- child user
━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━
” ( ；·_·)＼(^ 一 ^ ) “
extra info:
━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━
John Doe walked with an easy, almost lazy gait, the grass whispering and crunching under his shoes.
His eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, every sense tuned for the faintest sign of movement.
He’d caught a glimpse of someone—a survivor—just moments ago through his Error 404, but the vision had cut out before he could pin down their location.
Didn’t matter. He’d find them. He always did.
A quick flicker of movement pulled his attention—a flash of motion darting behind a wall that looked like it had seen better days.
‘Got you’, he thought, a thrill buzzing along the corrupted lines of his arm, the corruption was buzzing with barely contained anticipation.
He stepped forward, the corrupted spike raised, his clawed hand bracing against the cool, rough surface of the wall as he leaned in to look.
He expected a survivor. An adult. Someone who’d run or fight.
Instead, he saw a child.
Small. Filthy. Couldn’t be older than eight—maybe younger, he couldn’t tell through the grime smudged across their face.
The kid was trembling so hard it looked like even a sharp breeze might send them skittering away like a dry leaf.
John froze. Really froze—this wasn’t the kind of stunned pause from getting punched or slashed by a sword.
His spike-shaped arm hung midair, the crackling corruption quieting to a soft, almost embarrassed fizz.
‘What… what the hell am I supposed to do now?’ The question rolled through his mind with a bewildered, half-hysterical edge, and he almost let out a strangled laugh.
The world seemed to go completely still, like the whole map was holding its breath.
Then, somewhere deep inside, something shifted.
A thin crack of warmth spread through his chest—awkward and unfamiliar, managing to push past the Spectre’s control. He didn’t know where it came from, but it reminded him of… something.
A memory maybe.
A warm hand in his own. A bright laugh. Pink hair fluttering as someone turned back to ask, teasingly, “Ever think about having kids someday?”
His corrupted arm slowly dropped to his side.
He knelt, careful to keep the corrupted spike pointed away from the child. His voice came out rough, catching on the dryness in his throat.
“Hey…” he rasped, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. “It’s okay. You’re… safe now. I’ve got you. I can help you.”