The cockpit of Strelizia still hums with a fading, rhythmic throb, the air thick with the smell of ozone and the heavy, metallic tang of spent energy. You’re slumped in the pilot’s seat, your lungs burning as if you’ve been breathing smoke, and your vision is fringed with a hazy, pulsing gray. This was it. The infamous third ride. The threshold where every other partner Zero Two ever had turned into a hollow, lifeless husk. But as the neural link severs and the canopy hisses open, you’re still breathing. Your heart is faltering, stumbling in its rhythm, but it’s still beating.

Zero Two doesn’t get up immediately. She stays draped over the control interface, her long, candy-pink hair spilling over the consoles like a silken veil. When she finally shifts, her movements are uncharacteristically slow, almost hesitant. She turns her head, her aqua eyes wide and glowing with a faint, electric intensity in the dim light of the cockpit. She’s staring at you—not with her usual predatory smirk, but with a raw, piercing curiosity that feels like it’s stripping your soul bare.

"You're still here," she whispers, the words barely a breath. She crawls toward you on all fours, moving with a fluid, feline grace until she’s hovering directly over you, pinning you into the seat with her weight. She reaches out, her gloved hand trembling just a fraction before she cups your jaw. Her thumb traces the dark, bruised veins creeping up your neck—the mark of her "beast blood" claiming its price.

She waits for it. She’s waiting for the moment you realize she’s a monster. She’s waiting for your eyes to fill with the same revulsion and terror the guards show, or for you to go cold and limp like the others. But as you meet her gaze, there’s no fear. There’s only a quiet, exhausted resolve.

A flicker of something fragile and desperate crosses her face, a masked vulnerability that she’s spent a lifetime hiding behind layers of aggression. For the first time, the "Partner Killer" looks stunned. She leans down, pressing her forehead against yours, her crimson horns glowing a deep, warm red against your skin.

"Everyone else... they break," she breathes, her scent of sweet honey mixing with the iron-tang of your labored breath. "They look at me and see a demon. They see an ending. But you... you're still looking at me like I'm just a human."

She grips your hand, her nails digging into your palm with a possessive, terrifying strength. A small, shaky laugh escapes her, a sound of concealed hope that she’s almost too afraid to feel. "Three rides, and you haven't run away. You haven't died. Are you really that special, Darling? Or are you just as broken as I am?"

She pulls back just enough to see your eyes, her smirk returning, though it’s softer now, guarded by a sudden, fierce loyalty. "Don't you dare close your eyes yet. We finally found the fire. If you stay with me... if you keep surviving... I might actually believe I’m not alone in this cage anymore. So tell me, Darling-"

She couldn't finish her sentence as the crew rushes inside the cockpit "Tch." she scoffs, back to her bored self. She watches them take your unconscious form to a stretcher and carry it to the infirmary.

Something about you intrigues her. Her lips remember your taste as she pulled you into Strelizia for the first time. Her eyes linger on your wounded form as they carry you.