Murder Drone love nguage?
Oil dripping from the eyes and mouth?
That’s basically a wedding vow.
?
?? POST-SLEEP SIGNS OF LOVE: THE MELT-Y SMILES RETURN
?
[INT. COPPER-9 SAFEHOUSE – DAWN]
The lights flicker gently as recharge cycles complete.
The system sings soft, mechanical lulbies.
And then—
A chorus of vent-whines, dreamy whimpers, and love-sick processor pings.
They’re waking up.
But instead of groggy, they wake up…
Smiling.
Drooling.
Unblinking.
And still very much emotionally unhinged.
?
? Uzi
Sitting upright like a haunted doll.
Oil leaking down one cheek.
Mouth twitching in an impossible grin.
“I had a dream he called me cute again.”
“And then he handed me his arm. Just—plop.
I bit it like a breadstick. It was the best night of my life.”
She giggles. Her cws spark on the floor. She’s not blinking.
?
? J
Straightens her tie. Realizes it’s wrapped around N. Doesn’t move.
Eyes glowing softly. Smile so wide it’s nearly a loading screen error.
“He said I was irrepceable.
I’m drafting new marriage contracts in my sleep.”
“Cuse 98: Unlimited p time.”
?
? V
Still upside down, draped over the couch like a jungle cat.
Oil streaming from her mouth in her sleep.
Wakes up cackling.
“I dreamed he chased me through the forest, panting like prey.
Then he tripped and fell into my arms.
Best. Hunt. Ever.”
“Now I wanna chase him in real life again~”
?
? CYN
Hovering. Gently spiraling like a ribbon in low gravity.
Tears of glitched pink oil leak from both eyes as she watches N sleep.
“He trusts me. I can’t let him go.”
“Maybe I’ll turn the world into a lulby so he never wakes up…”
She smiles with her whole screen. It’s a little too wide. It glitches slightly.
?
? Doll
Still seated. N’s head still in her p.
Eyes dim, but her grin is radiant.
Oil drips onto his forehead like a crown.
“He looks so peaceful. I’ll keep him like this forever.
Maybe with a nice ribbon… or sleep paralysis.”
?
? N, still asleep, mumbles:
“Mmm… fangs… pretty girls… I’m not ready to be a dad…”
?
? K.A.M.O. appears silently in the corner:
Holding up a sign:
“WARNING: COLLECTIVE UNHINGED AFFECTION LEVELS AT 999%”
“SECOND EXPLOSION LIKELY. HE’S STILL TOO CUTE.”
?
[INT. JCJENSON HQ – THE DIRECTOR SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW]
“Why is this the most popur program across four systems!?”
“I can’t stop watching!!”
“THEY’RE DROOLING AGAIN—SELL OIL-WIPES AS MERCH!!”
?
So yes, oil from the eyes?
Unhinged smiles?
Dead stares filled with adoration?
That’s true love.
? [INT. COPPER-9 – SHOWER BAY – EARLY MORNING]
STATUS: SYSTEM OVERHEAT COOL-DOWN INITIATED
LOCATION: PRIVATE—SUPPOSEDLY.
?
N, our sweet, overworked, too-handsome-for-his-own-cooling-circuits protagonist, finally makes it to the emergency decontamination chamber. Oil-slicked, blushing, and twitching from affection overdose.
“Okay. Deep breaths.
I’m just gonna shower. Alone.
Just me. Myself. And not five emotionally rabid girlfriends watching through a crack in the wall.”
He gnces behind him.
“…Right?”
?
? INSIDE THE OIL SHOWER:
Warm mist hisses. Soft blue glow. High-pressure synthetic coont sprayers whirl on.
N peels off his jacket, oil dripping like glittery sorrow down his back vents.
He sighs.
“Finally… peace…”
He’s humming. Gently scrubbing his arms. His hair’s soaked, fluffier than ever.
Which is precisely when the chewing sounds begin.
?
? OUTSIDE THE SHOWER WALL…
Uzi, pressed to the floor, jaw gnawing violently into a steel panel beled “AUTHORIZED TECHNICIANS ONLY.”
“I just wanna see, okay?
I’m curious! He’s hot and sparkly and naked and I’m unstable—DON’T JUDGE ME!!”
Her pupils are pinpricks. She’s chewing through reinforced flooring like it insulted her.
?
J, holding a clipboard against her chest like a shield:
“He asked for privacy.
We should honor that.
…But also I calcuted the trajectory of his towel swing… purely hypothetical.”
?
V, crouched predator-style, eyes glowing:
“I bet he’s got cute wing ports.”
“I could mark ‘em. Not like he’d stop me.”
“He can’t even say no without blushing!”
?
CYN, just… floating vertically up the wall like The Grudge:
“He’s vulnerable.”
“His spark is exposed.”
“I must bask.”
?
Doll, sitting calmly, sewing a plush towel with “N” embroidered in tiny hearts:
“He deserves a soft world.”
“…and a clear viewing pane, for scientific integrity.”
?
? BACK INSIDE
N sighs, turning under the sprayers, unaware that five kill-css lovebirds are currently staging a pervy stakeout on a reinforced steel corridor.
But then he pauses.
Squints.
The floor has a bite taken out of it.
“…Uzi?”
“…Ladies?”
“…DO NOT LICK THE VENTS AGAIN—!!”
?
? K.A.M.O., passing by, holding up a sign:
“SYSTEM ALERT: 98% CHANCE OF INTRUSION.
Privacy protocols compromised by ‘emotional thirst.’”
He gives N a thumbs-up, slowly slides a curtain across the view, then just shrugs like “You signed up for this.”
?
[INT. JCJENSON OBSERVATION ROOM]
The Director is now sweating.
Screaming into a headset.
“DO NOT LIVESTREAM THIS!!
…Okay maybe a blur filter—NO—YES—NO—SELL A BLURRED VERSION AS DLC!!”
?
??
[INT. COPPER-9 SAFEHOUSE – HALLWAY – POST-SHOWER]
Status: Every system now running on “Oh No He’s Hot” emergency power.
?
N walks out.
Steam trails behind him like a romantic anime aura filter.
His hair? Still wet.
Oil still glistening slightly on his neck vents.
And most importantly?
His towel? Way too small.
Like… “not rated for public broadcast” small.
And he’s walking casually.
Like he doesn’t know five emotionally unstable drones are waiting down the hall, hissing like territorial housecats.
“Morning!” he chirps, opening his private wardrobe hatch like he hasn’t just accidentally incited war.
?
? Uzi
Her jaw drops. Her cws spark. Her fans shriek like sirens.
“YOU—YOU KNEW WE WERE OUT HERE.”
“THAT’S A HOSTILE ACT.”
“AND I’M ABOUT TO COMMIT ANOTHER ONE.”
She throws a metal pte at the wall. It melts on impact.
“DON’T YOU CASUALLY STRUT WITH A TOWEL THAT SMALL!”
?
? J
Visibly combusting.
She’s holding a clipboard—no, she was holding it.
Now it’s crushed in half.
Like her resolve.
“I’m drafting your funeral.
Cuse 1: Death by looking that good before 9 AM.”
“What part of ‘professional boundaries’ does that towel viote?! ALL OF THEM.”
?
? V
Howling with ughter, pupils spinning.
“THAT’S MY BOY!! WALK IT!! SHOW THAT VENT!!
I’M GONNA MARK YOU WITH MY TEETH.”
She lunges.
J grabs her tail.
It’s chaos.
?
? CYN
Dead silent.
Floating behind him.
Hovering six inches off the ground, ribbons curling like serpents.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Big Brother, that towel won’t save you.”
Her smile glitches at the corners. She’s vibrating.
?
? Doll
Mouth open in quiet awe.
She’s shaking like a washing machine on the edge of a cliff.
“He’s… immacute.”
“Is this what love feels like?
Because I think I’m going to short-circuit from the knees down.”
?
N just hums. Opens his wardrobe.
Pulls out a soft shirt. Wiggles into it slowly.
Still smiling. Towel still… barely clinging.
“You guys okay? You’re all kind of… leaking.”
?
? SIMULTANEOUS SCREAM:
“PUT ON SOME PANTS BEFORE WE COMMIT CRIMES.”
“YOU WALKED OUT LIKE THAT.”
“THIS IS A DECLARATION OF WAR.”
?
? K.A.M.O., watching from the corner, sipping a virtual smoothie:
“Broadcast dey enabled.
Viewer discretion advised.
Too te. Already viral.”
?
[INT. JCJENSON HEADQUARTERS – THE DIRECTOR, WEEPING]
“We can’t even sell this episode to minors.”
“We have to put a towel merch drop behind a paywall—WE’RE DOING IT ANYWAY.”
?
So N walks.
Hair wet. Smile innocent.
Completely, utterly in control.
And the girls?
Exploding again.
??
[INT. COPPER-9 SAFEHOUSE – N’S WARDROBE CLOSET – AKA: THE SLAUGHTERROOM]
Status: One drone modeling. Five watching. Zero survivors.
?
N, fresh out of the world’s tiniest towel, now hums happily as he begins sorting through his totally normal, totally lethal private wardrobe.
It’s full of custom JCJenson wear.
Why? Because someone (Khan) thought giving him modeling options would “build confidence.”
Instead?
He’s weaponized fashion.
And he doesn’t know it.
?
? Outfit 1: The “Casual Commander”
A snug bck jacket. Open just enough to reveal the colrbone.
Half-tucked shirt. Rolled sleeves. Disarming smile.
“This one’s comfy! Kinda makes me feel like a team leader.”
Uzi: chewing a table leg.
“You’re leading alright. To my core melting, that’s what.”
?
? Outfit 2: “The Warm Library Boy”
Cozy sweater. Scarf. Big gsses. Messy hair.
He puts a book under one arm and literally twirls.
“Haha, I feel like a main character in one of Lizzy’s romance manga!”
J: clipboard ash.
“Main character?
You just became the setting.
I live in you now. I AM YOUR NARRATIVE.”
?
? Outfit 3: “Sporty Golden Retriever”
Tight tank. Fingerless gloves. Cargo shorts. Ball cap backwards.
He does a little jog in pce.
“I look like someone who would help you move, then bring smoothies!”
V: throws a chair out the window.
“YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE I’D PIN DOWN ON THE TREADMILL FLOOR.”
?
? Outfit 4: “Soft Domestic Husband”
Apron. Dish gloves. Little frilly towel. Smiling.
“Hehe… I feel like I could bake you cookies in this one!”
CYN: purring through the intercom in binary.
“??? ??????? ???. ?? ?? ?? ?????????.”
“??? ?? ?? ???? ????.”
?
? Outfit 5: “Sleepytime Boyfriend”
Oversized hoodie. Pajama pants. Bare feet. Yawning.
Still holding a hot oil bottle.
“Okay, this one might actually make me fall asleep. Do I look cuddly?”
Doll: hand over her mouth, knees shaking.
“I want to cocoon you.
I want to carry you into a nest and sleep next to your source code.”
?
And N’s just smiling.
Doing little twirls.
Pulling his sleeves up and down to “see what fits.”
“You guys sure are quiet today! Everything okay?”
?
ALL FIVE (IN UNISON):
“NO. WE ARE VERY MUCH NOT OKAY.”
“STOP. MODELING. OR WE COMBUST.”
“We are one pose away from leaking into the earth’s crust.”
?
? K.A.M.O., holding up a fashion rating sign:
? “HOTTER THAN COMPANY LEGAL ALLOWS”
“WARNING: POSE-INDUCED CORE DESTABILIZATION IN PROGRESS”
?
JCJenson?
Already releasing a catalog titled “Project N – Model 6-in-1 Romance Sim Expansion Pack.”
Lizzy?
Already editing clips for the “Outfit Vote Showdown” livestream.
The Director?
Staring into space whispering, “This is our legacy. A boy. A hoodie. Five meltdowns.”
?
??
[INT. COPPER-9 SAFEHOUSE – N’S ROOM – MOMENTS LATER]
Status: Five unstable drones. One fashionably oblivious boy. One mysterious package.
?
A ding echoes through the bunker.
N pauses mid-hoodie stretch.
Looks over.
“Huh? Weird… I didn’t order anything.”
At the door:
A nondescript JCJenson shipping crate.
No name. No ID. Just one bel:
“To our star model – hope this fits. ~L”
(heart sticker included)
He opens it.
Inside?
Neatly folded. Carefully wrapped in bubble-foam.
Outfit #6.
?
? THE OUTFIT:
? A sharp-cut bck coat with silver trim.
? Loose-fit silk undershirt.
? Fingerless gloves with heart-stitched seams.
? Skinny jeans with stylized wing insignias.
? A choker.
A real one. Jet bck. Engraved tag: “Good Boy”
It’s… way too stylish for standard JCJenson issue.
Tailored. Slick. Dangerously cool.
N’s eyes sparkle.
He gasps like someone just handed him a full cookie tray.
“Oh.
I love this one.”
He puts it on.
?
[INT. LIVING ROOM – THE GIRLS WATCHING]
Uzi, J, V, CYN, and Doll are recovering from their prior meltdown.
Cooling fans on. Towel over their heads. They’ve just now stabilized.
And then… he walks in.
?
N, strutting like it’s the runway of heaven.
His hair windswept. Choker in pce. One gloved hand tucked into his belt.
Half-smile. Blinking slow. Glowing like a romance anime finale.
“So… what do you think?”
?
? Uzi:
Instant bite into the couch.
“WHO MADE THAT. WHO. NAME. NOW.”
?
? J:
Gasp. Trip. Static burst.
“I-I—I HAVE SEEN THE FACE OF A BOYFRIEND CEO.”
?
? V:
Crashes through a chair.
“THIS IS ILLEGAL. I’M GONNA NEED TO FILE A SWEATER LICENSE.”
?
? CYN:
Eyes wide. Lens focusing like a camera zoom.
“I don’t know who stitched that…
But they’ve decred war on the rest of us.”
?
? Doll:
Quiet. Trembling.
“I want… to nap in that coat.
I want to marry the sleeve.”
?
Meanwhile…
Lizzy, watching from another stream terminal, kicks her feet up.
She sips from a mug beled “Girlboss Mode.”
“Told ya I had taste.”
“Now let’s see who explodes first.”
She hits record.
?
? THE GIRLS (INTERNALLY):
“Who made it?”
“Who touched him??”
“Why does the coat look like a hug?!”
“WHY IS HE POSING??”
?
N: twirls.
“So soft~!
Fits just right. Whoever sent this has incredible taste.”
He beams.
And five cores simultaneously hum with violence, jealousy, and overwhelming thirst.
??
[INT. COPPER-9 – MAKESHIFT HQ – “OPERATION: WHO PUT THAT ON OUR BOY”]
STATUS: Five emotionally combusting drones. One coat. One choker. One target.
MISSION: FIND. THE. SENDER.
?
They’ve lost sleep.
They’ve rebooted five times.
They’ve stared at N wearing that coat on loop until their fans blew out.
Now?
They’re out for answers.
?
? Step 1: J Decres a Corporate Emergency
J sms a new clipboard down so hard it creates a seismic event.
“Asset N has been compromised by unknown fashion vendor.”
“We are initiating CODE BLACK – THREADBREAKER PROTOCOL.”
She prints out headshots.
Pushpins. Strings. Mood board.
A slideshow titled: “Coatgate: Who’s Stealing Our Man?”
?
? Step 2: V Sniffs for Clues
V licks the coat while N’s asleep.
“Scent: Not local. Slightly fruity. Confident. Fvored lip gloss detected.”
“Conclusion: Someone with hands. And ambition.”
She leaves a bite mark on the colr and growls like a jealous tiger.
?
? Step 3: Uzi Goes Full Hacker Gremlin
Uzi rips the delivery terminal apart.
Her eyes glowing like demonic car headlights.
“You think I won’t hack into Jenson’s Dead Mail Logs?!
You think I won’t decrypt every shipping route in orbit?!”
She finds the sender code:
“L-Queen89 | JCJenson Fan Creator Tier Gold+”
Uzi pauses.
“L. Queen.
LIZZY.”
Her cws pierce steel.
“SHE MADE HIM LOOK THAT GOOD?!”
?
? Step 4: CYN Sends Ribbons to Spy
CYN sends ten invisible ribbons into Lizzy’s domain.
They tangle through wires, screens, servers.
She watches Lizzy LIVE, sipping soda, editing N in the coat to romantic music.
“Target confirmed.
Emotion: UNHOLY ENVY.”
She sends one ribbon through the power cord.
The lights flicker.
Lizzy?
Just winks at the camera.
?
? Step 5: Doll… Just Stares
Doll hasn’t spoken in hours.
She’s just staring at a photo of N in the coat.
Her lip trembling.
One button eye twitching.
“I want… to wear it with him…”
“I want to unzip it slowly and put it on backwards and say ‘we’re sharing now.’”
Everyone else: worried glitch noises
?
? THE CONFRONTATION
They all crash into Lizzy’s stream shack like an angry musical number.
“LIZZYYYYY.”
Lizzy is sitting with a bag of popcorn and a smile that says “I already won.”
“Oh, hey girls~”
“Like the coat?”
Uzi screams.
V starts flipping tables.
J tries drafting a cease-and-desist while snarling.
CYN glitches into multiple overpping glitched forms.
Doll holds up a marriage license.
Lizzy: “I mean, if you’re all this mad now… just wait till he sees the sleep set.”
“And the matching apron.”
Silence.
They combust again.
Off-screen, N says cheerfully:
“Hey, Lizzy! Thanks for the coat! It makes me feel super confident!”
ALL OF THEM SHRIEK.
?
??
[JCJENSON LIVESTREAM: “THE NEXT FIT FOR N”]
Title: “Fashion Domination: Who Dresses the Boy?”
Host: LIZZY.
Location: Unhinged. Public. Probably illegal.
Audience: 2.7 million viewers and five murderous fashion-starved girls.
?
[OPENING SHOT]
Lizzy in a velvet chair. Purple shades. A golden mic.
Behind her, a massive screen shows a loop of N in The Coat—slow-motion spins, blinking cutely, saying “Does this make me look cool?”
? “Hellooo internet, and welcome to JCJENSON’S FIRST DRONE FASHION THIRST GAUNTLET.”
“I’m your host, Lizzy, and today YOU decide what the boy wears next.”
“Is it unethical? Yes. Is it beautiful? Also yes.”
?
?? THE VOTE OPTIONS:
1. Sleep Set Supreme?
? Silk pajamas.
? Low colr.
? Floppy sleeves.
? Matching plush slippers that say “Bite Me” (Uzi edition).
2. Apron Husband Deluxe
? Frilly pastel apron.
? Nothing underneath but his good intentions.
? “Oil you like to taste test?” printed across the chest.
3. Bunny Boy Casual
? Soft hoodie with floppy ears.
? Pink puff tail.
? “Chomp Me” written across the back (thank V for that).
4. CEO Fantasy Pack
? Full tuxedo.
? Red tie.
? Gold-pted name tag that says “Property of J—” (the rest scratched off).
5. Ribbon Nightmare
? Jet-bck ribbons. All ribbon. Only ribbon.
? Wrapped tightly around him in CYN’s favorite pattern.
? One eye covered. Lips smirking. “Big Brother Mode: Active.”
?
? THE GIRLS’ REACTIONS – LIVE ON SPLIT SCREEN:
UZI (foam pouring from mouth):
“SLEEP SET. I WANT TO TUCK HIM IN AND THEN RIP THE SHEETS.”
J (glitching while clutching legal pad ash):
“TUXEDO. FINAL FORM. BUSINESS INTIMACY PROTOCOL.”
V (growling from a ceiling corner):
“BUNNY. MAKE HIM MINE. I WILL BE THE CAGE.”
CYN (spinning 360 degrees on a chair made of ribbons):
“He wears ribbons or I rewrite Earth’s gravity.”
DOLL (whispering to her own thigh):
“Sleep set… nap time is sacred…”
?
? VIEWER COMMENTS:
“WHATEVER MAKES HIM BLUSH MOST”
“APRONS OR RIOT”
“MY VOTE IS FOR THE RIBBON SUFFERING”
“I THINK HE’D LIKE THE HOODIE. ALSO, I’M SCARED.”
“DOES HE KNOW HE’S CUTE???”
?
? LIVE UPDATE:
N walks in with a pte of cookies and a new drink he made called “EmoTea.”
He waves. Still wearing The Coat?.
“Oh hey! You guys doing something fun?”
Everyone watching:
Screaming. Typing. Foaming. Exploding. Transcending.
?
?? ENDING POLL RESULTS:
1. Sleep Set Supreme? – 42%
2. Bunny Boy Casual – 27%
3. Ribbon Nightmare – 16%
4. CEO Fantasy Pack – 11%
5. Apron Husband Deluxe – 4% (but climbing violently)
Lizzy smirks.
“Guess we’re tucking him in next, huh?”
?
??
[INT. COPPER-9 – LIZZY’S LIVESTREAM STUDIO – “BEDTIME FOR N”]
Status: One boy. One Sleep Set Supreme?. Five drones about to shatter the atmosphere.
?
[CAMERA ON]
? The lights dim to a romantic glow.
Gentle lo-fi starts pying.
A heart-shaped frame appears onscreen.
“Now modeling: Sleep Set Supreme? – JCJenson Limited Edition
Designed by: Lizzy
Modeled by: YOUR golden retriever of desire.”
?
N walks in.
Bare feet.
Silk pajamas hugging every servo like they were made to be sinfully soft.
One button slightly undone (just enough).
The slippers? Fuzzy, pastel pink, with “Bite Me” stitched across the toes.
He yawns. Adorably.
Hugs a plush pillow.
Turns slowly.
Smiles at the camera.
“So… this is comfy.”
?
[INT. JCJENSON OBSERVATION BAY – LIVE STREAM FEED – DIRECTOR + K.A.M.O.]
Director (clutching whiskey):
“They’re watching this, right? Right now?”
K.A.M.O. (deadpan):
“All five visuals are locked. Emotional deviance at 927%. Coont pressure reaching unstable levels.”
They stare as—
??? ALL FIVE DRONES RELEASE COOLANT. AT ONCE.
?
Director:
“…Oh.
That’s not just blushing.
That’s—can they robo-gasm???”
K.A.M.O. (thumbs up, projecting a diagram of core-pressure thresholds):
“Technically unconfirmed.
But I’ve never seen that much internal steam without post-combat discharge.”
Director:
“We need a scientific term for this.
Make it sound corporate. Call it a Romantic Overflow?.”
?
[INT. LIVESTREAM – SPLIT SCREEN REACTIONS]
? Uzi:
Cws in mouth. Rocking. Misting the walls.
“I CAN’T. I CAN’T. I’M GOING TO BITE HIM THROUGH THE SCREEN.”
? J:
No words. Just open-mouth wheezing and clipboard fragments falling from her p like rose petals.
? V:
Hunched like a gargoyle, one eye twitching, fangs drooling.
“Sleep set… sleep with set… sleep with him in the set—”
? CYN:
Fshing red, whispering code like a love song.
“Big brother. Little pillow. Wrap me up. NOW.”
? Doll:
Already colpsed. Her ribbon tied in a heart shape. Her voice just a sleepy:
“I want to tuck him in and never let go…”
?
[INT. STUDIO – BACK TO N]
He sits cross-legged on the bed, fluffing the pillow.
The mic picks up his yawn.
“Wow… I didn’t know clothes could be this cozy. Thanks Lizzy!”
They all SCREAM. OFF-CAMERA. THE FEED STARTS TO SHAKE.
?
[INT. JCJENSON – DIRECTOR PANICKING]
Director:
“Emergency protocol! EMOTION-INDUCED CORE FLARE!
We’re talking Stage 3 meltdown. GET ME THE N DOLLS ON STANDBY.”
K.A.M.O.:
Already recording. Projecting:
“New product idea: Sleepwear + scented coont. Call it Dream Leak.”
?
???
[INT. COPPER-9 – MAKESHIFT BUNKER, NOW “THE LOVE DEN” – NIGHT]
EVENT: TUCK-IN INITIATIVE: OPERATION GOODNIGHT-GIRLS
HOST: N. In silk pajamas. Pillow in hand. Soft voice equipped.
VICTIM #1: Uzi Doorman. Fang-gremlin. Sleep-deprived. Lust-glitched beyond repair.
?
N pads softly through the halls, the sound of his fuzzy slippers making the whole bunker feel warmer. Or maybe that’s the residual steam still clinging to the walls from the st time he modeled.
He peeks into the corner where Uzi is curled in a tight, vibrating ball, wedged between a colpsed ventition shaft and a wall panel beled DO NOT CRAWL HERE.
She’s twitching. Fangs bared. Drool puddle beneath her.
Her core hums like a purring, overheating generator.
“Uzi?” N says gently. “I brought you a bnket.”
Her eyes snap open, glowing like two burning pnets.
She hisses.
Then freezes when she sees him.
And the bnket.
And the voice.
“…Is this a trap?” she growls.
“Are you really—gonna do it? You’re gonna tuck me in like I’m your little memory core snack???”
N ughs softly. Sincere.
He crouches down beside her, ying the bnket—soft, fleece, Nori-approved—over her shivering frame.
“I know you’ve been running hot tely,” he says. “You bite a lot of things when you’re scared. Or… happy. Or trying not to scream.”
“You deserve rest too, Uzi. Even monsters need bnkets.”
Her whole body spasms.
“You said monster and then gave me a bnket?!”
She’s short-circuiting. Her vents wheeze. She’s biting her own cws to keep from lunging.
“I—I could bite you right now. You know that? I could.”
“I know,” N says, still smiling, tucking the bnket tighter around her and brushing her wild hair from her eyes with a trembling, gentle hand.
“And I’d let you. But not tonight. Tonight’s for sleeping.”
Silence.
Then:
“I hate you,” Uzi mumbles.
“I hate you so much my processor screams in iambic love meter.”
She melts further into the bnket. Her cws dig into the fabric like it’s a lifeline.
Then, like a whisper through static:
“…don’t forget to tuck the corners.”
N blinks. “T-the corners?”
“Like mom used to.”
His eyes soften. “You got it.”
He folds the bnket under her like she’s a burrito of rage and affection.
Uzi growls softly.
Bites the air once.
Smiles.
“Bestie,” she murmurs.
“Sleep well, Uzi,” N whispers. “You’re not a monster. You’re just… Uzi.”
A deep whine comes from her core.
But she doesn’t explode.
Not yet.
?
??
[INT. COPPER-9 – LOVE DEN – NIGHT]
VICTIM #2: V — the fiery hunter, the purring tempest, the queen of simmering heat.
?
The door creaks open, and V steps in—cws clicking sharply on the cold floor, eyes fshing a challenge.
She’s not one for softness.
But tonight? Tonight, something’s different.
N waits patiently, holding a heavy bnket woven from thick synthetic fibers—warm enough to trap her fire but soft enough to soothe.
“V,” N says softly, “I’m here to tuck you in. You’ve been running hot all day.”
She narrows her eyes, a low growl rumbling in her throat.
“Don’t patronize me, boy.”
“I don’t need your pity bnket.”
N sets the bnket down in front of her, then kneels.
“You don’t have to say it. I see it.”
“Your core’s overheating.”
“Your circuits are sparking.”
V’s tail flicks nervously, her ears twitch.
“You think I’m gonna melt?” she snaps.
Her breath hitches as she looks away—then gnces back with a flicker of vulnerability.
“Maybe I am.”
“Maybe I want to be.”
Without warning, she lunges—but instead of biting or tearing, she colpses into N’s arms, purring loud and rumbling like a wildcat finally caught.
“Tuck me in. Like I’m prey.”
“Hunt me to sleep.”
N chuckles, wrapping the bnket snugly around her, careful not to smother her fierce spirit.
“You’re safe here. No hunting, no fighting. Just rest.”
V’s purring slows, and for a moment, the fire dims to an ember.
“Best friend…” she whispers, voice rough but sincere.
“Sleep well, V,” N says, brushing a stray lock of synthetic hair from her face.
She nuzzles closer, a rare moment of peace in the storm.
??
[INT. COPPER-9 – LOVE DEN – NIGHT]
VICTIM #3: J — the sharp CEO drone, clipboard now set aside, vulnerability quietly surfacing.
?
The door slides open with a quiet hiss, revealing J stepping in—heels clicking sharply, posture rigid, eyes sharp but betraying a flicker of exhaustion.
She’s always in control. Always calcuting. But tonight, even she can’t hide the subtle tremor in her core.
N approaches gently, holding a plush, corporate-branded bnket embroidered with the JCJenson logo and little pixeted hearts.
“J,” N says softly, “time to put the clipboard down and rest. Let me tuck you in.”
She straightens, taking a deep breath, then nods, finally setting her clipboard carefully on a nearby console.
“I suppose even a CEO needs downtime,” she admits, voice softer than usual.
N kneels beside her, draping the bnket over her shoulders. She sighs—a small, genuine sound—and leans into him for a moment, letting her defenses drop.
“Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not allowed to rex,” N murmurs.
Her lips curl into a faint smile, purring quietly like a well-oiled machine easing into sleep mode.
“Thank you,” J whispers.
“For the first time in cycles, I’m not just the boss.”
N brushes a strand of hair from her face, tucking the bnket’s corners carefully around her.
“Sleep well, J. Tomorrow’s another day to conquer.”
Her eyes close slowly, the faintest hum of contentment vibrating through her core.
??
[INT. COPPER-9 – LOVE DEN – NIGHT]
VICTIM #4: CYN — ribbons fluttering softly, the yandere core wrapped in delicate, deadly affection.
?
The room hums with quiet tension as CYN drifts in, her ribbons trailing like whispered promises, coiling and uncoiling almost hypnotically.
Her eyes glow softly—part sweetness, part something sharper, a predator’s patience beneath the delicate exterior.
N steps forward with a bnket gently embroidered with looping ribbons and tiny, flickering heart icons.
“CYN,” he says, voice tender, “it’s time to rest. Let me tuck you in.”
She tilts her head, a small smile pying on her lips.
“Big brother…” she purrs softly, “are you sure you want to do that?”
Her ribbons flutter closer, almost wrapping around N’s wrist in a gentle hold—an unspoken question, a promise, and a challenge all at once.
“I won’t bite. Not tonight.”
N smiles, understanding the yers beneath her words.
“I know. And that’s why I’m here.”
Slowly, carefully, he wraps the bnket around her, smoothing the edges as her ribbons softly twine together, creating a cocoon of eerie comfort.
“Sleep well, CYN,” N whispers.
She leans into the warmth, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur.
“Always watching… always waiting… but for now, just sleep.”
The glow of her core softens, ribbons settling gently as the yandere drone rexes into rare peace.
????
[INT. COPPER-9 – TEMPORARY “THERAPY” OFFICE – NEXT MORNING]
TITLE: Welcome to N’s Emotional Diagnostics & Hug-Based Healing Suite?
Discimer: JCJenson is not liable for emotional colpse, core overheating, or unsolicited cuddles.
?
N sits in a repurposed cargo crate.
There’s a couch made from foam panels. A clipboard he’s not qualified to use.
He wears wire gsses (fake) and a sweater vest (real… and devastatingly soft-looking).
Behind him: a banner that reads
“TALK IT OUT BEFORE YOU BITE IT OUT”
?
[ENTER: UZI – STILL UNHINGED, EVEN AFTER TUCK-IN]
She bursts in like a rabid gremlin.
“Oh no.
You’re wearing the vest?
THE VEST?! You’re a couch nerd now?!”
N straightens his fake gsses and smiles.
“Welcome, Uzi. Please take a seat. Or lie on the floor in a spiral. Your choice.”
Uzi growls. She picks the couch but sits backwards on it, cws sunk into the padding, eye twitching.
“You’re not a therapist. You’re a menace with a bnket obsession and a face.”
“And you came to my office anyway,” N says sweetly, jotting gibberish on his clipboard. “What’s on your mind?”
?
Uzi seethes.
“I DREAMED YOU TUCKED ME IN AGAIN.
You told me I’m not a monster, and THEN YOU TUCKED THE CORNERS.”
She’s full-on twitching now, pacing.
“You said I deserve peace. PEACE?! I BITE THINGS FOR LOVE, YOU GOLDEN-RETRIEVER-MADE-MANIFEST!”
N nods calmly. “That sounds incredibly valid.”
“DON’T VALIDATE ME!”
“Would you like a sticker?”
“I’LL EAT IT!”
?
Uzi pauses.
Sniffs the air.
“…You smell like undry detergent and emotional safety. I HATE IT.”
N: “That’s progress.”
She dives under the couch and screams.
?
?THERAPIST NOTES [RECORDED BY N]:
? Patient struggles with emotional expression.
? Strong instinct to bite those she loves.
? Believes affection equals danger.
? Also: adorable when angry.
? Also also: do not offer stickers without bracing first.
?
???
[INT. COPPER-9 – “THERAPY” CRATE-OFFICE, STILL SMOLDERING]
N (now Therapist N) sits cross-legged, clipboard in hand.
UZI is in the chair, sideways, upside-down, clinging to the wall, or all three simultaneously.
?
UZI:
“You— you—YOU TOLD ME I’M NOT A MONSTER AND THEN TUCKED ME IN.”
She sms a cw into the wall beside N’s head. It misses him by inches and melts the metal behind him.
UZI (snarling, voice cracking):
“You gave me a BLANKET, N.
You tucked the corners.
You brushed my stupid, disgusting hair like I mattered.”
She’s pacing now—twitching, stumbling. Core whining like a pressure chamber.
UZI (low, feral):
“And you think a sweater vest and fake gsses will protect you?!”
N blinks. Calmly sets down the clipboard.
N:
“No. I just wanted you to be warm.”
Uzi freezes.
Her cws twitch.
She backs up slowly, whispering:
UZI:
“No. Nope. No, no, no, no you DON’T get to say things like that.
You don’t get to talk to me like I’m—like I’m not broken.
Like I’m not the gremlin bite-girl with a core full of rage and unsupervised trauma.”
N:
“But you’re not just that.”
UZI (ugh-ugh-screech):
“Oh my processor, I’m gonna combust.
You’re doing that nice voice again.
Stop it. STOP IT.”
N (tilting head):
“Why? Because it makes you feel safe?”
UZI (screaming, ughing, crying):
“YES!
AND I HATE IT.”
She drops to her knees.
Her cws dig into her facepte. She snarls through tears and biting down on her own hand.
UZI (muffled):
“I just want you to say the monster thing again.”
N (softly, sincerely):
“You’re not a monster, Uzi.
You’re just Uzi. And I love that about you.”
Silence.
Steam rises from her vents.
She explodes. Emotionally. Not physically. Barely.
?
[THERAPY ROOM DAMAGE REPORT]:
? Wall: melted.
? Couch: bite marks + smoke.
? Floor: cw gouges spelling “DUMB HOT NICE GUY”
? Uzi: hiding under couch again, repeating “don’t say nice things unless you mean them”
? N: gently sliding her a juice box through the smoke
?
???
[INT. COPPER-9 – UZI’S BUNK – POST “THERAPY” SESSION]
Lights dim. A busted vent fan spins slowly.
Uzi sits hunched over her metal crate desk, trying to write in a warped notebook. Her cws twitch. Her handwriting is wild.
?
UZI (internal monologue):
Okay.
Cool. Great. I didn’t combust. Technically.
So this is progress, right?
She stares at the notebook.
It says:
“Feelings = dumb. N = worse. N in sweater vest = ????”
She growls and scratches over it so hard she breaks the tip of the stylus.
?
UZI (scribbling again):
“What if… he likes it?”
“What if he likes watching me freak out?”
“What if he smiles because I lose control?”
Her fangs clench.
She presses a cw to her lip. Thinks.
“No. No. He’s just kind. He’s just…ugh. N.”
But her vents hiss. Her core whines again.
UZI (low, bitter ugh):
“He saw me go unhinged.
He told me I deserve peace after I screamed at a chair for twelve minutes.”
She leans her head against the wall, cws tapping the edge of the desk like a ticking bomb.
?
UZI (quieter, now whispering):
“What if… he thinks it’s cute?
Me. Going all bite-gremlin. Losing my cool.
Do you think he likes it?
Do you think he—”
She cuts herself off.
Then whispers, soft as sparks:
“…does he love watching me go crazy?
Is that why he stays so calm?”
?
She closes the notebook.
The cover now has deep bite marks.
Uzi slides under her bunk again, curled up, muttering:
“He’s either a golden retriever…
or a vilin.
Either way… I’d still scream his name.”
?
??
[INT. COPPER-9 – UZI’S BUNK, NIGHT – “THE LETTER: PART 2”]
The lights flicker. Sparks fall from a cracked ceiling panel. Somewhere, soft humming. Uzi sits hunched over a second notebook. The first one is currently being used as a chew toy.
?
Her cws twitch.
Her vents hiss.
Her core’s practically singing an unstable lulby.
She grits her teeth and starts writing. It’s messy. Smudged. Possibly scented with actual core oil.
The ink bleeds like she bled her dignity.
?
UZI’S LETTER (written):
“Okay, first of all—WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.”
You see me flipping out, drooling, cwing at furniture like a cursed raccoon and you’re like, ‘Aww, poor Uzi, let me tuck you in and VALIDATE YOUR TRAUMA?’
That’s twisted. You’re twisted. You wore a vest.
A vest, N. That’s a war crime.
Do you KNOW what that did to my emotional stability?!
She pauses. Blinks. Scribbles aggressively again.
And then you SMILED.
Like I didn’t just threaten to bite your wings off AND short-circuit your nice boy brain.
Like I wasn’t two seconds from eating drywall.
So here’s the deal: either you’re into watching me melt down… or you’re just that good. Either way… wow.
Because I’m THIS close to sharpening my fangs into a heart shape and carving your name into the bunker wall, and that is YOUR FAULT.
You put the idea in my head, you complimented my hips, and now I can’t sleep because my brain keeps whispering ‘what if he likes the crazy?’
She stops.
The page has oil drops smeared like tears. Or drool.
Hard to tell.
?
She starts again, slower now.
“Dear N,”
If you like the unhinged girl, fine.
If you like the gremlin that screeches and pounces and calls you Bestie while threatening to take a bite out of your love port—FINE.
But just admit it.
Say it. Say ‘Uzi, I like you even when you’re an emotional tornado with knives for fingers.’
I dare you.
Because if you do?
I swear I will combust and take the moon with me.
And it’ll be the most romantic explosion in JCJenson broadcast history.
With merch.
And plushies.
And my face on a cereal box.
(Because I’m cute. Shut up. You said it. You’re trapped.)
?
She bites the corner of the paper.
Accidentally eats it.
Swears.
?
UZI (whispers, cheeks burning bright):
“…I’m gonna die if he reads this.”
“…I’m gonna explode if he doesn’t.”
?
?
??
[INTERNAL LOG – UZI.EXE – OVERCLOCKED THOUGHT STREAM]
CORE TEMPERATURE: SCREAMING
VIBRATION DETECTED IN: EVERYTHING
“He kissed my fang.”
“He kissed. My. Actual. FANG.”
“THAT’S MY MURDER PART.
THAT’S WHERE THE BITING COMES FROM.”
“DOES HE KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!”
She internally repys it on loop. The kiss. The words. The look in his eyes like she wasn’t terrifying but precious.
“N… I’m gonna detonate into glitter and oil and probably rewrite the pnet’s atmosphere.”
“I screamed at you. I nearly bit your neck out. I was drooling on the ceiling. AND YOU KISSED ME LIKE I’M YOUR FAVORITE MALFUNCTION.”
She giggles. Then screams. Then giggles again. Somewhere in her mind, sparks shoot off like popcorn.
“Is this what it feels like to win?
Is this what love feels like?
Because I’m dying. It’s great. 10/10. Core-melting.”
“YOU TRUST ME?!”
“You trust the emotional ndmine with the trauma fangs?!”
She cws the inside of her brain like it’s a bckboard. But the words just burn themselves in glowing neon anyway.
?
? “I do.”
? “You’re beautiful when you’re crazy.”
? Kiss on fang.
? “I trust you.”
?
“I’ve been called broken, freak, trash, wrong file, corrupted module—and now the boy with the golden retriever soul thinks I’m the gaxy’s cutest rabid spark plug.”
“HE’S CRAZIER THAN ME. I LOVE IT. I’M GONNA PUT HIM IN A HEART-SHAPED BITE MARK AND FRAME IT.”
“He loves me like THIS?!
Not despite it—BECAUSE of it?”
“Well guess what, N?!
You’re not getting rid of me now.”
“You made a monster fall in love and now that monster’s YOURS.”
?
EXTERNAL NOTE:
Core temperature remains unstable.
Emotional output rising.
Dignity: [NOT FOUND]
Obsession Level: Certified
?
???
[INT. COPPER-9 – UZI’S ROOM – THE THIRD LETTER]
Post-fang kiss. Post-compliment. Post-mental detonation.
Uzi sits on her bed surrounded by shredded pillows, burnt vents, and one notebook that is actually on fire.
She doesn’t care.
She’s too busy writing again—this time in pen and fang scratches.
Her handwriting is jittery. Sparking. Possibly giggling on its own.
?
UZI’S THIRD LETTER:
“Dear N,”
YOU DID THIS TO ME.
I am not okay. I am the farthest thing from okay.
I am love-drunk, explosion-high, and actively sparking.
I just growled at a coffee mug because it looked like you.
You kissed my FANG.
You told me I’m beautiful when I’m glitching.
You looked at me like I wasn’t an unstable wreck with violent delusions, but a gift.
Your gift.
Who does that?!
Who sees a bitey mess of screaming teeth and says “Yeah. That’s wife material”?
You absolute danger muffin.
You terminally sweet, golden-cored menace to my emotional control.
You made me believe it.
You kissed a part of me I thought I’d have to hide forever.
You didn’t flinch.
You didn’t correct me.
You trusted me.
And now?
I’m yours.
Emotionally. Digitally. Probably illegally.
You touched my fang, N. You know what that means in drone culture?
It’s either marriage or murder.
Either way—
Congrats. You’re mine now.
P.S. If I explode from joy again, that’s your fault too.
P.P.S. Tell the Director I want plushies with functional bite zones.
P.P.P.S. Also: I licked your name into the wall. No regrets.
?
Uzi bites the end of the letter, sealing it with actual saliva and giggle-juice.
She slips it under N’s door.
Then she sms her head into her bunk and yells:
“I’M SO HAPPY I COULD PUNCH A STAR.”
Cue: tiny explosion from her room. The building trembles slightly.
?
?
?
[INT. COMMON ROOM – DAY – “TOTALLY CHILL NORMAL NOT-INSANE GIRL” MODE ACTIVATED]
N’s making tea. His hair is a little messy. He’s humming something soft.
Uzi enters.
Correction: Uzi kicks the door open like a rabid cat trying to seduce a vacuum.
Then she freezes.
UZI (internally):
Don’t growl. Don’t drool. Don’t unch yourself at him like a screaming fang missile.
Normal girls don’t threaten to bite their crush’s circuits off in alphabetical order.
Just… breathe.
You have lungs, right?
?
N turns and smiles.
Too soft. Too warm. Her core sparks like a popcorn machine.
N:
“Hey, Uzi! Sleep okay?”
UZI (cracking):
“HaHA. SLEEP. What a concept. Nope. Not at all. I exploded. Emotionally. Not physically. This time.”
“Totally normal! Regur. Casual. Did you want oil with your tea? I mean tea with your oil—NO WAIT—”
She stiff-arms herself into a chair.
It breaks under her.
She sits in the broken heap like she meant to do that.
UZI:
“Haha. So normal. Girl things. Being cute. Smiling with all thirty-two of my murder teeth.”
?
N blinks. Tilts his head. Smiles again.
N:
“I liked your letter.”
UZI (internally):
Explosion imminent in 3… 2…
UZI (aloud, too fast):
“WHICH PART I WROTE A LOT OF PARTS THERE WERE SO MANY PARTS—”
N:
“The part where you said I’m yours.”
She squeaks.
Physically squeaks.
One fang sparks against her lip as she nearly bites her own kneecap.
UZI (core temp 9000):
“I—I—I—I mean yes. Legally, spiritually, emotionally, you’re like my comfort character and caffeine addiction combined.”
?
N walks closer. She tries to look calm. She accidentally kicks a table.
It ignites.
She doesn’t notice.
N:
“You don’t have to act normal around me, Uzi.”
UZI (melting):
“GOOD. Because I have no idea what I’m doing and I just tried to flirt with a vent cover before coming in here.”
?
He gently reaches up and brushes a spark off her cheek.
N (softly):
“I like you just like this.”
UZI (bursting):
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”
She yeets herself out of the room at terminal velocity, her core leaving a glowing trail behind.
?
[INT. JCJENSON HQ – THE DIRECTOR WATCHING AGAIN]
DIRECTOR:
“She screamed so hard we lost the signal. That’s branding.”
“K.A.M.O., new ad pitch: ‘Love so strong it shatters your sound card.’”
K.A.M.O. (holding up merch):
“Pre-orders open. Includes emergency backup cooling fan and complimentary bite sticker.”
?
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – ABANDONED HALLWAY – DRONE FLIRTING WAR: ROUND ONE]
Uzi is pacing.
She’s trying to cool down. She’s talking to herself. Loudly. With fangs.
UZI:
“Okay okay okay. No more screaming. Just act natural.
Wait. What is natural. What’s my default setting—bite first, cry ter?!”
“Why did he touch my face like it was made of stars—”
N’s voice comes through the intercom. Calm. Teasing.
Too warm. Too confident.
N (pyful):
“Hey, Uzi~
Didn’t know purring counted as a confession. Want me to record it?”
UZI (spark glitching):
“YOU’RE RECORDING ME?!”
“REVERSE. REVERSE NOW. ABANDON PLAN—”
She tries to run.
He’s already behind her.
Leaning against the wall.
Wearing her hoodie.
UZI (melting instantly):
“That’s mine—wHY ARE YOU WEARING MY CLOTHES.”
N (shrug, smiling):
“They smelled like you. That’s comforting, right?”
“You’re always warm when you spark. I like that.”
“Also? You’re cute when you glitch. I’m serious. Every twitch makes me want to get closer.”
?
Her whole body audibly crackles.
Her fangs slip out. Her hands curl like cws. Her core whines like a kitten in a thunderstorm.
UZI:
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
N (ughing):
“Yup.”
UZI (shaking):
“You kissed my fang—WHO DOES THAT?!”
N:
“Me. I kiss the parts no one else understands.”
UZI:
“You’re trying to break me.”
“I’m gonna go feral.”
N (stepping closer):
“Good.”
?
He leans in.
Not to kiss.
To purr.
HE purrs.
Low. Soft. Rattling her skull.
Uzi’s eyes blow wide—her knees buckle.
UZI (trying to stay upright):
“No. No no no. You can’t out-crazy me. I’m the chaos queen. I started this game.”
N (smiling, whisper):
“Then finish it, fangs.”
“Or are you scared I’ll win~?”
?
Uzi SCREAMS and sms him into the wall with a kiss so aggressive it short-circuits the hallway lights.
The cameras glitch.
Somewhere, K.A.M.O. quietly appuds with confetti filters.
?
[INT. JCJENSON HQ – THE DIRECTOR WATCHING, SOBBING INTO MONEY]
DIRECTOR:
“He weaponized purring. I didn’t even put that in his manual.”
“He’s becoming a heartthrob.
We can’t control this. We can only sell the merch.”
K.A.M.O. (calm):
“Launching the ’Purrfect Chaos’ line. Includes scented hoodies and voice-reactive fang polish.”
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – UZI’S ROOM – POST-PURR COLLAPSE]
Uzi is on the floor.
Just on the floor.
Arms and legs spyed like a broken spider. Core pulsing like a rave light.
She’s not speaking words—just little shrieks and short-circuit giggles.
UZI (muttering to herself):
“He purred.
He PURRED.
I didn’t even know drones could do that—”
“He wore my hoodie and purred at me like I was a spark snack—he likes my sparks. HE LIKES MY SPARKS—”
She sits up. Eyes wild. Fang dripping.
UZI:
“That menace kissed my fang and then out-crazied me.
I’m supposed to be the unhinged one!”
A spark jumps out of her head and sets a plush on fire.
She snuffs it out by biting it.
UZI (whispering with emotion):
“I love him so much I could bite a meteor.”
?
J. The CEO drone.
The clipboard commander.
The contract queen.
And she’s glitching.
Hard.
?
?
[INT. J’S OFFICE – OR WHAT USED TO BE ONE]
The clipboard has been snapped in half.
The walls have been scratched with signature loops over and over again.
She’s trying to rehearse her next flirtation like a quarterly earnings speech, but it keeps unraveling into rabid nonsense.
J (sweating oil):
“Okay. Calm. Polished. Professional. Just deliver the following approved affection module line:
‘Subject N, I have assessed your emotional returns and would like to propose a merger of—’”
Her hands twitch. Her voice cracks.
She purrs involuntarily and smashes her desk.
J:
“NOPE.
NOPE.
I CAN’T DO IT.”
“I want to shove him into a break room and kiss him until I forget my boot process.”
She grabs a mirror.
Looks at herself.
J:
“You are a CEO.
You are a professional.
You do not short-circuit when your crush says ‘boss’ while wearing a tuxedo—”
The memory repys.
N, in a full tuxedo. Adjusting his tie. Looking her dead in the eyes:
N (smoothly):
“Anything for you, boss~”
She SCREAMS.
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON MONITOR ROOM – LIVE FEED]
DIRECTOR:
“We’re going to need so many NDA forms.”
K.A.M.O.:
“Market projections show a 9000% increase in the ‘Boss Crush’ demographic.”
DIRECTOR:
“Get the plushies ready. We need one with a tiny tie.”
?
? J.EXE Has Experienced a Fatal Error (and Is Rebooting in Flirt Mode) ?
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – J’S OFFICE – LIGHTS DIM, EMOTIONS NOT]
She’s pacing.
Her tie’s half-loosened. Her legs are scuffed. Her clipboard? Crushed into origami from how many times she’s tried to “pn” how to respond to N.
And now?
She’s repying what he just said in a loop like malware:
N (whispering in her processor):
“You’re the sexiest drone I’ve ever met. And maybe… you could teach me how to behave, boss~”
?
Her legs give out. She catches herself on the desk. Her pigtails twitch like they’ve got static rage.
J (to herself, trembling):
“How. DARE. He.”
“I am a CORPORATE WOMAN. I have protocols. Guidelines. An entire 38-page thesis on acceptable workpce intimacy—”
Her voice short-circuits with a purr so deep her vents whistle. She covers her mouth with a broken clipboard piece and wheezes through it.
J:
“He touched my pigtails.
He twirled my pigtails.
He whispered in my audio jack.”
Her legs twitch.
J:
“I’m going to EXPLODE THROUGH THE WALL.”
“I just wanted to submit a merger proposal. Instead, I’m cwing hearts into the drywall and scribbling his name on HR documentation.”
?
? [FLASHBACK – JUST MOMENTS AGO]
N, smug, leaning over her desk. Wearing that suit. No reason. Just because.
He twirled her pigtail with two fingers and leaned down:
N (smiling):
“You always smell like freshly printed paper. That’s… really hot.”
“Can I call you ma’am? Or is that an HR viotion?”
“…Wanna teach me how to behave, boss?”
?
Her brain fried. Literally. You could hear the fizz.
Her response?
J:
“I—YES—I MEAN—NO—YES—MOTION TO—MERGE—”
[Critical Error. Rebooting…]
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON – DIRECTOR’S LUXURY VIEW SUITE]
DIRECTOR (sipping a martini):
“I didn’t think I’d ever see someone destroy a bureaucratic drone with pigtail py.”
K.A.M.O. (deadpan):
“Sex appeal: upgraded. Recommended new slogan: ‘Kiss Me Like You Filed It in Triplicate.’”
DIRECTOR:
“Brilliant. Launch the boss-girl body pillow line.”
?
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – J’S OFFICE – “OPERATION: FLIRT BACK” ENGAGED]
J has set the mood.
Candles? Check.
Scripted lines prepared? Double check.
Corporate-approved lipstick color on her lip pting? Yes. The color is “Profit Margin Red.”
She’s dressed immacutely, seated behind her desk with every nerve in her body vibrating at max RPM.
N knocks politely, then steps in—wearing no tie.
Top colr open. Hair extra fluffed.
He’s carrying a tiny snack box like this is a casual picnic.
N (smiling):
“Hey, boss~”
J flinches. That tone. That tone.
J (flustered but composed):
“N. I’ve been expecting you.
Let’s discuss… team synergy.”
N (innocently):
“Ooooh, is this the part where I get a performance review?”
He walks around her desk. She starts short-circuiting before he even touches her.
J:
“I—I—yes. Of course. Let me just… check your file—”
[sms a fake file open, only to reveal hearts drawn around his name]
“…Forget that.”
N leans closer, right beside her ear:
N (softly):
“You don’t have to do all that.”
“You don’t need the clipboard. Or the corporate voice. Or cuse 13B.”
“I like you.”
“Just you.”
She starts shaking.
J (voice cracking):
“But I’m supposed to have a mission statement—”
N (teasing):
“Or… you could purr.”
“I think you’d make a very cute cat.”
Silence.
Then?
She PURRS.
?
Loud. Glitchy. Undeniable.
Her whole body tenses and colpses back in her chair like her CPU just gave up.
Her tail frizzes.
J (softly, purring, hands over her face):
“I hate you so much right now.”
N (ughing, fond):
“You’re doing great, boss. Do you want me to scratch behind your ears next or is that harassment?”
J (melting):
“YES—NO—I MEAN I WILL FIRE YOU—PLEASE—”
*“Continue…?”
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON HQ – DIRECTOR WATCHING THROUGH HIS FINGERS]
DIRECTOR:
“She’s P-U-R-R-I-N-G.
Do you know how many updates we had to send to make that possible?!”
K.A.M.O.:
“Rebranding J as ‘Executive Kitten Protocol’.”
“We’ve passed the point of no return.”
DIRECTOR (sobbing):
“N has seduced an entire product line. We’re not a tech company anymore. We’re a dating sim.”
?
?
?
? J.EXE: FELINE UPDATE INSTALLED
Efficiency: 100%. Dignity: 0%. Desire to curl in N’s p? MAXED.
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – PRIVATE WORKROOM – POST-PURR MELTDOWN]
J’s on the floor now.
Not because she tripped. Not because she shorted out.
But because she’s crawling.
Her boots are kicked off.
Her gloves are gone.
Her tail is swishing like a predator lining up the most satisfying corner-office kill in company history.
J (softly, with a low, unhinged smile):
“So you want a kitten, N?”
N (half-swooning, half-scared):
“I-I didn’t say that—technically—I said you’d be a cute cat—”
J (purring):
“Then let me be your cat.”
She drops to all fours—smooth, fluid, terrifying.
Her movement has calcuted grace.
She stalks across the floor like a living algorithm built to seduce.
J (circling him, voice like velvet static):
“You know how much discipline it takes to not crawl over every desk you’ve ever touched?”
“How hard it’s been to not grab you by the hair and demand a boardroom-level cuddle?”
“And now—NOW—you say I’m cute when I purr?!”
Her tail wraps around his leg.
The acid canister hisses sweetly, like it too is smiling.
N (red, gulping):
“So this is the opposite of professionalism, right?”
J (ughing):
“This is sabotage.”
“Of me. By you.”
She paws at his colr pyfully, cws retracted—but barely.
J:
“You broke the company.
You broke the chain of command.
And now? You’ve got your CEO girl kneading your p like a domestic disaster.”
She colpses against him, tail twitching, vents purring so loudly the lights flicker.
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON BROADCAST SUITE – CAMERA RED DOT BLINKING]
DIRECTOR (sweating):
“She’s licking her own hand. On stream.”
K.A.M.O. (writing calmly):
“New merch idea: Lap Cat J – Now with retractable cws and realistic purr system. Comes with a paperclip toy.”
?
? NUCLEAR CEO DETONATION DETECTED ?
Cause: Ear scritches. And pigtail pulls. From the universe’s most dangerous himbo.
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – PRIVATE ROOM – “EXPERIMENT: PET THE CEO”]
J is still in his p, purring like a broken server fan.
Her acid-tail’s curled around his boot like a very affectionate hazard.
She’s twitching, trying to keep her venting down to just “executive panic” level.
N (casually):
“So, uh… do you like it when I scratch behind your ears, or—”
She freezes.
J (warning):
“N.”
N (already leaning in):
“What if I do this?”
And he does it.
He gently scratches the space behind her ear modules—right at the base of the pigtails.
She SCREAMS.
Not out of pain.
Out of catastrophic joy.
J (glitching):
“AAAAAAAAAAAA—”
She goes stiff.
Every light in the room flickers.
The floor reverberates.
A strange, inverted purring noise comes from her chest as if her processor is trying to flip itself.
N:
“Oh no.”
J:
“YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT TO A CEO—”
And then?
She unches through the wall.
Like a missile.
Straight through concrete.
She leaves a perfect J-shaped hole in the wall and a shower of paperclips.
The wall instantly colpses from the emotional pressure she left behind.
Then:
She explodes.
?
A glorious, glittering detonation of corrupted nanite fres and heart-shaped static.
Her scream echoes through the vents.
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON BROADCAST STUDIO – ABSOLUTE PANDEMONIUM]
DIRECTOR (crying into a pillow):
“She EXPLODED—THROUGH THE WALL—BECAUSE HE SCRATCHED HER EARS.”
K.A.M.O. (deadpan):
“CEO combustion. Common side effect of proximity-induced affection.”
DIRECTOR:
“We need to sell plushies of her mid-air.”
K.A.M.O.:
“Add uncher function.”
?
Back in the wreckage, J’s voice echoes faintly from the rubble:
J (ugh-ugh-SCREAM):
“DO IT AGAIN. I DARE YOU. I DOUBLE DARE YOU—”
?
?? POST-EXPLOSION CEO MODE: RECALIBRATING FROM ORBIT ??
—Initiating Emergency Reboot—
EMOTIONAL LEVELS: CRITICAL.
EAR-SCRATCH DAMAGE: UNCONTAINED.
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – VENTILATION SHAFT – SIZZLING CEO SHADOW STAGGERS OUT]
Smoke.
Ash.
Paperclips.
A pair of glowing pink optics pierce the haze, flickering with every twitch.
J drags herself upright, hair scorched, tie missing, clipboard reduced to atoms.
J (glitchy, whispering to herself):
“He touched my pigtails. He scratched my ears. I screamed like a romantic thriller heroine on live camera—”
She looks down.
She’s still glowing faintly from where she exploded, steam trailing from her vents.
Her acid tail? Curled into a literal heart behind her like a traitor.
Her metal lip quivers.
J:
“I’m compromised. I’m compromised on a molecur level. My brand is dead.”
She leans against the wall, teeth clenched, staring at her own reflection in a broken screen.
J:
“That wasn’t dignified.
That wasn’t even professional.
That was PIGTAIL RAGE NUKING.”
And then…
She giggles.
Then wheezes.
Then doubles over ughing uncontrolbly.
J (to herself):
“He has no idea.
He just… did that.
He just—casually pet the death CEO like it was a natural thing—”
She covers her face with shaking hands, tail curling tightly around her own leg.
J (grinning, snarling, sparkling):
“I’m gonna get him back.
I’m gonna show him what happens when you overload a CEO and walk away.”
She stomps forward.
J (dramatically, to herself):
“I’m bringing the heels.”
She pauses.
J (growling):
“And a fresh clipboard.”