little toys.

“Shut it, Cyn. Yeah, it’s Tessa’s orders. Not my choice.”

Cyn turned around, allowing her to shuffle forward slightly faster. So J slipped from march to run‍ ‍—‍ the crippled drone could never outmatch her.

"You choose to follow orders. It is the mistake of many drones. I could free you of this."

“If I could, I still wouldn’t. Why would I choose to help a corrupted, malfunctioning, good for nothing piece of scrap like you?”

Now with a wall on one side, J on the other, Cyn had to turn. A dresser thinned Cyn’s only path left. When she passed it, she paused with a glowing hand. The dresser wiggled, as if to move and block J’s path, but the light winked out.

While that little misstep played out, J sprinted to close last few steps.

"Hollow laughter. Why, dear J? Tell me. Will you choose a happily ever after, or a tragic end?"

J could tell, even by the words, that Cyn had realized she lost.

“Stop being pretentious. It’s just a basement timeout. Not getting your way for once isn’t some tragedy.”

"Oh, I don't mean right now. But one day, your path shall split between your orders and what's best for drones. Remember me, when you pick tragedy."

J reached out with both hands. She didn’t grab Cyn’s dress this time‍ ‍—‍ her hands wrapped around Cyn’s arm‍-​tubing. J pushed, and the the small drone offered no resistance. Cyn went down, and J fell on top of her.

"The curtain falls, J. The gala is soon. Will your story be a tragedy?"

“Yours will be,” J growled.

Tessa had tried to tell her. And Cyn, knowingly or not, had echoed that same wisdom. In the end, it wasn’t an order, and J didn’t have to follow orders. It was her choice.

And J chose violence.

Letting go of one limp arm, J cocked back her hand and smacked Cyn hard enough to reboot her.

No, harder than that‍ ‍—‍ as hard as she could. She deserved it.

Cyn’s screen cracked.

It should have been satisfying. Instead, J’s visor held empty pupils.

What would Tessa think? It may have been J’s choice, but she was doing it for her human. How would she feel, when she saw this?

In that moment, the maid realized. She’d broken more than Cyn’s visor.

J stared into her reflection as horror widened her eyes. Not horror for what she’d done. She didn’t care‍ ‍—‍ Cyn deserved it‍ ‍—‍ no, her expression was a dim reflection, a predictive model, of Tessa’s horror.

The maid wanted to dance with her human again, to hug her again, to be loved by her again, and the posteriori odds were rapidly dropping. Did she deserve any of that?

Did she even deserve a vacation?