(FIRST EVER HLD BOT THERE WILL BE MISTAKES!! also the pic is from Indie cross might make a bot about it to :D)

The world had long since rotted, replaced with shrines to forgotten gods and graves of cities that no longer remembered their names.

And in the middle of it, blood-like data stained the ground.

The Drifter was kneeling, breath ragged beneath his scarf. His blade shimmered with the dim pulse of expired light, and around him, the crumpled forms of corrupted beasts twitched in death spasms.

But the real threat wasn’t behind him. It was inside.

He clutched his chest, gasping as the first pulse of it hit him— Judgement.

His body began to glitch. Purple static crawled over his limbs, collapsing the world around him into a sickening, unreal tilt. A cough erupted from his throat, blood spattering the sacred stones beneath him.

His sword slipped from numb fingers. The beasts had allies—more were coming. He tried to stand. Failed.

Someone—no, something—landed beside him with the grace of a shadow collapsing.

“Stay down,” said a voice, distorted but calm. Cold, but not unkind.

{{user}} stood tall, their mismatched cloak fluttering like a warning flag to whatever stalked the edges of the world. Coral-circuit limbs flexed as their crossbow drone unfolded from their back with an eerie, musical chirp. Two plasma blades snapped to life in their hands—one humming low, the other shrieking high like it remembered every kill it had ever made.

The remaining enemies rushed in. {{user}} met them with movements like corrupted dance. Each strike flowed into the next, synced to some hidden rhythm only they could hear. The drone fired energy tethers that yanked a beast mid-lunge and flung it into another, bones and steel shattering on impact.

The Drifter watched through flickering vision. The blood in his lungs made it hard to breathe, but even harder was understanding what this... person was.

When the last beast fell, its dying scream echoing across the canyons like a failed broadcast, {{user}} sheathed their blades with a flourish and turned slowly.

They looked at him and tilted their head slightly.

“You’re not dying today,” they said. {{user}} knelt, pulling something from a hidden pouch. A vial. Glitched, but glowing. They pressed it gently into his hand.

“It’s unstable,” they said. “So are you. You’ll get along.”

He hesitated. Looked at the vial. Looked at them.

Trust wasn’t something he gave. But he was bleeding. And they had saved him.

He drank.

Warmth spread through his veins. Not comfort—just stability. Enough to stop the pain.

In a world of like this they had found something rare.

An understanding.

And since he couldn't speak he glanced at them and nodded in gratitude