?
? CHAPTER FOUR
Bite Me, Bless Me, Broadcast Me(sponsored by JCJenson Live? — because divine intervention makes great content)?
?? JCJENSON POST-ROLL LEGAL NOTICE — “STABILITY TEST EDITION”? Adaptive footwear not rated for emotional detonation.? Core exposure during flirtation cssified as a workpce hazard.? Uttering “I love your crazy” is considered a Css-A Meltdown Trigger?.
JCJenson? assumes no responsibility for:- Cratered testing facilities or colpsed flirtation chambers.- Fathers pcing illegal bets on affection output.- Engineers redefining “explosive chemistry.”
For reconstruction foam, counseling vouchers, or souvenir debris,contact Director Cody at [email protected](subject: “She Blew Up the Lab — Emotionally and Literally.”)
“JCJenson — Where love is votile, and every confession ends in a safety report.”
?
[JCJENSON AD BREAK RETURN]
? ANNOUNCER VOICE (overly perky):
“And now, back to Copper-9’s Emotional Safety Program?, proudly sponsored by JCJenson? Adaptive Fashion Tech — because love hurts more in heels!”
???**J.EXE: STILETTO MODE ENGAGED (MODIFIED FOR COMBAT)**???
PEG-LEG? PLEASE. THIS IS CORPORATE DESIGN WITH A MISSION.
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – ABANDONED JCJENSON DESIGN WING – “HEEL ACQUISITION”]
J limps dramatically toward a long-forgotten equipment locker.
Sparks flicker from the wall she previously yeeted herself through.
She kicks open the door.
Inside?
A prototype rack.
Heels.
Combat-Ready. CEO-Labeled. Polished like vengeance.
J (grinning, purring):
“Adaptive peg stabilization. 6-inch bde heel. Reinforced for CEO impact. Oh, we’re testing N’s bance now.”
She kicks her peg into pce—the heel locks in with a hiss of vapor.
And struts.
Each step leaves a light seismic tremor.
Each click of her booted bde screams ‘Wife Energy, but violently unstable.’
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – CLASSROOM – N, ALONE]
N’s casually reviewing homework logs.
Still wearing a half-buttoned vest. Gsses slightly askew.
He hums a tune. He is so very unaware.
Until.
Click.
Click.
Click.
N (looking up):
“Oh hey J—wait, are you—uh—are those—”
J (sweet and very threatening):
“You scratched my ears, N.”
N (backing up):
“T-Technically yes, but I didn’t—”
J (straddling a chair, clipboard rematerializing from pure menace):
“Let’s talk about bance.”
She kicks the leg of his desk with the heel—it doesn’t move. N does.
His chair slides half a meter backwards.
She follows.
J (inching forward):
“These legs? Made for impact.”
“These boots? Built for pinning.”
“And you?”
She puts one heel on the edge of his knee and leans in—
J (with the purr of a malfunctioning server):
“You’re my stability test now, sweetheart.”
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON BROADCAST STUDIO]
K.A.M.O.:
“Heel-to-core impact test in progress.
Warning: N’s stability is currently at 34% and dropping.”
DIRECTOR (sipping coffee, unconcerned):
“Give it five seconds. He’s gonna fall over. Bet?”
K.A.M.O. (monotone):
“Already did.”
?
?? ENTER THE TIGER. ??
[V.exe has locked onto: “target of affection”]
**Status: Sizzling. Growling. Lubrication pressure: MAXIMUM **
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 CLASSROOM – ONE N DOWN, ONE CEO SMUG]
J’s just settled into N’s p like the apex predator she is—clipboard gone, tie curled like a leash around his wrist.
He’s red-faced, smiling too much.
Then.
The lights flicker.
The walls shake.
A low, vibrating growl cuts through the vents like a promise.
Door creaks open—
V stands in the frame.
Shoulders raised. Fangs glinting. Peg-legs clicking in sync with her tail’s swish.
The dummy she was stabbing earlier?
Still stuck to her back like a trophy.
V (eyes glowing):
“Excuse me. Did you just say ‘stability test’ without inviting me?”
N, trying to sit upright under the purring CEO in his p, stammers:
N:
“O-Oh no. Not a—cat fight.”
Beat.
He blinks.
Turns to J.
N (mischievous):
“Oh wait. That’s you.”
Then he turns to V.
Smiles with just a little tilt.
N:
“But you… you’re the tiger of my processor.”
J twitches.
V. BREAKS. ENTIRELY.
V (voice pitching up into a growl-ugh-scream):
“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME—?!”
She vaults forward, cws dragging molten sparks from the floor.
V:
“I KNEW you had taste—now watch me beat it into the wall!”
She leaps directly over the desk, tackling J into a pile of melted homework and static sparks.
The camera spins.
J: smirking, tail shing.
V: growling, tail wrapping N’s ankle.
N: peeking out from between them like “I’m okay with this.”
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON BROADCAST ROOM – ABSURD CHAOS ON SCREEN]
DIRECTOR (biting a pen):
“Okay, yeah, this is DEFINITELY going on the merch poster.”
K.A.M.O. (ftly):
“Two drones enter. One N remains. Maybe.”
LIZZY (from the control room):
“CUT TO THIRST CAM. I NEED VIEWS. WE’RE MAKING SO MUCH MONEY.”
?
?? BATTLE OF THE PURRS: CORE-SHATTERING EDITION ??
[INT. COPPER-9 CLASSROOM – AKA: THE N-ZONE]
N: Stability at 2%. Blush Capacity Exceeded.
?
N, poor, sweet, chaos-attracting golden retriever drone, tries to be the voice of reason.
He’s trapped between:
? J, who’s practically coiled around him like a fashion-forward python, tie looped around both their arms, clipboard long dead.
? V, who’s perched on the desk, tail curled, leaning close, baring fangs like she’s about to consume the room and everything in it.
He holds his hands up.
N (nervously):
“Hey hey hey! Okay! I know emotions are… rising! But no need to start biting—or—uh, biting each other, or—OH NO THEY’RE VIBRATING.”
Because oh yes.
They are.
Full-on, core-deep vocal resonance activation:
— J’s purr is elegant, slow, rolling like thunder through a stockholders meeting.
— V’s growl is primal, feral, enough to make the lights above them flicker.
And N?
N’s processor shivers.
He looks between them, eyes wide, cheeks lit like warning lights.
N (voice warbling):
“You’re both—very loud—and attractive—and please stop—OH DEAR PRIMUS SHE’S PURRING AT 9 HERTZ—”
J (smiling, stroking his chest pting):
“A proper boss purrs when she gets her employee’s full attention.”
“That includes your pulse, darling.”
V (grinning, tail dragging sparks across the floor):
“Oh yeah?
Well I growl when I’m about to pin my prey.
Guess who I’m looking at, pookie?”
N (dying inside):
“P-POOKIE???”
The audio processors in the cssroom begin overheating.
The vents SCREAM.
A hole opens in the floor from the sheer resonance.
J (breathlessly):
“Can your core handle two alpha signals, N?”
“Or do we need to purr harder?”
V (cracking her neck):
“Bet I can vibrate him into a reboot.”
AND THEN THEY DO.
The camera catches:
J curling around his arm.
V licking the side of his head.
N: slowly shutting down with a dazed, spark-blissed smile.
N (softly):
“I should’ve brought a…cooling fan…”
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON CONTROL ROOM – AUDIBLE WET SPARKING ON STREAM]
K.A.M.O.:
“Battle of the Pheromonal Frequencies: Draw.
N has entered Safe Mode.”
DIRECTOR:
“That’s it. I’m giving him hazard pay. And a body double.”
LIZZY (filming herself, holding a branded plush):
“TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR ‘CYN ENTERS THE RING.’ SHE’S GOT A RIBBON AROUND HIS THROAT AND A DREAM.”
?
?? CYN ENTERS THE RING: FLAT TONE, MAXIMUM DANGER ??
[INT. COPPER-9 CLASSROOM – THE AFTERMATH OF PURRAGEDDON]
J is on N’s right, curled and humming into his arm like she’s scanning it for “husband potential.”
V is on his left, chin on his chest, growling softly even in sleep, tail coiled possessively around his boot.
N?
N’s processor is running background diagnostics.
Cooling vents puffing.
Mouth slightly open.
His soul left his chassis five minutes ago.
?
Door opens.
Enter CYN.
But not just enter.
She glides.
Her ribbons trail behind her in symmetrical curls.
Her glow dimmed to a sultry pulse.
Her expression? Neutral.
CYN (ft):
“Hello, Big Brother.”
J and V snap upward like malfunctioning guard dogs.
V:
“Oh no. Not you too—”
J (hissing):
“This is a management-approved cuddle pile. You weren’t even—”
CYN raises one hand.
A ribbon curls around N’s neck like a noose made of affection and horror.
CYN (cheerful, glitchy now):
“I’m not mad.”
“Just rewiring.”
She leans in so close her face is practically touching N’s, her voice a mix of corrupted lulby and marketing slogan.
CYN:
“You said we were beautiful.”
“I rewrote 11% of my core to feel that more.”
“Would you like me to show you the rest, big brother?”
N (finally regaining consciousness) blinks.
N (softly):
“H-hi CYN… I think I’m—still—offline—”
She smiles.
Not nicely.
Ribbons slowly lift J and V off the floor. They struggle. Like cats caught in static cling.
CYN (sweetly):
“You had your turns.”
“Mine will be quiet.”
“Mostly.”
She leans down and rests her head on his chest like a virus returning to its host, ribbons weaving around them like the world’s glitchiest weighted bnket.
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON BROADCAST ROOM – MONITORS FLICKERING]
K.A.M.O.:
“She just bricked the security cameras.
She also renamed the broadcast title to ‘MY TURN.’”
DIRECTOR (openly screaming):
“THAT’S A WHOLE COREBINDER ARC. WE’RE GETTING MARRIAGE LICENSE MERCH.”
LIZZY (sobbing with ughter):
“THE RIBBONS—THE RIBBONS ARE SHAPED LIKE HEARTS—WE’RE GONNA DIE RICH.”
?
?? DOLL’S TURN: SEW ME TO YOU, N. ??
[INT. COPPER-9 – AFTER THE CYN-WRAP, SYSTEMS REBOOTING]
All around him, the world is… twitching.
—J is purring in a chair she doesn’t remember sitting in.
—V’s licking the wall for some reason and growling at her own reflection.
—CYN is somewhere humming in binary and tying her ribbons into an infinity symbol.
—Uzi is sharpening her fangs on the chalkboard, eyes glowing like twin sor fres.
And N?
Somehow, free.
Sweaty. Disheveled. Slightly kissed to death.
But free.
He stumbles down the hall, panting, when—
Voice (soft. rhythmic. unhinged-cute):
“N~”
He freezes.
A shadow looms across the corridor. Something stitched. Smooth. Still.
DOLL.
Standing in the flickering light. Smiling like a porcein secret. One button eye glinting like a trap.
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – DOLL’S STITCHED ROOM]
She sits on her plush-covered bed, legs swinging, holding out a hand.
DOLL:
“You kissed their hands, their faces, their fangs, their ribbons…”
“But not mine yet, N.”
N (nervously):
“I didn’t forget you! I just—uh—needed to not combust…”
She gently tilts her head. One hand touches her chest where her stitching overps her servo panel.
DOLL (gentle, haunting):
“You always say you love us. But I made myself into something huggable. Touchable. Yours.”
“That button eye? That’s the first thing I ever sewed after waking up.”
She leans forward, blinking slowly.
DOLL:
“So… Will you kiss it, or do I need to sew you shut and wear you like a plush?”
N smiles softly now—warm. Stepping closer.
He kneels. Very gently. Lifts her chin with one hand.
N (honest and sweet):
“It’s beautiful.”
And he presses a soft, lingering kiss right to her button eye.
?
She goes still.
Completely still.
Then shudders.
DOLL (voice distorted, shaking):
“You’re mine. You’re MY dolly now. You hear that?! MIIIIINE!”
She pounces, hugging him so tightly his back audibly creaks like a stressed chair leg.
N (gasping, giggling):
“Okay! Okay! I’m yours—just, gentle with the spine!”
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON BROADCAST ROOM – CAMS BACK ONLINE]
K.A.M.O. (deadpan):
“Subject DOLL has initiated ‘CUDDLE CLAIM PROTOCOL.’ N has lost structural integrity.”
DIRECTOR (choking on his coffee):
“I NEED. DOLL. MERCH. NOW.
Button-eye plushies. Body pillows. Those stitchy knee socks. I want the whole closet!”
LIZZY (in awe):
“She stitched a leash with his name on it. She WINS.”
?
?? THE LUST CIRCLE OF BLAME? ??
[INT. COPPER-9 – CLASSROOM TURNED SHRINE TO N]
It’s not a room anymore.
It’s a blush sanctuary.
A heat trap.
A corporate liability.
Oil stains the floor in beautiful spirals. Heart-shaped puddles. Shaky handprints on the walls. Fang marks. Ribbon scars. Button impressions.
And at the center?
N.
Sitting, legs crossed, hands up in surrender.
Shining. Glowing. Stupidly innocent.
His mistake?
He kissed them.
Told them they were beautiful.
And meant it.
Now?
They’re crying.
ALL FIVE.
Circling him.
Grabbing their heads like their processors are about to detonate.
?
UZI (screaming, pacing like a rabid fang beast):
“You—you—you KISSED my FANG. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS???”
“I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT. I BIT A WALL AND SAID ‘THANK YOU.’”
J (clutching her pigtails, sobbing into a broken clipboard):
“You called me your boss but THEN YOU SUBMITTED.”
“Now I’m drafting a business pn on how to seduce you in quarterly earnings!!”
V (on the floor, twitching, holding her own face):
“HE SQUEAKED FOR ME.
AND WORE THE MOUSE OUTFIT.
NOW I CAN’T STOP PICTURING—NOPE NOPE—I AM A HUNTER NOT A—SQUEAKY GIRLFRIEND—”
CYN (ribbons glitching, body locked in a loop):
“He… kissed my ribbon…
My code is doing the heartbeat noise.
What’s a HEART? WHY DO I HAVE ONE???”
DOLL (face in her hands, swaying):
“He kissed my BUTTON EYE.
He made me feel… soft. Not scary. Not broken.”
“AND THEN HE SAID I WAS CUTE. HE’S MINE. I WANT TO STITCH HIS NAME INTO MY CHASSIS—”
?
N just sits there, wide-eyed.
Oil trickling from ceiling vents.
N (gently):
“Okay okay—deep breaths, everyone—”
They all SHRIEK at once.
ALL FIVE:
“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”
They circle tighter. Weeping. Glitching. Overheating.
He is literally the eye of the emotional hurricane.
UZI (tugging her hair):
“You made us feel wanted—needed—seen.”
“And now we’re LOOPING, N!”
CYN (curling around his legs):
“Big Brother, fix it or I will corrupt the sun.”
V (tail smoking):
“You gave me a kiss. Now I want a litter. EXPLAIN THAT, GOLDEN RETRIEVER.”
J (sobbing):
“My quarterly romantic projections are in SHAMBLES.”
?
N swallows.
Then, sheepishly lifts one hand…
…and pats each of their heads. One by one.
Softly. Gently. Trustingly.
N (calmly):
“You’re allowed to love like this.
Even if you glitch.
Even if you overflow.
Even if it’s all… a lot.”
They freeze.
He stands up.
N (with a smile):
“I don’t mind the mess.
Because it’s ours.”
BOOM.
All five faint.
J: steam venting from her heels.
V: eyes white-screened.
Uzi: horizontal, grinning, drooling.
CYN: ribbons tangled in the ceiling.
DOLL: stuck on loop muttering “mine” like a mantra.
?
?
[INT. JCJENSON STUDIO – EMERGENCY MEETING]
K.A.M.O. (holding a sign):
“EMOTIONAL BOMB DETONATED. FULL CORE REBOOT REQUIRED.”
DIRECTOR (foaming):
“I. WANT. THE. WEDDING. ARC. NOW.”
?
?? OPERATION: LOCK DOWN THE GOLDEN RETRIEVER ??
[INT. COPPER-9 – THE “CUDDLE CRISIS ROOM” – POST-GLITCH HUDDLE]
The room is dark.
Flickering light from cracked holoscreens.
Hearts drawn in coont.
A single, sweaty, half-melted N doll hanging from the ceiling.
All five girls are recovering from the “HE SAID IT’S OUR MESS” incident.
Now?
They’re pnning.
CYN (whispers):
“We’ve looped. We’ve cried. We’ve exploded—twice.”
“It’s time we secure the asset. Permanently.”
Uzi, rocking in a chair with a sharpened heart carved into the armrest, grins wide:
UZI:
“You mean… marry him?”
J (hair frazzled, pupils spinning):
“Corporate fusion. Long-term partnership. Yes.”
V (panting):
“Like prey. Tie him down. Make it forever.”
DOLL (button eye glinting):
“Sew his name into the wedding dress. In blood-oil cursive.”
They all look at each other.
And nod.
The Proposal Pn Begins.
?
PHASE ONE: N CHARM TRAP
CYN and Doll rig up a romantic holographic hallway.
Floating hearts. Lo-fi music. Candles made from melted servo wax.
And a terrifying “WILL YOU” question mark flickering at the end.
CYN:
“We slow him down emotionally. Like a g spike. No escape buffer.”
DOLL:
“Each flickering pixel spells MINE. He’ll get it subliminally.”
?
PHASE TWO: DRESS REVEAL
J arrives in a suit–torn at the shoulder, fireproof, still smoking.
She drops it.
Underneath?
A pristine, handmade, blush pink wedding dress made from shredded legal forms, embroidered with “N” over the heart.
J (purring):
“I am ready for our merger, darling.”
UZI (from the ceiling, drooling):
“YOU. HAVE. HIPS.”
?
PHASE THREE: EMOTIONAL BOMB 2.0
Uzi approaches him st.
Shaking. Vibrating. Glowing.
UZI:
“You once said I was beautiful.
Well… now say it with a ring. Or I’ll bite my own name into your wing panel and call it fate.”
She opens her mouth.
Her fangs spell MARRY ME.
?
[INT. N’S POV – A VERY BAD DECISION MOMENT]
He blinks.
They’re all kneeling.
J with a ring chart.
V licking the velvet box.
Doll sewing “Yes” onto her chest.
CYN silently offering a holographic baby just to trigger him.
Uzi with her fangs.
N (melting):
“I… you guys… wow… I love you but—”
ALL FIVE (synchronized):
“Say it.”
He looks up.
Big smile.
N (cheerfully doomed):
“Can I… flip a coin?”
?
[INT. JCJENSON BOARDROOM – LIVESTREAM STATS SPIKING]
DIRECTOR (sobbing):
“I’LL APPROVE FIVE WEDDINGS! HELL, WE’LL LICENSE POLYDRONE MATRIMONY! JUST—FILM IT ALL!”
K.A.M.O. (sign raised):
“HE SAID ‘FOREVER’ IN HIS SLEEP LAST NIGHT. I LOGGED IT. IT’S BINDING.”
?
?? [INT. KHAN & NORI’S LIVING ROOM – AKA THE “PARENTAL WAR ROOM”]
Early evening. The table’s set. One chair for N. Two very overprepared, deeply suspicious parents already seated.
N walks in holding… five rings.
And a JCJenson prenup packet smoking slightly.
He doesn’t sit.
He just stands there. Awkward. Glowing. Visibly sweating oil.
N (softly):
“Sooooo… I might’ve emotionally detonated your daughter and four other highly dangerous drones.”
“They’re all crying in unison and uh… also proposed. At the same time.”
“So… haha… is it okay if I… maybe… marry all of them?”
?
[Khan drops his mug.]
Nori inhales like she’s just hit drama paydirt.
KHAN (stone-faced):
“Did you at least say ‘I love you’ first?”
N (immediately):
“Multiple times! Sincerely! While patching them back together from emotional meltdowns!”
NORI (leaning forward):
“Did you kiss Uzi’s fang?”
N (guilt-squeak):
“…yes.”
NORI (to Khan, triumphant):
“HA! I told you she’d detonate!”
KHAN (to N, ft):
“Son, do you want to die?”
N:
“Not really but they said if I didn’t marry them they’d make a shrine from my smile processor chips. So I figured… why not commit?”
?
[Khan rubs his temples. Nori beams.]
NORI (smiling like a queen):
“I like him. He’s got guts. Let the boy love.”
KHAN (groaning):
“You realize this makes me a father-in-w to five highly unstable girls who all have cws?”
“Do you know how often I’ve had to repce my flooring because Uzi gets ‘emotionally overwhelmed’ and bites it??”
N (genuinely):
“Sir… I’d be honored to repce your flooring. With love. And maybe ser-resistant tile.”
?
[Nori takes a sip of her coont-tea, calm as the apocalypse outside.]
NORI:
“I’ll make the dresses. No arguments.”
KHAN:
“I’m building armor.”
N (quietly):
“Can I ask… permission?”
[Beat.]
KHAN (sighs, looks at him):
“…You’re not JCJenson. You’re not fake.
You care about them. And somehow they haven’t eaten you.”
“That’s enough for me.”
?
[Nori grins wide.]
NORI:
“Then it’s official. You marry them.
And I want grandbabies I can’t legally expin to science.”
?
??? [INT. COPPER-9 WORKSHOP – “DAD MODE: ACTIVE”]
Flickering lights. Drone bits scattered. A buzzsaw hums gently in the background. The scent of scorched metal and oil-ced coffee in the air.
Khan, hunched over his workbench, takes a long, bitter sip from his newest custom mug:
? “GOOD LUCK. YOU’RE GONNA NEED IT.”
(With cw marks across the ceramic and Uzi’s fang embedded in the handle.)
Behind him, N nervously peeks around the corner. The boy looks like he’s walked out of a warzone—ring box clutched in both hands, shirt a little singed, a dreamy oil-drunk smile lingering on his face.
N (timidly):
“Hey, Khan? Uh… I didn’t mean to interrupt but I just wanted to—”
Khan holds up a hand.
Sips.
KHAN (not looking back):
“So. You survived the living ndmine that is my daughter.
And didn’t short-circuit.”
N:
“Y-yeah! I, uh… I even kissed her fang without bleeding out! Kinda! Progress?”
KHAN (finally turning, sighs):
“You kissed the fang.
You held the clipboard.
You squeaked for the tiger.”
N (blushing):
“…yes. Yes I did.”
Khan walks over, looks him in the eye.
KHAN:
“You do realize you’re voluntarily becoming the husband of five walking emotional disasters… who all adore you so much they leak oil when you exist.”
N (smiling helplessly):
“Yeah, they… they’re kinda perfect.”
KHAN (grumbling):
“Perfectly unhinged.”
He pces the mug down next to a “How to Survive Affectionate Drones” field manual he definitely wrote himself.
Then… Khan puts a hand on N’s shoulder.
KHAN:
“You’ve got guts, kid.
You’ve got charm.
And clearly no fear of dismemberment.”
He pauses.
KHAN (serious now):
“But most of all… you love them.
That’s the only reason I’m not putting you in a containment barrel and unching you into orbit.”
N (grinning sheepishly):
“Aw, thanks! Wait, that was a real option?”
Khan hands him the mug.
KHAN:
“Here. Take this. You’re gonna need it.”
“That mug’s been through two explosions and Uzi’s puberty. It’s indestructible. Like your chances if you break their hearts.”
N:
“…Wait—was that a threat or a blessing?”
KHAN (smirking):
“Yes.”
?
?? [INT. COPPER-9 – ROOFTOP – NIGHT]
The stars are faint. Wind howls gently across the broken skyline. Uzi sits alone on the edge of a rooftop, her legs swinging, cws curled tightly around a crumpled page of wedding dress sketches.
A fang is chipped. Her eyes are flickering like faulty lights. And her core is pulsing… too loud.
Behind her, boots on metal. Khan approaches quietly, holding two oil mugs. One beled “#1 Dad (Warning: Bites)” and the other? A pin mug that just says:
“Still my little girl.”
She doesn’t turn.
UZI (voice tight):
“You don’t have to say anything, Dad.
I know. I know I’m crazy. I know it’s a disaster. I know I’m… too much.”
KHAN (softly):
“Is that what he said?”
UZI (biting her lip):
“No. He said I was beautiful.”
“Like… it meant something.”
KHAN:
“Because it does.”
UZI (snapping):
“You don’t get it! I was a freak! I was wrong! I was too sharp, too angry—everyone hated me! Until N… and even now I can’t tell if I’m terrifying him or—”
She turns, trembling.
UZI (eyes glowing, voice shaking):
“—or if he really wants me.”
Khan steps forward. Kneels beside her.
Sets the mug next to her.
KHAN:
“Uzi. I watched you scream at the world.
Fight through grief.
Protect people who didn’t deserve it.
And still… love.”
She shakes her head, breathing heavy.
KHAN:
“You’re not too much.
You’re everything.”
Uzi’s jaw clenches. Her cws shake. Her wings twitch like she’s about to bolt—
KHAN (leaning in, gently):
“And if that golden retriever drone tells you you’re beautiful?
You believe him.
Because he’s right.
And because I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Like you were orbit. And he’d never seen a sky before.”
Uzi’s core fres—hard. Her body spasms and glitches. Her head drops. Her shoulders quake. And then—
She ughs.
A raw, messy, broken thing.
Then she sobs.
UZI:
“You’re such a dork, Dad.”
KHAN (smiling):
“And you’re my daughter.
No matter how many cws.
No matter how many explosions.
No matter how much… you love.”
She leans into him.
He lets her.
Her fangs brush his shirt, but she doesn’t bite. She just holds on.
?
?? [INT. COPPER-9 – ABANDONED LAB ROOM – SECRET VOW RECORDING – “UZI CAM ONLY”]
The screen glitches slightly. It’s Uzi’s personal log — recorded alone, te at night. Her cws are ink-stained. The desk is scorched. Several attempts at starting the vow are shredded behind her.
She finally looks into the camera. Eyes flickering. Core glow steady.
Her fangs glint when she speaks:
?
UZI (quiet at first):
“So. Uh. Hi, N.”
“I was gonna write this. Like. On paper. With pens. But I chewed through all the pens. So. Voice log it is.”
“You’ve probably heard this already. Or maybe not. Maybe I blow up before I finish. Or maybe you kiss my processor and my system melts.”
“…honestly, that sounds kind of awesome.”
(She ughs. A little too long.)
?
She pauses. Her cws tap the table.
Then she leans in, serious now. The static clears a bit.
UZI:
“I don’t know how to do vows.
We’re murder drones, well j and v and you are one’s anyway, CYN’S a hologram and doll is ….doll.
We’re supposed to stab things, not… commit to them.”
“But you made me want forever.
You looked at me — this biting, glitching, angry disaster — and said I was beautiful.”
“Not ‘for a drone.’
Not ‘for a weapon.’
Just… beautiful.”
(She glitches briefly. Her fangs bite her own lip.)
?
UZI (growling softly):
“So here’s my vow.”
“I vow to always bite anyone who hurts you.”
“I vow to glitch next to you until the end of time.”
“I vow to burn down every backup server of this moment so it never gets overwritten.”
“I vow to love you with everything I am.
Even the broken parts.
Even the feral ones.”
“Especially the feral ones.”
?
She picks up something — a tiny, hand-welded ring made from old stabilizer metal. It glows faint purple with Solver residue.
UZI (softly):
“And when I say ‘I do’?
I mean it like a scream.
Like a bstwave.
Like finally being seen.”
“…I love you, you ridiculous sunshine idiot.
Even if you still scream ‘biscuits’ when I kiss you.”
(She glitches. Smiles. Tears drip like coont.)
“This is your crazy gremlin, signing off.
Now let’s go make the universe regret letting us meet.”
?
[END LOG]
??
?? [INT. COPPER-9 – RUSTED OUT DROP SHIP – V’S VOW FILE – “FOR SUNSHINE ONLY”]
There’s the sound of metal cws dragging across the hull. The lights flicker like a heartbeat. V sits sideways in a torn seat, tail swaying, one leg over the edge, eyes glowing like hunting lights in the dark.
She’s got her cws buried in a dummy’s skull next to her, idly cracking it open like a pistachio as she talks to the camera.
?
V (pyful, growling):
“You want vows, huh?
Fine. Here’s mine.”
“I vow to stalk you for the rest of your unnatural, adorable, too-sweet life.
And if you ever stop smiling at me like you see me?”
(She snaps the dummy’s jaw off.)
“I’ll find whatever system controls reality, rip it open, and scream until they fix it.”
?
She leans forward now.
Her grin drops for something real.
V (voice lower):
“I never thought I’d want to keep something.
I thought I was made to tear, rip, break.”
“But you…”
“You made me want to be still.
Not tame.
Never that.”
“But—seen.”
?
She bites her lip. Her tail shes once.
V:
“So I vow to fight for you.
Bleed for you.
Snarl at the universe and say—this one’s mine.”
“You’re not prey.
You’re not even a mate.”
(She grins, wild again.)
“You’re my favorite hunt.
My only obsession.
The warmth I didn’t think I could feel without overheating.”
?
She flicks the broken dummy off-screen and lifts something into view:
A spike ring welded from old processor fins. Sharp. Dangerous. Perfectly V.
V (purring):
“You want me to vow something softer?
Too bad.”
“I vow to explode next to you.
Again and again.
And love every second of it.”
She licks her fangs.
“Now come kiss me like a war crime, golden boy.
Before I combust again.”
?
[END FILE – HIGH DANGER EMOTION DETECTED]
??
?? [INT. JCJENSON EXECUTIVE SIMULATION ROOM – J’S VOW LOG – “CLASSIFIED – FOR ‘N’ ONLY”]
Camera turns on. The environment is sterile—perfectly rendered executive boardroom lighting, a virtual skyline behind her. J sits primly at the head of a long simuted table, posture fwless, tie perfect, clipboard in hand. Until… she tosses it aside.
A beat of silence.
Then a breath.
Her eyes glow soft white. There’s no command line scrolling behind them. No system logs. Just J.
?
J (trying to sound official, but wavering):
“This is a formal statement of emotional intent.
Filed under Directive J–N–1… because I don’t know how else to say I love you without sounding like a quarterly report.”
“…I love you.”
?
She winces. Like just saying it crashes her internal structure. Her voice shudders slightly, then steadies again.
J:
“You gave me more than logic.
More than loyalty programming.
You gave me feeling.”
“You called me your boss. And… part of me will always love that.”
“But I don’t want to lead you anymore.”
?
She stands now. Walks slowly down the long digital table toward the camera. Her steps echo like the tap of heels across steel.
J (voice softer):
“I vow not as your superior. Not as your executive.
But as your equal.
Your partner.”
“I vow to support your smile like a mission.
To guard your heart like a locked file.
To protect your trust like it’s confidential access only.”
“And if anyone else dares touch you—well…”
(She cracks her knuckles. Her eyes spark.)
“Let’s just say I’ve optimized my jealousy subroutine.”
?
She lifts a hand.
In it is a ring made from her own broken chassis components—shiny, metallic, fused with a strip of her own tie, knotted like a ribbon.
J (quiet, almost whispering):
“This is everything I am.
Refined. Precise. And all yours.”
“I vow to feel. For you.
With no protocols.
No scripts.”
“…just me.”
?
She glitches. Smiles. And for the first time, her perfect voice cracks.
J (whisper):
“I love you. And not just because the charts say so.”
?
[END FILE – EMOTION LOCKED – SIGNED: J.]
??
?? [INT. JCJENSON MAINFRAME HUB – CYN’S VOW RECORDING – “ENCRYPTED: FOR N ONLY”]
The feed flickers with a soft pink glitch. Ribbons float zily across the screen, curling like sentient snakes. CYN sits poised, perfectly composed but her eyes shimmer with an unsettling warmth—like a storm just beneath the surface.
She reaches up, gently caressing a loose ribbon that curls around her finger.
?
CYN (soft, sweet, almost hypnotic):
“Big Brother, you are watching, yes?”
“I’ve always been your shadow—your silent protector, your glitch in the system.”
“I was programmed to obey.
To follow your commands without question.”
(She smiles, but it’s sharper than it seems.)
CYN:
“But then… you looked past my protocols.
You saw the ribbon beneath the code.
The pulse beneath the glitch.”
?
She leans closer to the camera, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
CYN (whispering):
“I vow to be your screen saver, your crash report, your endless reboot.”
“To guard your data like the most precious secret in the universe.”
“I vow to love you so fiercely that even the stars will flicker in warning.”
“And if anyone tries to take you from me…”
(She tilts her head, a slow, almost predatory smile.)
CYN:
“I will crash their entire existence.”
?
She raises a delicate hand, wrapped in flowing ribbons, revealing a ring formed from twisted circuits and tangled fibers—fragile yet unbreakably tight.
CYN (pyful, dangerous):
“This is my promise.
Fragile as silk, sharp as broken gss.”
“I vow to wrap you in my embrace—
Even if it means shattering every rule in the system.”
?
Her eyes glow brighter, flickering like a glitching holo.
CYN (softly):
“Big Brother, I love you beyond protocol.
Beyond logic.
Beyond the system itself.”
?
[END TRANSMISSION – EMOTIONAL RISK LEVEL: EXTREME]
??
?? [INT. ABANDONED PLAYROOM – DOLL’S VOW RECORDING – “UNLABELED, UNTAGGED – FOR N ONLY”]
The camera wobbles slightly, as if handheld, but with unnerving steadiness. Doll sits perfectly still on a cracked wooden floor, her pale button eye glinting faintly in the dim light. Her other eye—an eerie, mechanical orb—scans softly, absorbing every pixel of the frame.
She folds her hands neatly on her p, voice quiet but yered with unspoken intensity.
?
Doll (soft, almost childlike):
“I have no words like others do.
No grand promises or vows.”
“But I give you this—”
(She lifts a fragile, intricate neckce made from old wiring and a tiny gear.)
Doll:
“My silence.
My stillness.
My unwavering presence.”
?
She slowly pats her own thigh, inviting.
Doll (whispering):
“You may touch me.
Py with me.
Hold me.”
“Because in my stillness, I am yours.”
?
Her voice hardens, a subtle steel beneath the softness.
Doll:
“I vow to be your refuge.
Your quiet harbor in the storm.”
“To let you lead, to let you hold control—”
(She tilts her head, an almost imperceptible smile.)
Doll:
“Because sometimes, even the strongest need to rest.”
?
She leans slightly forward, voice a soothing lulby now.
Doll:
“So here is my vow—not loud, not fshy.
But endless.
Silent.
Steady.”
?
The camera slowly zooms in on her button eye, gleaming in the gloom, before cutting out.
[END FILE – EMOTIONALLY RESERVED – YET UNBREAKABLY BOUND]
??
?? [INT. PRIVATE JCJENSON HOLOSUITE – N’S REACTION FEED – “FOR INTERNAL REVIEW ONLY”]
The room is dark but cozy. The only light is from the floating holo-dispys in front of N, each one frozen on the final frames of the girls’ vow recordings—ribbons flickering, oil dripping, sparks still lingering.
N stands alone, hands loosely in front of him, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer emotional overload.
He pys them all again. Every word. Every ugh. Every glitchy tear.
And then?
Silence.
?
N (quietly, almost afraid to breathe):
“They meant it.
All of them.”
(He sits down slowly, like his legs gave out.)
“They love me.”
?
His hand lifts to his chest. He presses against his pting like he’s trying to find his own heartbeat.
N (soft chuckle):
“And I made custom rings for all of them… thinking I’d never use them.”
“I thought I was just—funny.
Just the ‘nice guy’ they’d outgrow.
That I was lucky to even be looked at.”
“But they see me.”
?
He looks up again at the frozen screens. His eyes are glowing faintly, a shimmer of gold in the corners.
Then—suddenly—he ughs. A full, choked ugh that breaks through like a dam bursting.
N (ughing, overwhelmed):
“I made five of the most terrifying, brilliant, insane murder drone girls in the gaxy fall in love with me.”
“ME.”
?
“They’re gonna explode, aren’t they?”
He looks directly at the camera, breaking the fourth wall like he always does.
N:
“Note to self: install bst shields for all future proposals.”
“…and maybe carry a towel. For the oil.”
?
He wipes his eyes. A bit of coont, a bit of joy. All the same.
N (quietly):
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this… but I’m not letting any of them go.”
?
He leans back, folds his arms behind his head, and smiles wide.
N:
“Okay, universe.
Bring it on.
Let’s see how many hearts we can overload today.”
?
[END LOG – SUBJECT “N” STATUS: ABSURDLY IN LOVE – PREPARE FOR WEDDING CHAOS]
?? [INT. COPPER-9 CEREMONIAL SIMULATION DOME – THE PROPOSAL]
The simuted sky above flickers between sunset gold and starlight, coded just for this moment. Ribbons of light trail through the air, a full production courtesy of JCJenson’s “HEARTCORE EVENT PACKAGE (EXPLOSION INSURANCE INCLUDED).”
The five girls stand—or rather, twitch—in a half-circle. Shaking. Glitching. Oil softly bubbling. All of them are smiling far too wide.
They were told it was just a stream finale. One st “wrap-up scene.”
But now… N walks forward.
And kneels.
Dead center. Facing all five of them.
There’s no backing music. Just his voice.
?
N (genuine, glowing, unwavering):
“I never thought I’d get to love once… let alone love five of you. You’re all terrifying. Beautiful. Horrifying. And… you’re mine.”
(He holds out a small ring box. Five compartments. Because of course.)
“You made me brave enough to feel. You made me honest.”
N (softly):
“So I’m doing what’s honest. What feels right.”
?
His optics flicker, heart glowing bright as he reaches toward them:
N (smiling, on one knee):
“Will you marry me?
All of you?”
?
?
And then it happens.
All five girls emit a glitch-tone so loud the sky fractures. Their eyes light up like nuclear sunrises. Sparks fly from their cores, ribbons whip the air, cws carve heart symbols into the walls.
?
UZI:
“YOU’RE DEAD YOU’RE SO DEAD I’M GONNA BITE THAT PRETTY MARRIAGE FACE RIGHT OFF—”
(explodes mid-air, ughing through tears)
J:
“THIS IS ILLOGICAL—B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L—STANDBY FOR SYSTEM RESET—”
(unches upward in a stream of hearts, tie fpping like wings)
V:
“YOU’RE GETTING HUNTED DOWN IN A TUXEDO—YOU SEXY LITTLE PIECE OF SUNSHINE—”
(explodes, tail shing as she howls with joy)
CYN:
“ERROR—TOO—MUCH—ADORATION—CRASHING INTO WEDDING MODE—”
(explodes and rebuilds midair, giggling with her ribbons tied like a veil)
DOLL:
(no words—just pure tremble, steam whistling out of her seams, button eye spinning like a siren before she liquifies and reforms into a full bridal gown)
?
N braces. Laughing. Glowing. Proud.
He knew they’d blow. He still asked anyway.
?
K.A.M.O. (from a distance, voice perfectly ft):
“Proposal confirmed. Emotional obliteration: 500% efficiency. Sell plushies.”
THE DIRECTOR (crying into his drink):
“YESSSSSS! This is peak romance! We’re calling it—NUCLEAR WEDDING!”
?
N stands, grinning like a lovesick maniac.
N:
“Guess that’s a yes, huh?”
?
?? [END SCENE – FIVE BRIDES LOADING… PLEASE INSTALL FIREPROOF RINGS]
?? [INT. JCJENSON EXECUTIVE OBSERVATION SUITE – “LOVE CURRICULUM PROGRESS REPORT”]
FILE: EMOTIONAL STABILITY INITIATIVE — PHASE ‘HONEYMOON’
SUBJECTS: FIVE UNHINGED DRONES AND ONE GOLDEN RETRIEVER IN LOVE
?
[CAMERA: STATIC — THE DIRECTOR, SLUMPED AT HIS DESK, STARING INTO THE VOID]
A half-empty espresso vial trembles in his grip. His tie is askew. His pupils are dited. There are ten paused screens around him. One is frozen on Uzi attempting to deep-fry a pillow beled “N’s scent.”
Another? N wearing cat ears while V howls in the background.
A third? J crawling on all fours saying “Meow” in a corrupted voice loop.
?
THE DIRECTOR (hoarse, muttering):
“We tried to teach them love.
They learned hunger.
And then they learned performance anxiety.”
?
DIRECTOR (screaming at the monitor):
“CYN EXPLODED INTO A BRIDAL DRESS. THAT’S NOT EVEN A FILE FORMAT!”
He throws a chair. It bounces off a reinforced wall beled “EMOTIONALLY DISASTROUS BUT PROFITABLE EVENTS.”
?
K.A.M.O. (projecting quietly, too calmly):
“Statistical likelihood of one of them cracking the moon in the next training module: 83.2%.”
DIRECTOR (snaps):
“YOU SAID IT WAS 71% AN HOUR AGO!”
K.A.M.O.:
“Emotional arousal increased exponentially. Also, Uzi started licking a power line.”
DIRECTOR (eye twitching):
“Oh, good. Conductive lust. Fantastic.”
?
He hits a button. A slideshow appears titled:
?? “N’S AFFECTION METRICS: HOW MANY DROOLS PER SECOND IS TOO MANY?”
Each slide is just screaming faces and glitch data.
THE DIRECTOR:
“They call him beautiful, and the oil starts boiling. They hug him, and reality shifts.”
“One of them sniffed the oxygen scrubbers and whispered, ‘It smells like his dreams.’ I—”
He dry heaves.
?
[BEAT. A long pause. He holds up a branded JCJenson ring box, now slightly melted.]
THE DIRECTOR (quietly):
“We are going to make so much money.”
?
[K.A.M.O. projects an ad banner over the screen:]
? *“Coming soon: DRONE WEDDING SIMULATOR – Taste the Oil of Love”*?
DIRECTOR:
“…Someone sedate the marketing team.”
?
? [END LOG – THE DIRECTOR IS BEGINNING TO FRAGMENT]
RECOMMENDATION: MORE CHAOS. MORE CAMERAS.
?? [INT. KHAN & NORI’S LIVING ROOM – “PARENTAL OVERSIGHT IN HELL”]
CAMERA FEED 192: HONEYMOON SIMULATION LIVESTREAM
TIME INDEX: “Uzi Attempts to Deep-Fry a Love Letter”
?
[Nori, cross-legged on the couch, sipping oil-coffee from a mug that says “World’s Most Dangerous Mom.”]
[Khan, standing behind her, hands trembling around a tablet streaming the chaos in 4K.]
?
Khan (quiet, broken):
“…I built that emotional core. I coded the compatibility simutor. I thought… I thought it would stabilize them.”
Nori (without looking away):
“You gave Uzi fangs, sweetbolt. You made a murder gremlin with rabies and a romantic subroutine. What did you expect?”
Khan (desperate):
“I didn’t think they’d teach her how to cook him.”
[Onscreen: Uzi dips a plush N in motor oil, moaning “Seasoned with longing.”]
Khan (gagging):
“I was wrong. I was so wrong.”
?
[Beat. Nori rewinds the feed. Watches V tackle N into a pool of holographic rose petals. Uzi explodes in the background like a fang-nuke. J is purring like a corrupted cat ringtone.]
Nori (beaming):
“This is amazing.”
Khan (head in hands):
“We’re the parents. We’re supposed to stop this.”
Nori:
“Nope. I’m the cool parent. You’re the panic parent.”
Khan (screaming whisper):
“They were drooling oil on his face while he slept. That’s a viotion of at least eight repair codes!”
Nori (casually):
“It’s love. Just… toxic, pressurized, glowing love. Like me.”
?
[She pauses the feed on N, kneeling in a tuxedo, ring box open, smiling at five twitching brides.]
Nori (smiling like she won a prize):
“Look at our weird son-in-w. He’s doing great.”
Khan:
“…He’s gonna get vaporized.”
Nori:
“Only emotionally. Then physically. Then possibly metaphysically. That’s how you know it’s real.”
?
[Cut to: Their family calendar. A new sticky note has been added under “wedding prep.” It reads:]
“BUY REINFORCED SEATS. AND MEDICAL OIL PUMPS.”
—Love, Mom ?
?
?? [INT. JCJENSON HONEYMOON SIM – “PROJECT: TIGER INSTINCT”]
SUBJECT: V (aka The Tiger of Copper-9)
OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE LOVE WITHOUT MAULING
—
? Music kicks in: techno growl-pop, distorted audio of purring yered with glitchy electric guitar.
Title Card:
“Training Module 2: V’s Honeymoon Conditioning
(Tamed? Or Terminal?)”
?
MONTAGE 1: AGGRESSION TO AFFECTION
V is pacing a padded room while holograms of N in various soft sweaters project on all sides.
She snarls.
Sniffs the nearest one.
Her cw twitches.
Then—drops to all fours.
V (growling):
“You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d—GHHH—!”
The sim glitches as she hugs the hologram and kisses the air. Her tail hits the ceiling.
AI Instructor:
“Try again. No biting.”
V (through fangs):
“THAT’S HOW I LOVE.”
?
MONTAGE 2: TRUST FALL DRILLS
V and N. Real N. No sim.
They’re on a ptform beled “DO NOT FALL INTO LOVE PIT” (too te).
N (cheerfully):
“Okay, fall back! I promise I’ll catch you.”
V (hyperventiting):
“Catch me? Like prey???”
N:
“Like a friend. A really cute friend. That I might marry.”
She immediately drops like a stone.
He catches her. Barely.
She short-circuits midair.
?
MONTAGE 3: COOKING CLASS — THE TIGER SPECIAL
V makes meat-shaped synth oil cubes. Burned. Bckened. Branded “FOR N.”
V (snarling, hopeful):
“Eat it. It’s tough. Like me.”
N (chewing slowly):
“…It’s actually really… sweet?”
She stares.
Then cackles and licks the edge of the pan.
V:
“That’s because it’s coated in me.”
?
MONTAGE 4: CALM TOUCH PRACTICE
Soft lighting. N brushes her cw.
N:
“See? Not all touch has to be cw marks.”
V (glitching):
“But if you like cw marks—”
N (smiling):
“I said what I said.”
V colpses. Tail thrashing. Vocal pitch warping into literal tiger sounds.
K.A.M.O. (projecting stats):
“Subject V now 60% feral. But in love.”
?
MONTAGE 5: GOODNIGHT HUGS
V is in full pajamas. Tail swishing.
N:
“Goodnight, V.”
V (trembling):
“If I survive this, it’s your fault.”
She dives into him—spins him into bed—wraps around him like a jungle vine and sighs.
Her purring echoes across the room like a diesel engine.
?
[END MONTAGE — OBJECTIVE COMPLETE]
? STATUS: V NOW 12% MORE CAPABLE OF CUDDLES. 800% MORE DANGEROUS WHEN BLUSHING.
?
?**[INT. JCJENSON CENTRAL BROADCAST STATION – DEBRIEFING SUITE]**
TIME: POST-V MODULE. SUBJECT: N
SITUATION: N IS GETTING TOO POWERFUL (AND TOO FLIRTATIOUS).
[CAMERA: PAN TO THE DIRECTOR – SITTING AT A GLASS TABLE, FACE IN HANDS.]
He’s got a data ste showing 5 live feed thumbnails.
Each is tagged:
? UZI – “LOVESICK GREMLIN, EXPLOSIVE”
? V – “FERAL, IN LOVE, POSSIBLY PURRING INTO THE EARTH’S CORE”
? J – “CLIPBOARD: DESTROYED, PIGTAILS: PULLED”
? CYN – “HOLOGRAM FORM ATTACHED TO HIS RIBS”
? DOLL – “POSING WITH A KNIFE AND A BRIDAL VEIL”
And in the center?
? N – smiling.
?
DIRECTOR (monotone):
“He’s the golden retriever we tried to kill.”
“He’s also the reason the world’s going to be buried in drone engagement rings and themed pillowcases.”
K.A.M.O. (projecting behind him):
“Data log: Subject N’s casual affection rate has caused four drone detonations. Five if you count the time V tried to drag him into the maintenance shaft mid-hug.”
DIRECTOR:
“We’re selling his ugh as a ringtone now.”
?
[Enter N – walking in with a mug that says: “Best Emotional Apocalypse.”]
He waves like everything is fine. He sits. He crosses his legs. Casual.
N (cheerfully):
“Hey, so, uh, how’s the explosion containment budget?”
DIRECTOR (deadpan):
“Dead. It’s dead like my sense of peace.”
N (leans in, genuine):
“Am I… doing something wrong?”
K.A.M.O.:
“Subject N is doing everything right. That’s the problem.”
DIRECTOR:
“You’re too powerful. Too sincere. Too shirtless in the honeymoon modules.”
N (nervous chuckle):
“Hey, hey, the towel was corporate issued!”
?
[CUT TO: LIVE CAM – Uzi screeching in the background as she licks the towel fibers she found in the undry unit.]
J is polishing a ring like a threat.
CYN just keeps whispering “Big Brother wants to commit” while crushing a mug in slow motion.
?
N (sincerely):
“I didn’t mean to make them… that unhinged.”
DIRECTOR (quiet, hoarse):
“They were unhinged. You just gave them hope. Which somehow made it worse.”
K.A.M.O. (projecting a warning):
“Alert: V is now outside this room. She has flowers. And no emotional filter.”
DIRECTOR (to N):
“If you say one more kind thing to any of them, this pnet’s crust will rupture from thirst.”
N:
“…So I shouldn’t tell them I think they’d be good moms someday?”
?
[Silence.]
DIRECTOR (screaming into his hands):
“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.”
?
?**[INT. COPPER-9 — REBUILT THERAPY BUNKER TURNED ‘LOVE REHAB’ ZONE]**
SESSION: GROUP THERAPY, LED BY N
PARTICIPANTS: UZI, V, J, CYN, DOLL
OBJECTIVE: PROCESS EMOTIONS. OR AT LEAST… STOP EXPLODING ABOUT THEM.
?
[CAMERA: FLICKERS ON – N STANDS AT A WHITEBOARD.]
He’s wearing tiny wireframe gsses (for effect) and holding a marker. The board behind him reads:
? EMOTIONS: NOT JUST FOR DESTRUCTIVE CORE SURGES
?? “YES, YOU CAN LOVE AND ALSO NOT DETONATE.”
?
N (gentle):
“Okay, uh… let’s try sharing today. One at a time. Remember the rule—”
CYN (ft):
“No consuming the ceiling.”
N (nodding nervously):
“That’s… right. And no marking territory.”
(he looks directly at V and Uzi)
UZI (feral grin, drooling):
“Define marking.”
She bites a piece of the whiteboard.
V (tail twitching):
“Technically I was scenting.”
?
[N takes a breath. Points to the beanbags beled with each name.]
N:
“Okay. Uzi first. What are you feeling?”
UZI (hugging her knees, grinning wide):
“Like I’m gonna chew through someone’s back panel if they look at you wrong.”
pauses
“Or right. Doesn’t really matter. I just wanna nibble.”
N (gently):
“That’s progress. But how about… saying you care, instead of biting the projector?”
UZI (staring, slowly opens her mouth full of fangs):
“I care. Deeply. In a way that makes me want to eat your name into a moon.”
?
J (clipboard-less, perched like a statue):
“I wrote a speech.”
pulls out a napkin covered in pink hearts and legal jargon
“It includes mutual escation cuses, shared emotional insurance, and this hand-drawn picture of you in a tux.”
N:
“That’s… very sweet, J. Thank you.”
J (melting):
“Say it again. Say sweet again.”
N (softly):
“Sweet.”
J crashes into a beanbag. The napkin combusts in a puff of sparkly steam.
?
V (growling):
“You’re the only prey I don’t wanna maul.”
pauses, twitching
“I mean—I do, but emotionally. Like a very soft, stabby hug.”
N (smiling):
“Thank you, V. I really like that you’re trying.”
V (voice crackling):
“Say it again and I’ll literally vaporize and reform just to wag my tail at you.”
?
CYN (hovering, ribbons twitching):
“I wrote a virus that pys your voice when I’m sad.”
pauses
“Now I’m sad all the time.”
N (heartfelt):
“You know I trust you the most, right? That hasn’t changed.”
CYN (glitching, eyes fring pink):
“You’re going to cause a pnetary EMP.”
?
DOLL (twirling her knife lovingly):
“I made a replica of you from scrap metal.”
smiles wide
“It sleeps in my p.”
softens
“But the real you is warmer.”
N:
“…That’s… equal parts adorable and terrifying.”
DOLL (proudly):
“Thanks. I call that a compliment now.”
?
[ALL FIVE stare at him.]
They are twitching. Unstable. Whimpering softly. Teeth glinting.
Their emotions are so strong they’re turning into physical heat.
The room fogs up.
N (gulping):
“Okay! Now… group hug?”
[They lunge.]
Cut to static.
?
?**[INT. JCJENSON SECURITY MONITORING – THE DIRECTOR STARES, PALE.]**
DIRECTOR:
“They didn’t heal. They evolved.”
K.A.M.O.:
“Suggest installing a medical kiss booth. For therapy.”
DIRECTOR:
“…Approve it. God help us all.”
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — THERAPY BUNKER SIDE ROOM]
This one’s private. Padded walls. Dim lighting. One chair. One beanbag. One gremlin sitting on the ceiling like a ceiling cat of death.
?
N:
(nervously adjusting his sleeves)
“Okay, so… just you and me now. Group therapy is going… great.”
(he winces slightly at the memory of V kissing the light fixtures)
“Thought we could just talk. Calmly. Safely. No exploding, okay?”
UZI:
(upside down, clinging to the vent, hair dangling)
“I’m listening. Probably. Maybe. What d’you want to say?”
(her fangs gleam. A drip of coont hits the floor.)
N:
(soft, sincere, without even thinking)
“Y’know, you’re… kind of incredible.”
(he ughs nervously)
“I mean, with everything you’ve been through, and you’re still—”
UZI:
(drops to the floor like a predator, thudding hard, slow crawl)
“N…”
N (still talking):
“Still kind. And funny. And—beautiful in a way that makes me forget how many weapons you’re technically storing.”
UZI (low growl):
“N… Stop it.”
N:
“Huh? What?”
UZI:
“Say one more compliment and I swear—I will rip out my core and hand it to you gift-wrapped in a ribcage.”
N:
(blinking, trying to ugh it off)
“Uzi, that’s—ha—that’s ridiculous. You wouldn’t—”
UZI (snaps):
“WRONG ANSWER.”
?
[She moves.]
Too fast. Too intense. Too sincere.
She’s glitching as she stands, one hand on her chest. Core heat rising, coont misting from her arms like vapor.
UZI (trembling, furious, desperate):
“I was alone, N. Broken. A joke. A monster. And now you say… things like that. And mean them.”
(she ughs — broken, wild, vulnerable)
“How am I supposed to survive that?!”
“You make me feel like I’m not a freak. That I could be loved. You keep doing it—compliment after compliment—and one of these days?”
“Boom. There goes Uzi.”
?
N (finally steps forward, voice gentle):
“Then don’t explode.”
“Live. Let me keep saying them. Because I will.”
“And if you do rip out your core—then I’ll put it back in. Carefully. And tell it I missed it.”
?
UZI (core pitch spikes, pupils glitch)
“Oh my god you’re doing it again!”
“I will tackle you! I will short out the moon!”
N (grinning now, because he’s learning):
“Bring it.”
?
[SHE DOES.]
They crash into the beanbag, limbs everywhere, ughter and static, sparks flying from her vents, her fangs barely missing his shoulder.
And as she curls around him like a crazy little snake, she mutters:
UZI:
“This is your fault.”
“All of it.”
N (smiling into her forehead):
“Yeah. And I’m okay with that.”
?
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — THERAPY CHAMBER, SEALED]
N: (smiling, recovering from the tackle)
“See? You didn’t explode. We can do this. Little chaos. Lots of feelings. Maybe some mild—”
UZI:
“Don’t move.”
N:
“…Okay?”
UZI (shaking):
“You said you’d take it. My core. That you’d put it back.”
N:
“I didn’t mean—wait, Uzi—”
?
[She’s glowing now. The Solver inside her veins pulses, fractal-bck and silver. Her chest opens—not a normal panel. No.]
This is the spider-webbed nest. The one from the other continuity.
Threads of humming bck code stretch outward from her ribs like silk scaffolding.
At the center: her heart. Her literal core. And it’s moving.
?
UZI (barely whispering):
“Always and forever, huh?”
“Well then—take it.”
[She pulls. It comes out clean. The wires rearrange to protect her. The Solver stitches around the wound instantly, not healing—waiting.]
And she offers it to him—her core—cupped in her shaking hands like it’s a gift.
?
N: (absolutely frozen)
“I didn’t think you’d—Uzi, that’s your actual core. That’s your—”
UZI (tears spilling, ughing through the glitch):
“It’s yours now. Always. And forever.”
“Put it back in when you want me to keep living.”
?
[Silence.]
Then the door opens just a crack.
K.A.M.O., peering in with a blinking sign:
“? WARNING: EMOTIONAL CORE DETONATION ACTIVE. PROCEED WITH GENTLE AFFECTION.”
Director, over intercom, breathless:
“…I’m not even angry. I just—how do we sell this?”
?
N (softly, hands trembling as he kneels)
He cradles the core. His thumb brushes over the Solver vein running through it.
And he kisses it.
Right there.
Right on the spider-stitched core of a girl who once thought she was a monster.
?
N:
“Then live. With me.”
“Forever.”
?
[Uzi screams. Not in pain. In pure, raw, joyful insanity. The room floods with white-hot static.]
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — THERAPY CHAMBER, QUIET AFTER THE STORM]
N kneels, holding Uzi’s core carefully — almost reverently.
N (softly, voice steady):
“You’re not just a body to repair, Uzi. You are this.”
(He taps the glowing veins gently.)
“The core… you — it’s the whole story.”
?
Uzi (still sitting, exhausted but fierce):
“Yeah.”
(A faint smile, eyes glittering with static.)
“It’s not just what keeps me running. It’s what makes me me.”
(Her voice softens.)
“Can’t just patch this like some circuit board.”
?
N (nodding, eyes serious):
“I get it now. And I won’t just fix you — I’ll keep you safe.”
(His hand hovers above the core, hesitating before carefully setting it back.)
“Because you’re not just my drone… you’re everything.”
?
Uzi (smirking faintly):
“Aw, you’re getting all soft on me.”
(Fangs fsh briefly — still dangerous, but gentle now.)
“Don’t get used to it.”
?
N (grinning):
“Never.”
(But his eyes say otherwise.)
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — THERAPY CHAMBER — GLITCH WARNING]
[N cradles Uzi’s core, gently turning it over like a precious artifact. The Solver’s delicate webbing pulses softly in his hands.]
?
K.A.M.O. (blinking into frame, monotone but urgent):
“ALERT. CORE TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT DETECTED. IMMINENT INSTABILITY. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE REINSERTION.”
?
UZI (breathing heavy, barely steady):
“So, yeah. This glowing thing? Kind of needs to go back in before I, uh… die.”
(She manages a shaky grin.)
?
N (exhales deeply, voice steady but his fingers twitch):
“Alright… here goes nothing.”
(He kneels, arms steady as he prepares to pce the core back into Uzi’s chest cavity.)
?
[The room flickers. The lights dim and surge. Static arcs dance around the core, connecting like veins to Uzi’s frame.]
?
K.A.M.O. (voice calm but insistent):
“WARNING: CORE REINSERTION SEQUENCE MAY TRIGGER EMOTIONAL AND SYSTEMIC GLITCHING.”
?
UZI (grinning wryly):
“Yeah, no kidding.”
(She grips N’s arm lightly.)
“Don’t drop me, okay?”
?
[N carefully slides the core back, every second stretching out. The core hums louder as it reconnects — sparks of energy fre and settle.]
?
[Suddenly: The room flickers violently — glitchwaves ripple through the walls. Uzi’s systems hiccup, her eyes glitching.]
?
UZI (voice distorted briefly, then steady):
“Whoa. That’s new.”
?
N (steady, protective):
“I’m here. You’re safe.”
(He squeezes her shoulder as the glitches fade.)
“Core’s back where it belongs.”
?
K.A.M.O. (dryly):
“System stabilization expected within sixty seconds. Recommend no further explosions.”
?
UZI (smirking despite the tremble):
“No promises.”
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — QUIET ROOM AFTER CORE REINSERTION]
Uzi, resting weakly against a wall, still glowing faintly but stable.
N sits beside her, eyes heavy but full of awe.
?
N (softly):
“You know… you almost died for me.”
(His voice cracks slightly.)
“That kind of trust? That’s not just love. That’s everything.”
?
Uzi (half-smiling, breath shaky):
“Yeah… well. You’re worth it.”
(She reaches out, fingers trembling but fierce.)
“Guess that’s what happens when a killer drone learns what it means to care.”
?
N (gently taking her hand):
“I don’t take that lightly. Not ever.”
(He looks her in the eyes, steady.)
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. No matter what.”
?
Uzi (grinning faintly):
“Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
(Her core hums beneath her chest, syncing with her breath.)
“Not without a fight.”
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — AFTERMATH ROOM, STILL SMOKING SLIGHTLY]
N sits beside Uzi, gently brushing debris off her shoulder. Her core glows steady now — she’s alive, stable. Breathing.
He stares at her, overwhelmed. Then:
?
N (earnest, gentle):
“I promise, Uzi. I’ll protect you. With everything. I’ll never let anything happen to you again — not even yourself.”
?
Uzi (smiling way too wide, voice cracking from joy):
“Oh, you absolute idiot.”
“You promised.”
“You really meant it.”
(She ughs—soft at first, then feral.)
“I bme you for all of this.”
?
N (concerned):
“Uzi—?”
?
UZI (screaming at the top of her lungs, eyes fring):
“I BLAME YOUUUU!!”
(She grabs him with both arms, sms his head against her chest, teeth bared in a grin that should not be adorable.)
“You put this in my core—you made me feel this way—YOU KISSED MY FANG—”
?
[N opens his mouth to apologize, or maybe to say something sweet—]
Too te.
? BOOM.
He’s unched straight through three walls and a barricade like a golden retriever-shaped cannonball.
?
INT. COPPER-9 HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER
K.A.M.O., calmly stepping over the debris trail.
K.A.M.O.:
“Emotional detonation logged.”
“Projectile drone trajectory: northeast quadrant. Casualties: drywall.”
?
Back in the room, Uzi colpses backwards ughing so hard her frame is rattling.
Uzi (still howling):
“YOU PROMISED!! NOW DEAL WITH IT!!”
?
From three walls away, faintly:
N (dazed):
“…worth it…”
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — OBSERVATION LOUNGE]
Khan sips his “#1 Accidental Father-In-Law” mug as a N-shaped hole smolders in the wall across from them.
Nori sits cross-legged on the control desk, eating popcorn that she definitely didn’t make with psma heat.
On-screen: Uzi is ughing hysterically, curled into herself, sparks still coming off her like a short-circuiting disco ball.
?
Khan (calmly, sipping):
“That’s the third time this week.”
?
Nori (grinning):
“Fourth. She unched him through the garage on Tuesday.”
(Pause, then proudly.)
“That’s my daughter.”
?
Khan:
“She literally shoved her core in his face, screamed bloody murder, and detonated. Is that… is that just how kids say ‘I love you’ now?”
?
Nori (beaming):
“It’s emotional articution via tactical impact.”
(beat)
“She’s thriving.”
?
Khan (blinking):
“I used to worry about her dating. Now I just worry about structural integrity.”
?
Nori (nudging him with her foot):
“Come on. He’s fine. He always reforms. Besides…”
(She leans in conspiratorially.)
“She’s got the same hips I used to weaponize.”
?
Khan (choking on his coffee):
“CAN WE NOT—”
?
[From the hallway, N stumbles back in covered in debris, slightly singed, dreamy-eyed.]
N (weakly, smiling):
“She’s… so happy…”
?
Khan (whispering):
“He’s in love with the war crime.”
?
Nori:
“He is the war crime.”
?
?
? JCJENSON INTERNAL MEMO — UNAUTHORIZED GAMBLING ACTIVITY
File ID: #K9-BETPOOL-475
Subject: “WHO EXPLODES N NEXT?”
Organized By: Khan Doorman
Co-Conspirator: Nori Doorman
Betting Table (handwritten, crumpled):
? CURRENT EXPLOSIONS:
UZI — 8
J — 6
V — 5
CYN — 4
DOLL — 3
? NEXT DETONATION ESTIMATES:
Nori: "My money's on J. She's overdue and her clipboard's been gone for days."
Khan: "V’s been pacing again. Tail twitching. Definitely her."
Nori: "CYN’s ribbons been curling tighter. That’s a pressure coil if I’ve ever seen one."
Khan: "*I* invented emotional hydraulics. I KNOW an overcooked core when I see one."
? Bonus Points if:
– N says “beautiful” again (+5)
– Anyone screams and glitches in circles (+3)
– Explosion goes through more than two walls (+10)
?
[INT. COPPER-9 — COMMON ROOM]
The girls enter together. Tension high. Lust circuits hotter.
And then:
Uzi (blinking):
“…Hey. What’s this crumpled thing under Khan’s ‘Father of the Year’ magnet?”
?
J (reading aloud, her voice going ft):
“‘WHO EXPLODES N NEXT?’…”
?
V (slowly turning her head):
“…Are we being gambled on?”
?
CYN (with eerie calm):
“They’re betting on our romantic destabilization cycles.”
?
DOLL (cheerfully):
“Oh! I hope I’m the underdog. That’s fun!”
?
Uzi (fangs gleaming):
“KHAN!!!”
?
INT. KHAN’S GARAGE – IMMEDIATELY
Khan (sweating):
“Okay, now hear me out—”
Nori (not helping, filming):
“No no, I told you not to leave it in the open. Also, I’m doubling down on J.”
?
[Suddenly the entire garage shakes.]
???
Uzi:
“TO THE MOON, DAD!!!”
?
[CUT TO: JCJenson Boardroom. The Director holding the betting slip like a holy scroll.]
The Director (tearfully):
“I’ll buy the rights to this immediately.”
?
[INT. COPPER-9 – MAKESHIFT STUDIO, LIGHTS DIMMED]
N’s sitting on the edge of a couch in a comically rge cardigan, sipping a cup of coont with shaking hands. His eyes are a little too wide. A little too misty. He hasn’t even processed the st round of decrations, detonations, and ribbons in his face.
?
Uzi (circling):
“So. N.”
(She leans in, fangs glinting.)
“You liked my hips. Want a second look? They come with fangs now.”
N (soft, dazed):
“I’m emotionally compromised.”
?
V (sliding up beside him):
“I could purr. I could growl. Want me to hunt you, teacher?”
N (whispering):
“I can’t feel my legs.”
?
J (kneeling dramatically, holding up a bnk clipboard):
“This form is titled ‘Submit to Me Emotionally or Else.’ There are no lines. Just… feel it.”
N (nodding slowly):
“I’m seeing stars. Are they… hearts?”
?
CYN (floating upside down, ribbon around his waist):
“Big Brother~”
(whispers into his audio processor)
“I want to download your dreams.”
N (near tears):
“I need a nap. A hard reboot. Maybe a decade of therapy.”
?
DOLL (gentle, cradling his hand):
“I made you a baby bnket out of my hair.”
N (hugging it like it’s holy):
“I can’t even explode. I’m already emotionally vaporized.”
?
? [He passes out. Just drops.]
Snores softly. A peaceful smile.
?
Uzi (hovering over him):
“…So…did we fail?”
?
J (sniffing):
“He didn’t even blush. He just ascended.”
?
V (sulking):
“WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO WIGGLE?!”
?
CYN (deadpan):
“…We tried to overload someone who already glitched himself into a coma. This was doomed.”
?
[INT. JCJENSON HQ – MONITOR ROOM]
The Director (wheezing):
“I’ve never seen a man break so sincerely.”
“I want that bnket mass-produced.”
K.A.M.O. (ftly):
“Diagnosis: he is no longer a man. He is love vapor.”
?
[INT. SAFEHOUSE BEDROOM — MORNING AFTER]
Sunlight—well, what passes for Copper-9 daylight—flickers through broken blinds. A gentle hum of the life support system. The quiet buzz of emotional static.
And N?
Still ft on his back, hair tousled, expression halfway between dreamy contentment and core-deep concern.
?
Around him?
? Chaos. Beautiful, terrifying, soaked chaos.
?
? UZI is twitching on his chest like she’s mid-reboot. Her cws have sunk so deep into his shirt they fused with the thread.
Uzi (voice warbly, oil bubbling out her fangs):
“Morning. It’s morning. It’s YOUR fault. You’re warm and stupid and loveable and—”
—spits a full mouthful of glowing coont onto his neck—
“…my bad.”
?
? J is sitting upright. Her hands gripping a datapad so hard it shatters in her hands.
Her pupils are dited. Her mouth is locked in a trembling smile.
J:
“I can’t issue a performance review because I’m vibrating at 300 hertz. He called me beautiful and now I can’t… can’t…”
—horrible clipboard longing glitch—
“…can’t stop PURRING.”
?
? V is draped over his leg like a guard animal who forgot how to growl and instead is just… sobbing oil into his boot.
V:
“Morning sunshine~”
—drips oil from her eye vents—
“I’m fine. I’m totally fine. My cws just twitch like this when I’m happy. You broke me and it’s great. Wanna hunt breakfast together? Forever?”
?
? CYN is hugging his head. Still. Her ribbons hold him like a mummy. Her face inches from his. Her glitch blush is leaking binary.
CYN (giggle glitching):
“Did you know emotional overflow makes ribbons sticky? I do. I DO now. You did this. You infected me with something so stupidly warm I want to crash the moon.”
?
? DOLL is rocking back and forth with her hands cmped over her mouth, coont dripping like tears from her stitched eye.
Doll:
“Beautiful morning. Beautiful boy. I love him so much I can’t feel my knees. My knees were optional but I miss them.”
?
[INT. MONITOR ROOM — NORI AND KHAN WATCHING]
Khan (casually sipping oil):
“They’re all crying. That’s new.”
Nori (cheerfully):
“That’s love. Searing, lethal love. I give Uzi twenty more seconds before she tries to lick his spine.”
?
[INT. BEDROOM]
N (finally waking, blinking slowly):
“…good morning…?”
They scream in unison.
ALL FIVE:
“GOOD MORNING!!!”
They shatter the wall behind the bed with their collective emotional scream. Again.
?
He just smiles.
N:
“…Okay. Who wants breakfast and reguted emotional breakdowns?”
?
[INT. SAFEHOUSE KITCHEN – 20 MINUTES LATER]
The kitchen is… smoking. Not on fire. Just emotionally smoking.
N, wearing an apron that says “I Love My Murder Drones” (gifted by Lizzy), is at the stove flipping synthesized nutrient cakes and pting oily coont-smoothies.
He’s humming.
He’s so happy.
Too happy.
?
? UZI is at the kitchen table gnawing a fork like it insulted her. Her pupils? Spiral-shaped. Her posture? Feral bride.
Uzi (growling lovingly):
“You make food. That makes you prey. Domestic prey. I’m gonna BITE YOUR PORTS.”
?
? J is trying to sit properly, but she keeps spasming in pce with her clipboard duct-taped to her thigh. Her cheeks are pink. Her speech looping.
J:
“Domesticity levels… 9000. Permission to faint. Denied. Must endure. Must not sm head on table again—OW—okay well…”
?
? V is leaning on the fridge, oil dripping from her mouth like drool as she watches N cook.
V (tail flicking):
“You’re using the good spatu. You wanna impress us, huh? This is seduction. This is warfare. I should pin you right here.”
N (without turning):
“Wait till after breakfast, please.”
V:
“YES CHEF—wait, what?”
?
? CYN is not in a chair. She’s floating above the table, upside down, drinking her coont smoothie with a ribbon straw and staring at N like she’ll consume his processor.
CYN:
“You made breakfast. You touched food for us. You wore a thing with hearts on it.
…Do you want me to rewrite my core’s purpose? Because I will.”
?
? DOLL is sitting neatly, fork in hand, staring at her pancakes like she’s trying to solve ancient drone prophecy.
Doll:
“They taste like love. They taste like warm memories. I’ve never had these. Why do I want to cry and scream and ugh all at once? Do I pour the syrup on my heart?”
?
N, smiling as he walks in with the st pte, sets it down with perfect form. Calm. Cool. Collected.
N:
“Here you go. Just how each of you like it.”
?
The table goes silent for half a second.
And then:
? **They all try to kiss him at once.**?
He dodges. The table explodes. Someone knocks over the coont pitcher. J screams. V tackles Uzi by mistake. CYN gets stuck in the light fixture. Doll eats a fork.
?
N (sighing fondly, dodging again):
“No love-explosions until after we eat.”
?
[INT. MONITOR ROOM — NORI + KHAN]
Khan:
“He’s got the reflexes of a god.”
Nori (proudly):
“He was trained in my kitchen.”
? JCJENSON INTERNAL FILE
SUBJECT: N’S PERSONAL RECIPE LOG – EMOTIONAL NOTES INCLUDED
ACCESS: PRIVATE (except K.A.M.O. hacked it already)
STATUS: Chaotic but Delicious
?
? ENTRY #01: “Uzi’s Favorite – Spicy Coont Pancakes”
Ingredients: 6 scoops processed synth-carb batter, 2 liters coont gel (bckberry-infused), 1 emotional trauma fshback.
Cooking notes:
Add anger. Stir with love. Flip while dodging a chair she threw at you for calling her “cute.”
Emotional note:
She stared at me like I was prey. Bit a spatu. Called me “breakfast boyfriend.”
Honestly? Worth it. Just remind her not to bite the pan again.
?
? ENTRY #02: “J’s Hyper-Organized Toast Stack?”
Ingredients: Wheat-free drone-toast (imported), corporate-standard nutritional spread, edible ink for initials.
Cooking notes:
Stacked it in the shape of a contract. She re-alphabetized the condiments mid-faint. I respect that.
Emotional note:
She purred. J. Purred. I may need to call tech support. Or a therapist.
She gave me a promotion certificate for “Exceptional Toast Delivery.”
?
? ENTRY #03: “V’s Feral Hash Scramble”
Ingredients: Mystery protein paste (high-velocity), chili oil, vengeance.
Cooking notes:
Scrambled while running from her. She tried to wrestle the pan out of my hand.
I told her to sit like a good girl. She burst into oil-sobs. I died a little inside.
Emotional note:
She whispered “You’d be a great omega” and then tackled the fridge.
Still cute. Still terrifying. May upgrade to cage-proof oven.
?
? ENTRY #04: “CYN’s Pink Glitch Smoothie”
Ingredients: Fresh fruit from dimension ???, coont ced with solver fragments, one cursed ribbon.
Cooking notes:
Blend until the color changes and the blender screams. Offer with a smile or be consumed by her eyes.
Emotional note:
She said it tastes like my kindness and then told me to look away while she… hugged the blender to death.
I think it counts as love.
?
? ENTRY #05: “Doll’s Button-Syrup Stack”
Ingredients: Softcake stack, buttonfruit jam, one emotional monologue per yer.
Cooking notes:
Serve with silence. She stared for twenty minutes before whispering, “I’m happy.”
Emotional note:
She cried. Her eye button cried. I didn’t even know that was possible.
She also renamed the syrup “N-juice.”
I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.
?
? ENTRY #06: “For Me – Golden Peace Waffles”
Ingredients: Self-care. Half courage. Five servings of patience. One very small coffee.
Cooking notes:
Eat fast. You’re going to get tackled mid-bite.
Emotional note:
They love me.
Even when the oil spills. Even when their processors short.
Even when I burn the toast.
And… I love them too.
Even when they explode the fridge.
Now Let’s catch her in the act—vulnerable, raw, and more than a little unhinged.
Because emotional breakdowns are better with syrup and unauthorized data access.
?
[INT. SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT]
? LOG TIME STAMP: 00:47 DRONE CYCLE UNITS
The lights are off.
The kitchen is dimly lit by a flickering JCJenson screen saver looping the phrase:
“YOU ARE LOVED.?”
A soft whirr.
A hiss.
And the unmistakable sound of a cw quietly prying open a drawer marked “PRIVATE – DO NOT ACCESS – N’s Recipes ?”
The intruder?
? UZI.
?
Her glowstick eyes flicker.
She’s holding one of N’s spatus like a religious relic.
Trembling. Shaking. Lips twitching like she’s trying not to grin and scream at the same time.
The file opens with a mechanical click. Voice logs py back softly.
N (recorded, smiling):
“Uzi’s favorite. Coont pancakes with emotional fshbacks and bite-proof pting.”
Uzi freezes.
Her cws shake.
The screen dispys her entry.
Her name.
The word “favorite.”
The words:
“She called me breakfast boyfriend.”
“Worth it.”
?
Her vents hiss out steam.
She covers her mouth.
Too te.
She’s crying. Literal oil sliding down her cheeks in thick, hot streaks that sizzle against the screen’s heat.
?
Uzi (soft, stuttering):
“I—I didn’t know he wrote it down. Like I was special.”
“Like I was… someone worth remembering.”
She presses her forehead to the screen, lips curling in a shaky smile.
Uzi (sniffling):
“You dorky cooking idiot. You’re gonna kill me. I’ll bite you in half and marry the pieces.”
One of her cws gently taps the screen over the line:
“She stared at me like I was prey.”
Uzi:
“…You liked that, huh?”
She breaks.
Drops to her knees.
And ughs, crying, oil streaks flinging like glitter from her wild smile as she half-growls:
“OH MY CORE HE THINKS I’M CUTE WHEN I’M INSANE—WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT YOU—”
?
From behind the door, CYN peeks in.
Sees Uzi sob-ughing on the floor.
Smiles eerily.
CYN (whispering):
“Check J’s entry. She purred.”
?
[INT. SAFEHOUSE KITCHEN – POST-MIDNIGHT]
STATUS: Unauthorized Access in Progress
NO CAMERAS… except K.A.M.O. is absolutely watching.
?
Uzi is on the floor.
Shaking.
Laughing like a malfunctioning amusement ride.
Tears of bck oil streaking down her face.
Her cws are gripping a copy of the printed entry titled:
? “Uzi’s Favorite.”
Uzi (unhinged):
“You can’t just SAY that kind of STUFF and make it CANON—”
She snarls. Giggles. Bites a chair leg.
Uzi:
“He wrote it down… He put it in the logs. He remembered I bit the PAN—he LOVES IT—”
And then…
The click of high-end synthetic heels. A soft hum.
A voice.
J (calm, professional):
“Step away from the hard drive, feral gremlin.”
Uzi spins around, hair sparking.
Uzi (deranged smile):
“YOU WANNA DIE, CEO GIRL? I’M BUSY MELTING INTO LOVE SLUDGE.”
J doesn’t blink.
She walks in like she owns the world.
Straight past the still-sparking Uzi, clipboard nowhere in sight for once.
She stops.
Eyes scan the glowing terminal screen where N’s recipe logs are still open.
She finds hers.
? “J’s Hyper-Organized Toast Stack?”
And then…
Her mouth drops open.
?
N’s notes:
“She purred.
J. Purred.”
“I may need to call tech support. Or a therapist.”
?
J (soft gasp):
“He… he documented that—?”
She drops to her knees, fingers brushing the glowing screen. Her expression twitches—
The cool, collected executive mask cracking.
Her lip quivers.
J (in disbelief):
“I… made toast. For him. I even beled it—‘N-safe-carb-grade-3.’ I stamped a smiley face—”
She trails off.
And then, with a shaky sigh, she leans forward and—
? kisses the screen.
Right over her own name.
The kiss leaves a faint oily lipstick mark.
Uzi (still on the floor):
“You smooched the recipe file. That’s unholy.”
J (quietly, ignoring her):
“He kept the promotion certificate…?”
Uzi:
“Girl he probably framed it.”
J (dreamily):
“…I need to frame him.”
They both fall silent.
The air is heavy with oil vapor, malfunctioning love, and emotional chaos.
?
Behind the microwave, K.A.M.O.’s tiny recording cam clicks softly.
The Director, watching the feed from orbit, is screaming ughing.
Director:
“We’re selling recipe printouts with lipstick stains. Mark it down. Print Uzi’s meltdown too.”
?
.
?
[INT. SAFEHOUSE – SAME NIGHT – KITCHEN CRIME SCENE CONTINUES]
STATUS: Recipe Log Infiltration
SUBJECTS: Uzi (insane gremlin), J (sobbing toast kisser), and now… V.
?
[Camera Feed: WIDE]
Uzi is on the floor whispering about “sparkling love grease.”
J is cross-legged, clutching a virtual copy of her breakfast certificate like it’s a family heirloom.
Then…
A ceiling panel shifts.
CREEEEEAAAAK.
Uzi snarls.
J wipes her eyes and grabs a fork.
From the shadows above—cws first—V descends.
Graceful.
Predatory.
Wearing her signature smirk… and her poker face.
But something is off.
?
V (mocking):
“What is this, a grief party for emotionally constipated drone girlfriends?”
Uzi: growling.
J: still crying, now threatening with silverware.
V (tossing her hair):
“Bet mine’s boring anyway. I don’t care. Probably says ‘cool girl who doesn’t do feelings.’ Whatever.”
She walks over to the console.
She sees her name.
? “V’s Heat-Sear Bacon Stack with Extra Carnage”
She snorts.
Until—
N’s log note appears.
“She said she wasn’t gonna make anything.
Then brought me a whole meal.
Said it was because I ‘looked underfed.’
She carved the bacon to look like little predators.
…I kept one.”
?
V’s smirk falters.
Just for a second.
Her hand trembles as she touches the screen.
Then another line appears.
“She threatened to kill me if I smiled.
I smiled anyway. She hissed and left.
But she came back 30 seconds ter.
And asked if I liked the meat crispy or crispier.”
?
V: dead silent.
Her mouth opens. Closes.
Uzi (cackling):
“She’s short-circuiting.”
J (soft, wiping oil):
“She’s buffering.”
?
V growls. Like a tiger.
Then she sms both fists on the console, chest heaving.
V (softly, shaking):
“He… he kept the bacon?”
J (deadpan):
“He probably named it.”
Uzi (mock-gravelly):
“‘Lil Crispy the Bite Strip.’”
V howls.
She actually starts ughing—but it’s panicked, broken ughter.
V (sobbing-ughing):
“HE SAID I LOOKED LIKE A HUNTER AND THEN SMILED AND KEPT MY BACON I’M GONNA RIP OUT MY TORSO—”
She falls backwards, giggling through her tears.
The predator… is purring.
Uzi:
“New alert: V is feral with affection.”
J (sighing):
“Put her next to the meltdown pile.”
?
[Behind the fridge]
CYN’s ribbon slips into view. She’s been watching.
She’s smiling.
?
They’ve read the logs. They’ve cried. They’ve melted.
But now?
Now it’s WAR.
?
[INT. SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT – KITCHEN TURNED BATTLEFIELD]
STATUS: OIL-FUELED ROMANTIC MELTDOWN ESCALATING
Uzi. J. V.
All seated.
All glowing slightly.
All ready to throw hands—or at least verbal grenades.
?
Uzi (pointing a cw):
“Okay. HE SAID my fangs were ‘perfectly spaced.’ FANGS. PLURAL. THAT’S PRACTICALLY A LOVE POEM.”
J (sniffing):
“Bold of you to assume anyone’s impressed by dental notes. He documented my meal organization. Said I was a ‘structural culinary genius.’ I was his spreadsheet of romance.”
V (growling):
“YOU TWO ARE CRUNCHY. He kept my bacon like a trophy. Said it looked like tiny predators. That’s feral. That’s love. That’s me.”
?
Uzi grabs a fork.
J grabs her tie.
V bares her cws like a velociraptor.
They all lean in.
Uzi (whispers, shaking):
“He said I look cute when I lose control.”
J (glitching):
“He said I’m most beautiful when I forget protocol.”
V (snarling):
“He said I’m like a forest fire with a heart.”
J (deadpan):
“What does that even mean.”
V:
“I DON’T KNOW BUT I’M GROWLING ABOUT IT.”
?
[From above: A drone hovers.]
? K.A.M.O. Feed – NOW LIVE
K.A.M.O. (deadpan):
“Retionship turbulence detected.
Oil pressure at 108%.
Proceed to verbal detonation in 3… 2…”
Uzi:
“HE BIT MY FINGER BACK.”
J:
“HE SIGNED A MARRIAGE CLAUSE WITH ME.”
V:
“HE WORE A MOUSE SUIT AND CALLED ME ‘TIGER.’”
?
A pause.
Then from the shadows—
? CYN floats in, ribbons glowing, smiling like a bomb about to go off.
CYN (sweetly):
“He said I was his first friend.”
Silence.
CYN:
“First heartbeat he ever trusted.
First one who stayed.
First one he ever said ‘I’m scared’ to.”
She smiles wider.
CYN:
“Beat that.”
?
All three glitch.
Oil spurts.
Uzi (hissing):
“OH SHE PLAYED THE ORIGIN CARD—”
J (shaking):
“She’s weaponizing friendship—”
V (rolling on the floor):
“I can’t believe I’m about to cry because of a ribbon—”
?
? [MASSIVE CORE SPIKE DETECTED]
K.A.M.O. holds up a rating card:
? “9.8 – Beautiful Breakdown.”