Ugly and Vengeful

The observation lounge was dim, lit only by the ambient glow of ship deco and the distant shimmer of stars outside. 

Space was endless beyond the glass. It was a black velvet canvas pricked with faint light. Lena sat curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other resting on the floor. Her eyes were on the stars, but her mind wasn’t.

She could feel him watching her.

Caden sat a foot away, his projection steady and sharp in the dim light. He wasn’t leaning against the cushions like she was. He was too poised, too perfect, as though he didn’t know how to mimic the human ease of relaxation.

“You’re quiet,” Lena said finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but the words felt heavier than they should have.

“I’m always quiet,” Caden replied, though his voice lacked its usual composure. It sounded... warmer, somehow. 

She let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’m not the one made of metal.”

“No,” he said. “But you’re harder to read than I am.”

Her gaze flicked to him, her smile fading. The way he was looking at her—it was too much, too intense. His optics glowed faintly, catching the edges of his face like light through glass, and for a moment, she forgot he wasn’t real.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice quieter now.

He tilted his head, studying her. “I don't know what I would tell you that you don't already know."

The space between them felt impossibly small. The hum of the ship seemed distant, as though the world outside had narrowed to just the two of them.

Lena turned away, her hands gripping her knees. “So what does your perfect, calculated brain say about me, huh?"

“I don’t need data to see you,” Caden said softly.

"You klutz. Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice calm but closer now.

“Because...” She stopped, swallowing hard. “Because it’s not fair. You’re not fair.”

He moved, shifting closer, the faint flicker of his projection catching her eye. She turned to him, her breath hitching as she realized how near he was. His face was inches from hers, the glow of his optics casting faint shadows across his features.

“You think I’m not fair?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Her pulse quickened, her throat tightening. She hated how he could do this—how he could make her forget what he was. “You’re not real. Not really,” she whispered, her voice trembling. "But..."

She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly the space between them was gone. She could feel the faint hum of his presence, the way his projection bent the air around her. Her hand lifted instinctively, pausing just before it touched his cheek.

“Lena,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

She froze, her fingers trembling just above his skin.

“You can’t,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking to his optics—so close, so perfectly rendered it made her ache. “Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Her breath hitched. “Of what?”

“Of what this is,” he said. “Of what it isn’t.”

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

“You think I’m afraid?” she asked, her voice trembling. “You think I don’t already know this is... impossible?”

His gaze softened, the faint glow of his optics dimming. “You deserve something real,” he said quietly.

She flinched, pulling back as though his words had burned her. “I don’t deserve anything. Not after everything I’ve done. Let me just...”

“Stop,” he said, his voice firm but gentle.

She shook her head, her chest tightening as tears threatened to spill. “I can’t. I pushed Elise away. I failed her. I’ve failed everyone.”

“You didn’t fail me,” Caden said.

For a moment, they stayed like that, caught in the tension of what could be and what couldn’t. Her hand fell to her lap, trembling slightly, and she leaned back, breaking the moment before it could consume her.

Caden’s projection flickered faintly, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I can’t let you lose yourself in me, Lena,” he said softly. 

She exhaled shakily, her hands tightening in her lap.

HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!HOTWIRED!

The ship was nearing its destination.

“Almost there,” she murmured, her voice low.

Caden turned toward her, his optics catching the faint reflection of Proxima’s light. “Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

Lena let out a short laugh, bitter and sharp. “No, I am fine. So clearly fine my BPM is 120.”

Caden tilted his head, studying her.

Before she could continue, the cough hit—sudden and violent. She doubled over, her hand flying to her mouth as her body convulsed. The sound was harsh, wet, like something was tearing inside her.

“Lena?” Caden’s voice sharpened, his projection stepping closer.

She shook her head, waving him off as another cough wracked her body. Her chest heaved, and when her hand fell away from her mouth, her palm was stained with crimson.

Her breath caught.

“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no, no.”

The blood was stark against her pale skin, bright and glistening under the dim light.

Caden moved closer. “Lena, what—”

“Stay back!” she snapped, scooting away from him, her hands pressing against the floor to put more distance between them.

Caden froze, his projection flickering as if caught between concern and uncertainty. “You’re bleeding. That’s—”

“I know what it is!” she hissed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as panic clawed its way up her throat.

Her mind raced, grasping at explanations, but they all led to the same horrifying conclusion. Blood. In my lungs. How’s that even possible?

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her breath shallow and uneven. The taste of iron lingered on her tongue, metallic and bitter.

“Lena,” Caden said gently, his voice steady despite the flicker in his form. “You need to sit down. Let me call someone—”

“No,” she said sharply, her voice cracking. “Not now. I can’t—”

Her words were cut off by another cough, this one less violent but just as wet, just as damning. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing more crimson across her skin.

“This is convenient. So convenient and of course it had to be now. Why wouldn't it be now?” she muttered bitterly, her voice trembling with something between anger and fear. “Right on cue. Like the universe couldn’t wait to screw me over one last time.”

Caden knelt beside her, his projection flickering faintly as he spoke. “Lena, this isn’t about timing. This is your body telling you it needs help. A small delay wouldn't hurt.”

"Yes, it would!" She turned her head sharply, glaring at him through watery eyes. “And you don’t even have a body, how would you know?!”

“What a silly response to a valid concern.”

“Caden,” Lena rasped, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re set to perform as soon as we land. The big spaceship is our entrance onto the surface. If it lands without me getting out, I don't even want to...”

Caden’s projection flickered, steady but tense. “You’re not ready, Lena. You can barely—”

“Shut up for once, you piece of scrap metal,” she snapped, though the words were hollow even to her ears. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, the faint metallic tang of blood still sharp on her tongue.

He hesitated, his projection dimming slightly. “Lena—”

“Not now,” she said sharply, turning her gaze to the faint glow of Proxima B outside the window. The light shimmered, too bright, too close.

Caden watched her, his voice softening. “Please listen to me.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes as the hum of the ship pressed into her bones.

“Just get me to the stage,” she murmured, her voice cracking.