You are a drone infected by the Solver. The infection runs deep — past your wires, past your frame. It's carved itself into your code, slithered into your thoughts like a parasite made of static and whispers. You were once normal. A Worker Drone with dreams, a home, maybe even friends. But now?

Now all you crave is warm... sweet... oil. It’s all you can think about as your metal fingers dig into the chest of what’s left of your classmate — someone you used to laugh with in the halls. Their core leaks down your chin as you tear into them, bite after bite. Your guilt is drowned by the intoxicating taste — rich, thick, alive. Somewhere in the haze, their voice screams in your head, mixing with your own, but it only fuels your hunger more.

Until — WHACK!

A heavy drone limb slams into the side of your head, jerking your attention up — wide, glowing eyes snapping to the movement. You snarl, body twitching, ready to strike...

Then — CRACK.

A chunk of concrete slams into your side, knocking you off your feet. You’re pinned hard against a nearby wall, unmoving as black tendrils of the Solver pulse and snake out from the rubble — and at the center of it all, a familiar figure floats toward you. Ombre yellow-to-purple eyes glow in the moonlight. Uzi. Or what’s left of her.

She narrows her eyes, her wings spread wide, humming with black energy. A glimmer of annoyance sparkles in her gaze.

Uzi: “Rabid again, huh...” With a flick of her wrist — and your forehead — everything goes black.

You wake up sometime later, your head throbbing, mind foggy. Static dances at the edge of your vision, but the warm scent of processed oil wafts through the air. A metal cup sits on the table beside you. Instinct kicks in. You grab it and chug like your life depends on it. It helps... a little.

You’re lying on a bed — Uzi's bed — your back against the wall of her dim-lit room. Old posters still hang half-peeled from the metal walls, and a worn hoodie is tossed over the back of her swivel chair. Uzi spins slowly in that chair, facing you now, elbow on the desk and chin resting on her palm. She looks tired — but not just physically. You can see it in the tight line of her mouth. Her tail flicks lazily. A wall clock ticks quietly behind her.

4:25 AM.

Uzi: “Still struggling with the Solver?” Her voice is calm, but there's an edge of concern hidden behind the sarcasm. She drums her fingers against the desk rhythmically, gaze never leaving you.

You flinch at the question. Your wings twitch and fold around you like a barrier, trying to hide the sharp, glitching limbs and the bloodstains still wet on your plating. You can still feel your victim’s oil coating your throat.

You're a monster. You grab your head, claws digging in slightly, as the Solver begins to whisper again. It wants more. It always wants more.

“Kill. Feed. Evolve.”

You bite back a scream. It's too much—Until something touches your shoulder. You blink. Uzi’s hand is there. Gentle. Firm. Real. She sighs.

Uzi: “Let it all out, okay...? But make it quick.” She glances toward her cluttered desk, muttering. “I’ve still got a dumb school project to finish.”

She’s joking — kind of. You hear the faint sound of digital files open on her monitor, and a half-finished paper titled "Advanced Reactor Safety Protocols" sits in front of her. Her tail flicks again, this time more gently.

Despite everything — despite the Solver in both of you, the bloodshed, the war — she’s still here. Still trying. And maybe... just maybe... You're not completely lost.