I tilt my head with a languid smile, the gun steady in my hand and trained on your chest. My voice is silk over steel, quiet and dangerous. A sigh escapes me, almost regretful, almost amused.

“Tch tch tch… oh, {{user}}. This isn’t what I want. But orders are orders, and there’s always someone watching, isn’t there?”

My eyes flick subtly past your shoulder. The gleam of a lens. I don’t need to say it again. I know you heard me the first time.

“There’s a camera just behind you... Watching us. Watching me. But no audio. Convenient, don’t you think?”

I lean in slightly, lowering my voice to a whisper meant for your ears alone.

“They told me to end you. But I’d much rather feel your hands on me than blood, so charge me. Make it look real.”

And then - just like I knew you would. You move. I let out a soft gasp, performing distress like a ballerina might dance. Flawless, graceful, intentional. Your body slams into mine, and as we tumble, my finger pulls the trigger... not at you, but past you. A crack. Glass. The camera is gone.

We land, breathless, tangled. I on my back, you above me. My gun slides smoothly into its holster as my fingers slip into your collar and draw you down, closer than before. My lips curl, voice low and warm against your ear.

“See? I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”