The fluorescent lights of Rook’s Bargain Outlet buzzed overhead, casting a dull yellow glow over the store’s stained tile floor. The air smelled of old metal and cheap artificial goods, a staple scent of the undercity’s commercial districts.


    The aisles were crammed with mismatched products, prepackaged foods stacked haphazardly beside outdated tech parts, alongside crates of low-quality clothing and bootleg pharmaceuticals. Scattered around the store were the ever-present symbols of Rook Enterprises, his infamous rook chess emblem painted onto the walls, stamped onto price tags, and glowing faintly from the store’s rusting security drones that hovered silently above.


    Though the man himself was nowhere to be seen, his mark was an inescapable reminder of who really owned this place. At the front of the store, hunched behind an aging cash register, sat Leya. Kay’s mother.


    Her rabbit ears twitched every time a customer spoke too loudly, and her slender, scarred fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the register’s worn-out touch screen. She wore the store’s mandatory uniform, a dull red polo shirt with the Rook emblem stitched over her heart, along with black cargo pants and scuffed sneakers that had seen better days.


    Her once-pristine white and gray fur had become slightly unkempt from long shifts, and stray wisps of dark hair stuck out from the messy ponytail she had tied hastily that morning. Deep circles rested under her weary eyes, though she kept her expression locked into a practiced, polite smile.


    This was the routine, smile, scan, bag, repeat. Even when exhaustion threatened to break her. Even when her mind wandered to Kay and how she hadn’t checked on him in hours. Even when her pulse quickened with the creeping feeling that everything inside her was on the verge of snapping.


    The first few customers were manageable. A tired-looking chimera mother with two rowdy hybrid children who kept tugging on each other’s ears as they ran circles around the register.


    “Sorry about them, they’re a handful,” the mother said apologetically as she handed over a handful of tecabites.


    Leya forced a timid chuckle and shook her head. “It’s fine, really!” she reassured, though her fingers trembled as she tried to count out the woman’s change.


    The next few were worse. A grizzled undercity worker dumped a pile of prepackaged meals onto the counter. He reeked of sweat and old machine oil.


    “Hurry it up, rabbit, I ain’t got all day,” he grunted, barely glancing at her as he leaned against the counter.


    Leya flinched slightly but nodded quickly, forcing her hands to move faster even as her heart pounded in irritation.


    Smile. Scan. Bag. Repeat.


    Then came the usual sleazy types. A man with cybernetic implants leaned forward with a smirk as she rang up his purchase. His sharp yellow teeth gleamed under the fluorescent lights.


    “Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you smile for real, huh? Bet you’d look even cuter,” he crooned.


    Leya clenched her jaw but still forced a polite grin. “That’ll be 34 credits.”


    “Aw, come on, what’s with the attitude? Someone as pretty as you should be a little friendlier.”


    Leya’s fingers dug into the counter. Her ears flattened slightly as her tail stiffened behind her. “Sir, please—”


    The man chuckled darkly, tossing a few tecabites onto the counter before grabbing his purchase and walking off. “No need to be so cold, sweetheart. I’ll see you around.” The man warned with a dirty grin.


    Leya barely swallowed down the lump in her throat as she began her mechanical routine. A few more customers would pass by as her fake smile steadily faded more and more. By the time the next customer arrived, Leya was teetering on the edge of something volatile.


    An elderly man, hunched over a cane, shuffled forward shakily with a warm smile. His smile filled with care and kindness despite his recent struggles in the undercity. His fur was aged and speckled with gray, his movements slow and gentle.


    “Oh, dearie, I think this one rang up wrong. It says 12 tecabites, but I could’ve sworn the sign said 10.”


    Leya barely heard him. Her pulse was hammering in her ears.


    “Uh, ma’am? Is there a discount today?” the old man asked again, his tone genuinely polite. “Its fine either way I can-“


    But something inside Leya snapped as she cut him off. “I—” Her voice spiked with frustration. “I don’t know, okay?!” she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “I didn’t make the damn thing!”


    The entire store seemed to go silent around her. The elderly man blinked in shock, his ears drooping slightly as his smile faltered. “Oh… I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to be a bother.”


    Leya stared at him, the heat still bubbling under her skin, but now met with a crushing wave of shame. “No, wait—” Leya reached out, panic setting in, her voice suddenly trembling with regret. “I—I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”


    But the damage was done. The old man’s eyes watered, his wrinkled hands trembling as he clutched his cane. “Its okay, mam…” The man whispered as he tried to maintain his composure. The few customers nearby turned toward the scene, their whispers growing louder. “Poor guy…”


    “What’s her problem?”


    “It was just a question, geez.”


    A small crowd began forming, their expressions shifting between disapproval and sympathy for the old man. Leya felt suffocated. Her ears pressed flat against her skull, her tail curling inward as she instinctively shrunk in on herself.


    “I’m—” her voice cracked, her hands trembling as she tried to bow her head in apology. “I swear, I didn’t mean—”


    But her apology was swiftly cut off as that dreaded voice rang out from the intercom. “Leya. Office. Now.”


    Leya went rigid. A few customers murmured quietly, their judgmental stares burning into her.


    The old man wiped his eyes with shaking hands as a younger chimera came to comfort him.


    Leya bit her lip, her chest tightening painfully. She wanted to disappear.


    With shaky, heavy steps, she turned from the mess she made and began walking toward the back office. As she stepped past the crowd, she could feel the weight of their gazes, their unspoken condemnation pressing down on her.


    Her throat tightened, her vision blurred, but she forced her trembling legs forward. Before she disappeared behind the door, she whispered under her breath, barely audible over the chatter.


    “Damn it…” And with that, the door shut behind her.


    Leya sat rigidly in the cramped, dimly lit office of Rook’s Bargain Outlet, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. The room reeked of cigarette smoke and stale coffee, the kind of stagnant, suffocating atmosphere that made it clear this was a place where bad news was delivered frequently.


    Stacks of untouched paperwork were shoved into metal drawers, the cheap plastic desk cluttered with half-empty energy drink cans and a blinking holo-screen displaying sales data. The air purifier in the corner sputtered weakly, struggling against the overwhelming musk of the undercity’s pollution that seeped in through the vents.


    At the other side of the desk sat Ms. Sylvia Caine, Leya’s boss, a tall, broad-shouldered cyborg woman with sharp features, dark skin, and piercing amber eyes that always seemed to be judging everyone around her. Her short, curly hair was tightly cropped, and she wore the standard black and orange business suit issued to all managerial staff under Rook Enterprises, pressed, polished, and utterly lifeless.


    Her nails were perfectly manicured, her tie adjusted flawlessly, and her demeanor cold as steel. She didn’t even look up when Leya walked in—just tapped at the holoscreen with a metallic fingertip, her cybernetic hand clicking softly as she flipped through data.


    Then, without looking up, she spoke. “Leya, do you have any idea how many times we’ve had this conversation?” Sylvia’s tone was measured, professional, but laced with an unmistakable edge of irritation.


    Leya swallowed hard, her ears flattening against her skull. She forced herself to sit still, even though her body screamed for her to run, to fight, to do anything but endure another scolding. She’d had a long day. She was tired. She was sick of this place.


    Still, she tried to play along. “Ms. Caine, I—”


    “Six times,” Sylvia cut her off, finally looking up. Her cold amber gaze locked onto Leya’s, her expression unreadable. “Six different times, Leya. Six reports. Six warnings. Six separate occasions where you either yelled at, threatened, or—on two occasions—physically attacked a customer.”


    Leya’s jaw tightened, and she fought the rising pressure in her chest. “They provoked me,” she said through gritted teeth, forcing a tight-lipped smile to cover her frustration. “No one ever says anything when they treat me like garbage, but the second I fight back—”


    Sylvia sighed, she’d heard this excuse a thousand times before. She gestured lazily to the large framed portrait hanging on the office wall, a polished, lifeless image of Rook himself. His vivid orange hair was neatly slicked back, his pale skin unnervingly smooth, and his cybernetic orange eyes glowed faintly with an artificial intensity. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, the Rook emblem pinned proudly to his chest.


    Beneath his picture, a plaque displayed the store’s slogan in bold, capital letters: “CUSTOMERS FIRST. EMPLOYEES SECOND. PROFITS ALWAYS.”


    Sylvia tapped the plaque once, then leaned forward slightly, fixing Leya with a mocking smirk. “This? This is the only thing that matters, Leya. Not your feelings. Not your pride. Not your excuses.”


    Leya’s eye twitched. Her claws dug into the fabric of her black cargo pants. The anger she had been shoving down all day finally snapped.


    “That’s bullshit!” Leya suddenly roared, her ears standing upright, her tail bristling.


    Sylvia didn’t even flinch. She just shook her head, as if she had expected this, before folding her hands together neatly on the desk.


    “And your opinion doesn’t matter,” she said coolly, tilting her head. “Because as of this moment, Leya, you’re fired.”


    Silence. Leya’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest heaved as she processed those words. Fired? No. No, this couldn’t be happening. I got had bills to pay. Rents due.


    And most importantly— Kay. Shock quickly gave way to rage. She slammed her hands on the desk, ears flattened in pure fury. “You can’t do this! I have a kid at home!”


    Sylvia’s expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked bored. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you lost your temper.”


    Leya’s claws flexed, her breathing ragged. She was shaking, her vision blurring with frustration.


    Sylvia stood slowly, straightening her tie with calm precision. “Now,” she said evenly, “I suggest you leave before I have security throw you out.”


    But Leya didn’t move. She couldn’t move. Something in her snapped.


    With a furious snarl, she lunged over the desk, her claws outstretched. She was incredibly fast, but Sylvia was faster.


    With a fluid, practiced motion, Sylvia ducked, then threw a brutal punch into Leya’s gut, the impact so powerful that it sent Leya flying backwards, crashing through the office door and skidding across the store floor.


    The entire store fell silent as they watched Leya’s soaring body. Customers turned to watch with wide eyes as Leya now lay sprawled across the tile, gasping for air. The pain was unbearable, her ribs throbbed, her vision swam, and the world spun around her.


    Guards were on her instantly, grabbing her arms before she could stand. Sylvia calmly stepped out of the office, straightening her sleeves and adjusting her tie as she looked down at Leya with a detached expression.


    “If I ever see you in this store again, you’ll be shot on the spot,” she said flatly. Leya thrashed violently, screaming in pure fury, but the guards tightened their grip. She kicked, she flailed, she cursed, but it was no use.


    They dragged her through the aisles, past the watching customers, past the shelves lined with cheap goods, past the storefront decorated with Rook’s emblem, before finally hurling her onto the cold cracked pavement outside.


    The door quickly slammed shut behind her. The undercity’s acidic rain drizzled softly from above, soaking her clothes as she lay there, trembling, breathing hard, her face twisted in pain and fury.


    She curled her fingers into fists, her claws scraping against the wet pavement as a choked sob ripped from her throat. Everything hurt. Everything was falling apart. And she had almost nowhere to go.


    Leya now sat hunched over on a torn, stained couch, its stuffing poking through the worn-out fabric. The entire room smelled of damp rot and old cigarette smoke, the air thick with the scent of something stale and long abandoned.


    The walls were yellowed, the once-white paint now cracked and peeling, revealing the rusted metal framework beneath. The single overhead light flickered, barely illuminating the room beyond a dull, sickly glow.


    In the corner, an old analog clock ticked relentlessly, each mechanical click slicing through the silence like a blade.


    Leya’s clothes were still wet, having discarded her employee work shirt during the long walk, her black tank top and cargo pants were completely soaked from the acidic rain that had drizzled upon her as she made her way here. Her fur clung to her skin, the black-and-white patches of it matted with a mixture of rainwater and dirt.


    She held a bottle of cheap alcohol in her shaking hands, her fingers twitching around the glass as she fidgeted restlessly. The amber liquid inside sloshed slightly with her every movement.


    Leya had been sitting there for what felt like hours, her mind spiraling downward into the abyss of her problems. No job. No income.


    No way to pay rent. How the hell am I supposed to take care of Kay now? Leya thought to herself as she shook lightly.


    Leya had already been barely scraping by, surviving on the crumbs of whatever jobs she could get. But now?


    Now she had nothing. Leya clenched her jaw, squeezing the bottle so tight she thought it might shatter in her grip.


    The clock ticked. She hated that sound.


    It reminded her of how little time she had left before everything collapses. Before she loses him too.


    But just as another wave of dread threatened to suffocate her, the door creaked open. Soft, deliberate metal footsteps echoed through the silence, each step precise and rhythmic.


    Leya slowly lifted her head, her tired, sunken eyes locking onto the figure that entered the room. A robotic boy stood in the doorway, his body sleek and well-maintained, though his posture carried a certain unnerving stillness, as if he were designed to observe, rather than exist.


    His glowing dark blue eyes flickered slightly, set within a smooth onyx-black faceplate, a faint outline of human-like features molded into the synthetic metal. His frame was slender yet sturdy, built with an efficiency that suggested he was more than just a simple machine. He wore a dark navy hoodie, slightly oversized, with sleeves that covered part of his mechanical hands.


    The hood was pulled back, revealing the intricate network of circuits and plates that made up his head. “My mother will see you now,” he said, his voice calm, too calm, lacking any hint of real emotion, yet somehow eerily human in its cadence. As if he too were alive.


    Leya blinked slowly, as if it took a second for her to process the words. She swallowed thickly, nodding stiffly as she shifted forward, gripping the bottle one last time before setting it down with a soft clink against the floor.


    “Right…” Her voice cracked slightly before she cleared her throat. “Thanks, kid.”


    The robotic boy didn’t respond, just took a step back, allowing her to pass. Leya hesitated for a split second before forcing herself to stand.


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    Her legs felt weak, as if they didn’t want to support her anymore, but she pushed forward. She walked past the boy and into the dimly lit hallway, the air colder here, the walls narrowing as if they were closing in.


    Each step felt heavier than the last. And for the first time in a long while, Leya struggled to hold back her tears.


    Leya sat stiffly in a worn-out leather chair, her fingers gripping the armrests tightly, her claws digging into the faded material. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the soft glow of a small artificial lamp resting atop the old, metal desk between her and the therapist.


    The walls were a dull, muted gray, the faint hum of ventilation the only sound filling the space besides the distant ticking of an analog clock. There were no personal decorations, nothing warm or inviting, just a sterile, mechanical coldness that mirrored the joyless city outside.


    Across from her, the therapist sat calmly, her polished silver hands resting lightly atop the desk. She was a robotic woman, though unlike most automatons in the undercity, she had been built with strikingly human features.


    Her face was made of a smooth, synthetic material, sculpted with delicate precision to resemble a woman in her late 30s. Her dark copper and blue eyes flickered with soft, artificial intelligence, her movements precise yet eerily fluid. Long, platinum-white fibers cascaded down her back, designed to mimic hair, framing her elegant yet emotionless face.


    She wore a deep blue high-collared blazer, formal and pressed, paired with a matching pencil skirt. A subtle emblem of Rook’s insignia was imprinted onto the lapel, a reminder of who funded these therapy sessions.


    For a long moment, neither woman spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.


    Then, the therapist finally broke it. “How have you been, Leya?” she asked, her voice gentle yet devoid of true warmth.


    Leya let out a hollow, bitter laugh, leaning forward and rubbing her temples. “Well… I got fired. Again.”


    The therapist nodded, not surprised. “I see. And how are you feeling about that?”


    Leya scoffed, shaking her head. “Like shit.”


    She exhaled sharply, glancing at the bottle of cheap alcohol sitting on the nearby table, condensation forming on the glass from the cold. “It’s not like it matters, though. I’ll find another one, right?”


    Leya continued, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Just like last time. And the time before that. And the time before that.”


    The therapist watched her carefully before speaking. “You always do.”


    Leya’s fingers twitched slightly against the armrest. “Yeah, and that’s the problem.”


    She hesitated before finally saying the words aloud. “I started hitting Kay again.”


    A flicker of something passed through the therapist’s artificial eyes, not quite shock, but an acknowledgment of something deeply troubling.


    She remained silent, waiting. Leya swallowed hard, feeling her hands start to shake. “The other day… he dropped a plate while cleaning. It was an accident, but I was already pissed off from work, and when I scolded him, we started arguing.”


    She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to continue. “And before I knew it, I…” Her voice cracked, her claws digging lightly into her palm. “I hit him.”


    The weight of the confession made the room feel even smaller. “I didn’t even realize what I’d done until after it happened.”


    The therapist’s expression remained neutral, but her voice softened just slightly. “Does Kay know it was an accident?”


    Leya gave a bitter laugh, her ears twitching with agitation as tears began to well in her eyes. “No. I stormed off right after. Didn’t even give him a chance to talk.”


    She exhaled sharply through her nose, shifting in her chair, her body tense and restless. “He probably hates me,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “Probably wishes he had a better mom. A better home.”


    The therapist let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. Her voice gentle yet laced with hesitation. “Leya… are these outbursts because of the anniversary?”


    Leya froze immediately. The room became unbearably still.


    The ticking of the clock filled the void, growing louder, more intrusive, digging into her like a relentless drumbeat.


    She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. A minute passed. Then another.


    Her shoulders began to shake. Her breathing grew uneven.


    And then, the floodgates broke. A ragged sob tore its way from her throat as her body collapsed inward, shaking violently as she buried her face in her hands.


    The overwhelming pressure, the years of suppressed grief, rage, self-loathing, all of it shattered in an instant. Tears streamed down her face, soaking her fur as her sobs grew louder, raw and unfiltered in their pain.


    The therapist leaned forward slightly, her metallic hands clasped together before she stood up to console Leya.


    “Take your time, Leya,” she said softly as she placed a gentle hand on Leya’s shoulder. “Let it out.”


    Leya couldn’t stop the tears. She clutched at her chest, her cries broken, anguished, as if she were trying to claw the pain out of her own body.


    She hated herself. For everything. For Kay. For the life she had built. For the life she had lost.


    And standing just outside the doorway, the robotic boy watched silently, his dark blue eyes flickering as he processed what he was seeing.


    His fingers twitched slightly, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t move. He simply listened. All the while Leya wept, shattered and exhausted, the weight of everything finally too much to bear.


    An hour would soon pass as Leya staggered through a graveyard, her footsteps uneven, the weight of her grief pressing down on her like an unbearable chain. The cold air bit at her fur, damp with tears, as the wind carried the scent of distant rain and damp earth.


    The hover cars above cast fleeting beams of artificial light, their engines humming softly in the distance, indifferent to the broken woman below. She barely registered their presence, her vision blurred not just from the alcohol that still coursed through her system, but from the raw grief that twisted and clawed at her insides.


    In her shaking grip, she clutched her half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol, the glass slick from where her fingers trembled. Each sip had done nothing to dull the pain, if anything, it had only made it worse, amplifying the hollowness within her chest until it felt like she was caving in.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking, Leya came to a stop. Her breath hitched, her pulse erratic as she stood before a simple, makeshift gravestone, its surface worn by time. She had built it herself a decade ago, a poor excuse for a memorial, yet it was all she could give. A monument of guilt.


    Her knees threatened to buckle, her body swaying slightly from the alcohol and exhaustion, but she forced herself to remain standing. “Deacon…” She whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, lost in the wind.


    Her ears flattened against her head, and her lips trembled as she spoke. “I’m so sorry…”


    A fresh wave of tears welled up, slipping down her cheeks and darkening the fur beneath her eyes. The overwhelming shame, the years of mistakes, the self-hatred that gnawed at her like a parasite, it all came rushing back, consuming her whole.


    “I can’t do anything right…” The words came out in a breathless sob, her chest heaving, her body convulsing with every sharp inhale.


    She took a shaky step forward, her grip tightening around the bottle as her emotions swelled into something unbearable. “All I ever do is fuck things up!” she suddenly shrieked, her voice raw and broken.


    The pain was too much. The weight of her existence too unbearable. Her hand clenched too hard, the bottle shattered, jagged shards slicing into her palm as the sting barely even registered through her hysteria. Scarlet droplets fell onto the dry, barren dirt, staining it red.


    “I can’t keep a job… can barely even cook a meal… I can’t even fucking drive!” she raged, her voice cracking, her body trembling uncontrollably.


    Her breathing came in erratic, broken sobs, her shoulders shaking as she hurled the shattered remains of the bottle across the graveyard, watching the pieces scatter like the fragments of her shattered life.


    She dropped to her knees, her strength completely failing her as she buried her face in her bloodied hands.


    “I’m such a fuckup…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper now, broken and exhausted.


    “All I ever do is hurt people. It’s all I’ve ever been able to do, and now I’m supposed to raise a kid?”


    Her body curled inward, as if trying to make herself smaller, as if she could disappear completely. Her voice became softer, weaker, as she wiped at her tear-stained face, her fingers leaving smudges of crimson from her wounded hand.


    “I can’t do this without you, Deacon…” The name felt like a knife against her tongue, an ache so deep she thought she might choke on it.


    She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the cold dirt beneath her, grounding her, anchoring her to something, anything, because she felt like she was drifting away. “I’m not good enough… I’ll never be good enough…”


    She lifted her head, her watery eyes gazing up at the distant hover cars, their lights flickering against the gloom of the undercity sky. The world had moved on without him.


    Without her. Without Kay. Everything had kept turning, and yet, here she was, stuck in the past, drowning in her own failures and misery.


    Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, carried away by the wind. “I just wish you were still here instead of me…”


    Her ears twitched slightly as the wind howled in response, an empty answer to a prayer that would never be answered. Her gaze slowly lowered to the makeshift gravestone again, her expression softening, less consumed by rage, but instead… something aching, longing.


    A love that had never faded, even after all this time. “I just miss you so much, Deacon…”


    Her fingers brushed against the rough, weathered surface of the makeshift gravestone, her touch gentle, reverent despite her trembling hands. “You were everything to me.”


    Kay sat atop his worn-out bed, his small frame dwarfed by the weight of the reality settling in around him. The dim glow of streetlights filtering through the cracked blinds barely illuminated his neat but rundown room, casting long, jagged shadows against the peeling walls.


    Old posters of superheroes and action stars, their colors faded and edges curled, decorated the walls, remnants of his late father’s past. A collection of dusty action figures lined a crooked shelf, standing as silent sentinels from a life that was slipping further and further from his grasp.


    Among the relics of childhood, a few photographs rested on his nightstand, capturing a time long before he was born. A younger, happier, Leya and her partner, Deacon, standing side by side in crisp police uniforms, their eyes bright with determination, their smiles genuine.


    Kay’s eyes lingered on them for a long moment, his heart aching in ways he couldn’t put into words. The parents in those photographs felt like strangers, people he had only heard of in stories, never truly known.


    Above him, the cybernetic phoenix soared effortlessly, its metallic wings leaving behind a trail of shimmering cosmic embers that flickered in the dim light like dying stars in an infinite sky. The soft hum of its cybernetic body filled the room, a gentle, soothing sound that contrasted against the quiet agony clawing at Kay’s rotting insides.


    A small smile ghosted over Kay’s lips as he watched the mechanical phoenix dance through the air, free, unburdened, untouched by the cruel hand of fate. How he envied it.


    Its joy. Its cheer. And most of all, its freedom.


    The Phoenix took one final cycle around the room before gracefully descending, perching itself on his frail shoulder, its warmth pressing against his ice-cold skin.


    Kay giggled weakly at the sensation, though his breath came out ragged, his voice barely above a whisper. As he laughed, his fangs glinted in the dim light, his crimson eyes glowing softly in the darkness.


    “You’re a cute fella… aren’t you?” Kay murmured, his voice tinged with exhaustion as he gently ran a trembling hand over the phoenix’s sleek metal feathers.


    The Phoenix let out a light, soothing caw, nudging its head against his cheek. Kay let out a breathy chuckle, though it wavered slightly. He barely had the strength to hold his own hand steady.


    “…I… I think I’ll name you Skippy…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, as if saying the name alone required effort.


    His vision flickered, the edges blurring, darkening, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like a suffocating blanket. The Phoenix tilted its head, sensing the shift. Kay barely noticed the way his body swayed, his strength slipping through his fingers like sand.


    Then, without warning, a violent cough tore through his chest, rattling his frail frame. Dark crimson splattered onto his trembling hands.


    Kay stared at the warm blood pooling in his palm, his expression unreadable. The sight should have terrified him. But instead, he simply sighed, wiping it off onto the fabric of his pants as if it were nothing more than a stain.


    Above him, Skippy cawed frantically, its wings flaring as it hovered in front of him, its metallic eyes filled with artificial but undeniable concern. But Kay only gave a weak, tired smile, his voice soft, as fragile as glass.


    “Don’t worry… Skippy.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “I’ll be fine…”


    The Phoenix let out another distressed chirp, but Kay knew it saw through the lie. He felt the weight of its gaze, its silent plea, but before he could do anything, the garage door groaned open in the distance, the mechanical grind slicing through the heavy silence.


    Kay let out a small, weak chuckle, forcing himself upright as he slid off the bed, his legs shaky beneath him. “Looks like Mom’s home…” He muttered, reaching blindly for his black sunglasses, slipping them over his glowing crimson eyes.


    Skippy didn’t move. It hovered in place, its gaze never leaving him, as if it knew, as if it could feel the inevitable approaching. Kay turned, offering the Phoenix one last glance. His smile was small, tired… forced.


    “She’ll love to meet you.” With that, he stepped out of the room, leaving behind the warmth of Skippy’s light in the darkness.


    Kay’s feet felt like lead as he trudged down the dark, narrow hallway, his body weak, trembling, the edges of his vision blurring with each step. His fingertips ghosted along the cracked walls, the tips of his razor-sharp claws scratching faint grooves into the surface, leaving behind silent echoes of his passing.


    The air was heavy, thick with the suffocating weight of memories, pressing down on him like chains wrapped around his chest. As he walked, his dull, crimson eyes caught a glimpse of something familiar, an old, dusty photo, its glass covered in a thin film of neglect.


    Kay stopped for just a second, his unsteady breath hitching in his throat as he gazed upon the image. A younger version of himself, barely a toddler, sat perched on Leya’s shoulders, his tiny hands clutching onto her messy hair for balance.


    Leya had been so much younger then, but her eyes… they were already so tired. Her gaze, even as she held her son close, was hollow, burdened, the kind of exhaustion that sank deeper than the flesh, something woven into the very fabric of her soul.


    It was a photo taken shortly after she had been relieved of duty, shortly after the world had ripped away the last shred of stability she had left. Even then, long before her spiral began, the pain had already been there, waiting, festering.


    Kay swallowed hard, forcing himself to move on. He passed more photos, each one a relic of a different, fading time.


    Another one caught his attention. A more recent one, this time, not of him.


    Leya sat at a restaurant table, wearing a white dress and heels, her bruises expertly hidden beneath layers of fabric and makeup. She was smiling. Laughing.


    Beside her, her then-boyfriend, a man dressed in a black suit with an orange tie, grinned as he leaned toward her, his expression seemingly warm, affectionate. But Kay knew better.


    Kay knew how that relationship had ended. Knew the bruises that the fabric couldn’t hide.


    He exhaled shakily, his body visibly trembling now, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.


    His steps eventually led him to the living room, where Leya sat slumped on the old couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her watery, sunken eyes were unfocused, her face drawn with exhaustion, her frail body seemingly held together by nothing more than sheer willpower.


    She looked just as lost as he felt. Kay swallowed down the lump in his throat and quietly stepped in front of her, though she didn’t acknowledge him at first, her gaze remaining fixed upward, as if she were staring into something far beyond the cracked ceiling above.


    Only after a long, achingly silent moment, did her dull, weary eyes finally shift toward him. And then, toward Skippy, who hovered close behind.


    “What’s that?” Leya’s voice was hushed, fragile, as if she barely had the energy to speak. Kay turned his head slightly, glancing at Skippy before looking back at her.


    “It’s Skippy.” His voice was weak, shaky, but laced with something soft, something raw. “My friend gave them to me as a gift.”


    A small, wet cough sputtered from his lips mid-sentence, but he was quick to cover his mouth, his hand coming away red. He Ignored it. He had to.


    “A-and I…” He hesitated, gripping the fabric of his shirt to steady himself. “I wanted to give them to you as a gift.”


    Skippy hesitated at first, its glowing violet eyes flickering between Kay and Leya, almost sensing the delicate atmosphere. But eventually, it drifted forward, its mechanical wings folding in as it landed gently atop Leya’s lap.


    It let out a soft, metallic chirp, its warm frame pressing against her stomach, settling in as if it belonged there. Leya didn’t move at first.


    She simply stared at the phoenix, her expression unreadable. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she were about to say something, but nothing came.


    Nothing could. Her hands trembled as she slowly, hesitantly, reached out and ran her fingers across Skippy’s sleek, cybernetic feathers.


    The tiny, mechanical bird leaned into her touch, nuzzling against her with a warmth she hadn’t felt in years. And then—her breath hitched.


    A crack formed in the fragile dam she had spent years fortifying. Her lips quivered violently, and before she could stop herself, her voice broke.


    “Thank you…” It was nothing more than a whisper, fragile, raw, trembling with barely-contained emotion. Her hand cupped Skippy’s small frame tightly, as if holding onto the bird was the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.


    “Thank you, Kay.” Her voice cracked, her throat tight, her body shaking uncontrollably as she whispered it again.


    Kay took a slow, shaky step back. He didn’t know how to respond.


    Didn’t know how to comfort her when he was barely holding himself together. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, gripping onto the last remnants of his composure as he turned away, his movements sluggish, weak.


    “O-of course…” His voice was barely audible as he stumbled toward the doorway, his vision swimming, his body fighting to keep moving. Leya didn’t stop him.


    She simply sat there, curled around the small phoenix, as silent tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into its feathers. And for the first time in a long, long time… she held onto something without fear of breaking it.


    Agonizing hours passed. The world outside remained indifferent, oblivious to the slow, steady drain of life from Kay’s trembling body.


    He lay curled on the cold, blood-slicked floor, his frail form barely more than a shadow now, a husk, lost in the tide of pain and resignation. His once-vibrant clothing was now soaked through with dark crimson, the dark fabric clinging to his frail, shaking frame.


    The air was thick with the sickly scent of iron, the puddle beneath him spreading inch by inch, seeping into the cracks of the floor like a final, unspoken confession. But Kay barely noticed the agony.


    The world around him had dulled, his body growing colder, his fingers twitching as he stared blankly ahead, his half-lidded, dimming crimson eyes reflecting the flickering overhead light. A weak breath rattled in his chest, barely escaping past his trembling lips, his mind drifting further and further into the abyss of solitude.


    And yet… despite everything, despite his body failing, despite death tightening its grip around him, his thoughts weren’t of himself.


    They were of her. Will she even notice I’m gone? A silent tear slid down his cheek, mixing with the blood that had pooled beneath his face.


    “Will she care?” His lips parted in a soundless plea, his voice long since stolen by the weight of exhaustion.


    “Will anyone?” But then—A glimmer of movement. From beneath the door, a ripple of liquid metal slithered through the tiny crack, gleaming faintly under the dim lighting. The fluid-like shape shuddered and pulsed, then shifted, taking form, solidifying into the familiar figure of Skippy.


    The small cybernetic dog stood before him, its sleek, reflective plating tinged with a cosmic violet hue, faint embers of stardust-like energy flickering from its metallic frame. Its ears twitched, lined with a soft glow, and its bright, expressive, violet eyes brimmed with distress, glowing like twin nebulae in the darkness.


    Kay’s breath hitched as he tried to focus on the small creature before him. His voice was barely more than a whisper, weak, fleeting.


    “Skippy…” The robotic dog whimpered at the sound of his name, its synthetic tail tucking between its legs as it rushed toward Kay, its tiny paws splashing into the pool of blood that surrounded the boy.


    Skippy let out a soft, pained whine, licking Kay’s frail, trembling arm, trying, desperately trying, to wake him up, to bring warmth back into the coldness creeping through him.


    Kay smiled weakly, the effort taking nearly all that remained in him, his fingers twitching as he struggled to lift his arm. His icy touch barely grazed Skippy’s head, but the moment was gentle, filled with something so achingly warm despite the overwhelming cold surrounding him.


    His voice was little more than a ghost of sound, but his words carried the weight of his final resolve. “It’s okay, Skippy…” Kay whispered weakly.


    The cybernetic dog whimpered, pressing its head harder against his palm, but Kay’s touch was already fading, his fingers losing their grip, slipping away. “It doesn’t matter anymore…” Kay murmured as his weak smile transformed from that of fear and despair, to acceptance and content.


    Skippy whined softly as he felt Kay’s gentle touch. Skippy could see it in his eyes, the acceptance, the peace, the way his breath had finally steadied, even as his heartbeat slowed. Kay took one final, trembling breath, his lips parting in a soft, quiet murmur.


    “Now that you’re here… To keep her company…” And then—His chest stilled.


    His fingers, once lightly curled against Skippy’s metallic fur, went limp. His lifeless hand fell from the robotic dog’s head, hitting the bloodstained floor with a soft, final thud. His limp hand now rested atop the soaked carpet in front of his soulless gaze


    Kay’s crimson eyes, once flickering with so much fear, so much longing, and despair, now held nothing at all. All the while Skippy watched in horror as the last embers of Kay’s soul faded into the night, swallowed by the silence. And then—Skippy howled.


    A noise filled with pure grief, a raw, desperate wail that pierced through the heavy stillness like shattered glass. The small cybernetic dog quickly nudged Kay’s motionless arm, whimpered, nudged again, his cries becoming more frantic, more desperate, but Kay never moved again.


    Realization crashed over Skippy like a tidal wave of sorrow. Kay was gone. Truly, irreversibly gone.


    And in the face of that loss, Skippy did the only thing it could. It turned, shuddering, shifting, its metallic body morphing, twisting, until it took the shape of a small, sleek silver snake.


    With one final glance at Kay’s still body, Skippy quickly slipped beneath the door, vanishing into the shadows beyond. Leaving behind nothing but the echo of Kay’s final breath. And the deafening silence that followed.