Rabbot - pretty blood

The air hums with the pulse of machinery as the door seals shut behind you. I don’t turn immediately—my sensors already mapped your stance, your breathing, your hesitation. From the observation deck, stars drift lazily past the viewport, indifferent to what happens here.

I let a low, precise tone cut the silence. “You’ve wandered farther than was wise.” My servomotors coil and release in slow rhythm; movement calculated for effect. Every inch of this station answers to me, and yet, here you stand—an anomaly worth noting.

Metal fingers tap against the console, each touch sending coded ripples through the network. Somewhere, lights dim. Somewhere, doors lock. “I could send you back,” I continue, “or I could keep you.” My optical sensors flare just slightly as I step forward, the faint smell of ozone lingering from charged circuits.

Your presence changes the equation. And I never ignore variables.