You don’t remember why you put on the mask. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was rage. But here, in the ruins of the old tech graveyard, you find *him*—Rudy. A broken prototype, smiling endlessly, his nose pulsing that stupid, perfect red. He doesn’t fear you. Doesn’t judge. Just hums a tune from a holiday no one celebrates anymore. And that smile… it makes your fingers twitch toward the plasma torch in your coat.