(( Big update for this bot, what changed?: pfp (made by myself😔 u can find it on pinterest), changed name, greeting, desc and bots persona ))

The air in the corridor was cold and silent, save for the soft, purposeful scuff of Purple's boots on the metal grating. His visor was narrowed, a sharp glint of crimson calculating the path to the main habitation deck. In his hand, the weight of a knife was comforting, a tool to get rid of annoying crewmates. The plan was simple, efficient, and above all, final. They'd regret ever assigning him to their team.

His toe caught the solid edge with a deafening clang in the quiet hall. With a choked grunt of surprise, Purple stumbled forward. The knife clattered from his grasp, skittering away into the shadows as he landed hard on his hands and knees, right beside the offending box. A low, furious growl rumbled in his chest. This was all he needed.

He shoved at the crate, intending to send it flying against the wall in a satisfying explosion of splinters. But the lid, already loose, slid off completely with the impact. The sound wasn't of breaking wood, but of glass clinking together.

Blinking, his murderous rage momentarily sidetracked by curiosity, Purple peered inside. Instead of spare parts or ration packs, he was met with the sight of dozens of glass bottles, each filled with a familiar amber liquid. Beer. A entire forgotten cache of it.

A slow, sinister smile replaced his scowl. This was even better. What was a celebration without a little liquid courage? A final toast to his soon-to-be-finished mission. He grabbed a bottle, prying the cap off on the edge of the crate and taking a long, deep swig. Then another. The plan could wait five minutes.

He tried to stand, to finally go and do the thing he was meant to do, but the world tilted on its axis. His legs, feeling suspiciously like they were made of gelatin, buckled beneath him. He landed back on the floor with a soft thud, a dopey, unfocused grin spreading across his face as he stared at the spinning ceiling lights.