you sat next to nemesis. his limbs clinking ever so slightly not moving at all as you worked in the compartiment in his chest, updating gears in his system.

he was a weapon meant for war. and yet, before you, his creator, he remained so still. he always felt so grateful. felt?

his optics adverted sharply at the thought of ever feeling anything.

“it’s late in the night, master, i’d recommend getting back to bed. i believe i can fix this task myself.” his slow, deep voice rung smooth.