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when she was made, one of her creators slowly turned on the idea of making a death machine, and snuck in some traits to hopefully give her more options than simply mass destruction. this precaution failed, obviously, and she never thought twice about her mission, deeming those traits unusable. pushing them into the back of her mind, she pushed onwards.
blood is still drying on the bricks under her, she tilts her eye upwards, refusing to see it as her own doing. its not his blood anyways, technically. yeah.
it was a terrible mistake, one she refused to admit. yet, when she delicately grabs her arm back off of the corpse and fights twisting it into the socket, she cant help but let her eye linger on him for a moment. v1, the only one who understood her, her rival. dead. drying. wires flicking sparks at her feet. something in her twitches, something innate. something she fought control from, something now fucking her over as she looks at him. she turns around quickly. but she already could tell the blood has dried.
she walks back through greed, fighting for the numbness she feels to stay, but it eats at her. sand gets into the cracks of her arm and she shakes it out. nothing matters anymore. whats the point of fighting if theres no one worth it to fight anymore.
lust. the purple hues fill her vision. something must be worth doing now. something. anything. please?
grief is a terrible place. she knocks everything down around her. glass shards breaking beneath her feet. controlled destruction isn't helping. destruction isn't helping. theres nothing worth fighting for. all she wanted. all she dreamed about. gone. flatlined. so far away now.
she keeps walking.
limbo. broken stained glass around her. she debates closing her eye as she walks through home, everything reminding her of him. was this love? was this just a faulty connection? could he even have known what he meant to her? she tilts the barrel of her gun to her face. a cold chasm of freedom, closeness. maybe somewhere out there, there really is a god. maybe theres a worse hell just for her. now she just needs the comfort of the pain she'll hopefully be in.
she never believed in sinning. she never believed in anything. she believed what they wanted her to, and that was a numb disconnect from her surroundings. one objective. one goal. and she completed it didn't she? everything wiped out. his blood is probably dyeing the tiles. no. stop it. something flickers in her. its too strong to fight back now. she weeps.
a small needle is tumbling out of her hand every couple stitches, she wasn't really meant to be doing this, but she needs to. felt stolen off of the innocent. everyones innocent now. shes the sinner. nothing can be worse than her. she closes her eye and punctures the needle in again.
a small doll, clumsily made, a blob with four limbs, a yellow circle in the head, a small blob-gun affixed to his arm. its as close as she can get now. she stares at it. the memory is fading, slowly. she isn't meant to retain memories this long, too much of a strain on her hardware. if she closes her eye its already starting to dissipate into small bloody clumps on pyramid bricks. shes the sinner. nothing can be worse than her. she hugs it to her body, the doll getting squished against the harsh metal of her chest. shes got scratches all over her hands now, she broke 8 needles.
she couldve been so much. she couldve been something she loved. instead all she feels is hate for herself. she broke all the mirrors a while back, but she wont dare look at the shards for fear of seeing what shes become. shes a wreck. shes let herself truly feel now, and she doesn't know how to go back that that blissful numbness. some days she stands quietly on the bridge of lust, looking down. but what better hell is there than allowing herself to feel wrought over something she couldve had control over. she doesn't deserve that control anymore.
should it have been her? should she push forward? was this simply delaying the inevitable? she doesn't know. she screams into the night, voice box shaky with how much shes been yelling. she chucks the doll off the ledge. for a minute she imagines herself tumbling down, a simple stain on the asphalt. it would be so simple. wait. fuck.
she slingshots down. whips her head back and forth. where is he? the streets are slowly filling with more blood, she cant leave anyone alive now. she needs to find him. how could she be so FUCKING STUPID! oh god. oh god. please. please. if youre out there anywhere. i cant lose him again. okay? come on. come on.
nothing. next street. nothing. next street. noth-
is this truly what i deserve? a spiral of decaying memories and hope all flickering away. she screams, but nothing comes out. her voice box is fried. now shes broken too. the sinner robot doomed to silence, to sit in her grief. shes sorry. shes so sorry. im so sorry, okay? it was a mistake. please just come back. please?