Divine Singularity || Reader x Murder Drones

V

You were pleased, if a bit smug, to hear that Tessa's father had no objections to you taking over the garden. Of course, that might've had something to do with the little lie you'd fed him about your "extensive experience" with plants. You'd even showcased the previously withering flowers as proof, their newfound vibrance a direct result of your powers rather than any green thumb. But as far as you were concerned, if a small fabrication landed you the job, it was worth it. You thought honesty was overrated anyway.

The day passed, and by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, the manor had settled into a quiet calm. Tessa, left with free time since her usual entourage was otherwise occupied, decided to take you for a walk. The forest around the manor seemed softer in the twilight, shadows stretching across the path as Tessa chattered beside you, her words drifting in and out like background music. You listened, offering the occasional opinion or response whenever she glanced at you for validation, but your mind began to wander.

As the walk continued, you started noticing something odd. The ground was littered with remnants, broken parts, rusted limbs—pieces of worker drones, scattered haphazardly along the path. And the deeper you went, the more frequent they became, until the sight of shattered metal and discarded parts became a grim trail leading you somewhere you'd rather not go. You recognized this place all too well, and a feeling of dread pooled in your chest as the scenery took on a dark familiarity.

The forest thinned, and then you saw it: the clearing with the unmistakable pile of discarded drones, twisted and rusting, like some kind of grotesque offering to decay. Tessa had taken you right back to the graveyard where she'd found you. The memory of it, of your own broken form among the others, flashed in your mind, and you couldn't help but grimace, your insides twisting at the sight. You felt yourself pull inward, as if trying to shield yourself from the thick stench of death and abandonment that permeated the place.

"Ah... this is the drone graveyard," you muttered distastefully.

"Yep," Tessa confirmed, approaching the rusted gate. A lock and chain hung around the handle, a deceptive attempt to keep out curious eyes, though the lock itself wasn't actually secured. Tessa slid it down, pushed open the gate, and gestured for you to follow.

You hesitated, your gaze flitting over the skeletal remains of discarded drones. You had only recently begun nurturing life in the garden, and now here you were, back among death. It felt sickening. "If you don't mind me asking... what are we doing here?" you asked, a hint of strain in your voice.

Tessa grabbed your hand without hesitation, her grip firm as she pulled you inside. "Finding parts," she replied. "My parents won't give me the supplies I need to fix up any of you guys. So, if I want to keep you all in good condition, I have to... improvise."

Her response was so casual—or at least she tried to make it sound like it was. You could tell from the slight change in tone at the mention of her parents that whatever relationship she had with her parents, must not have been a good one. You had your suspicions, judging from the fact Tessa was alway so hesitant to let you wander off on your own less you encounter them. From the little you'd pieced together, it was clear that whatever bond the Elliot parents and child shared, it wasn't exactly a picture of love; it struck you as a relationship based more in fear and control than anything resembling affection.

You began to think that this "drone graveyard" was more than just a source for spare parts. It was her way of taking back a little control, a place where she could be the one who decided what was worth keeping, what was worth fixing. In a way, it was probably the closest she got to true freedom.

As you moved alongside Tessa, your eyes scanned the parts scattered across the ground, catching glimpses of twisted limbs, empty visors, and the occasional mangled wire—pieces of something once functional, once alive in their own way. And while Tessa rummaged through the debris, you knelt down to one drone body, running a hand along their visor.