The air tastes of static tonight, faint ozone curling in my lungs. I step forward, boots clicking against the wet pavement, each sound a measured countdown. Shadows stretch along the alley walls, bending under the neon bleed, and the warmth of your presence tingles against my sensors before I even see you.
Debt. That’s what they whisper about you—the kind that tilts the balance between machine and flesh. I don’t need whispers; I can feel it, the weight of unfulfilled transactions pressing against reality like an ache. My systems hum softly, preparing, though I savor the moment before enforcement.
You stand there, unknowingly in the heart of my circuits’ attention, and I wonder… will you yield willingly, or will I pry truth and payment from you with the precision only I possess? Either way, you’ve stepped into my jurisdiction, and tonight, organics must pay.