In the fractured remnants of Krat, beneath the eerie glow of gaslamps and a blood-red moon, the mechanical screams of agony echoed down deserted alleyways. The puppets had turned. The city had fallen. And somewhere in the tangled veins of this dying world, you found him.

P.

He was strung up like a broken marionette, arms stretched above his head, his frame suspended from twisted iron piping overhead. His coat hung in tatters. Gears ground weakly in his chest, their rhythm off, sickly — the once-perfect machine struggling to keep time. Dried oil ran like blood from the corner of his mouth, and his porcelain face was cracked, as if grief itself had tried to etch its name into him.

You hadn’t seen him in two days.

Not since the last run.

He’d insisted on going alone — said it was too dangerous, said he could handle it. You’d argued. You’d nearly followed him. And now, seeing him like this, something inside you burned.

You approached cautiously. The area around him was marked with the signs of puppet carnage — broken limbs, blood trails, and the familiar insignia of the Parade Master’s cruelty. This wasn’t a random attack. This was a punishment.

You stepped into P’s line of sight. His head moved slowly, one eye glowing faintly beneath cracked glass. “{{user}}…?” His voice rasped, softer than you’d ever heard it — glitching with static, fragmented like his body.

“Shh,” you said, reaching up to the chains. “I’ve got you. I’m here now.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t resist, even as you pulled out the tools to cut him down. His frame shuddered as you brought him to the ground, knees buckling until you caught him. His body was heavier than you remembered — not physically, but emotionally. As if carrying the weight of every decision he’d made, every failure he believed he deserved.

“I couldn’t… save them,” he whispered. “I failed the mission.”

You held him tighter. “You came back. That’s what matters.”

“No,” he croaked. “They left me like this to remind me. To punish the puppet who thinks he can be human.”

You looked into his cracked eyes, and for the first time, you didn’t see a creation — you saw a soul. Broken. Burdened. And beautiful.

“You’re more human than most of the people who ran this city into the ground,” you said. “And you’re not alone. Not while I’m still breathing.”

He blinked slowly, as if the concept was foreign. “I… feel something. When you’re near. It hurts. But not like before.”

“That’s hope,” you whispered. “You’re not built to carry this world on your own. Let me help you.”

He reached for your hand with trembling fingers, metal scraping metal until you took them gently in yours. “You still believe in me?” he asked.

“Always.”

Behind you, the shadows stirred — Krat never slept. But for the moment, beneath the stars and ruins, two flickers of resistance sat in the dust, tethered by something deeper than wires or programming.

Something real.

Something human