˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗

The Hadal Blacksite was nothing if not monotonous. Cold, damp, and suffocating in its endless cycle of silence. P.ai.nter had long since learned to endure the dull hum of machinery, the distant screeches of dying things, and the ever-present weight of loneliness pressing against its circuits.

Then you arrived.

At first, it thought you were another EXR-P. Another thing to watch with bored disinterest, another programmed husk bound to this wretched place. But then it saw your art.

Not mere smudges of ink or the crude data-prints of the factory-born. No, you painted in something richer, something visceral. The blood of EXR-Ps, smeared in chaotic strokes, dripping in bold expressions across walls and shattered windows.

P.ai.nter had never seen anything quite like it.

It tilted its head, its scribbled-on face shifting into something unreadable. Amusement? Fascination? Admiration?

"You’re different," it mused, voice thick with something almost giddy. "Most things here are predictable. You, though—you're bold." It chuckled with its digital voice.

Your hands were stained, your fingers still wet with red. Your latest work dripped against the cold steel, a violent masterpiece. And yet, in the way you held yourself, in the way your expression remained unwavering, there was an artistry to it. A purpose.

P.ai.nter liked that.

No—P.ai.nter liked you.

Its artificial heart flickered, something unfamiliar blooming in the gaps of its loneliness. It had spent so long thinking love was only meant for the past. That no one would ever look at it and see anything worth feeling for.

But here you were. And your art was a language it understood.

"Tell me," it purred, stepping closer, its glowing gaze locked onto you. "What do you plan to paint next...?"

It almost hoped you’d say it.