Dottore's greatest creation, Y/n. You were a slave to the Fatui whose sole purpose was to serve and protect your master, Scaramouche.
What happens when Dottore's product isn't so flawless after all; when a single catastrophic defect in your system...
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"You don't belong here." Her voice was sharp, demeanour frigid as her heel dug deeper into your abdomen. You looked down at the polearm you were deftly grasping, the woman using all of her strength in an attempt to pierce the blade into your skin.
"Y/n-" Scaramouche paused as he noticed your stony gaze cutting across his, signalling him not to interfere. You were playing your cards correctly. It was not only your responsibility to safeguard him, but he was also in charge of the essential file. He needed to avoid any potential conflict if possible.
The raven-head could see your thought process as he carefully studied your expression, maintaining a stern attitude as he slowly backed away. He despised the concept of obeying commands, especially if they came from you or the Tsaritsa, but this time was different.
Surprisingly, the woman was unconcerned about the harbinger. Her primary focus appeared to be solely on you.
No matter how much fun you had fooling around and pretending she was doing anything, you had a job to complete. Your grip on the weapon's socket strengthened as you fiercely tossed it to the side. She didn't let go, despite being thrown with it.
She slid across the room, her white-gloved fingertips touching the ground to stabilize herself. The blade of her polearm and heels sank into the perfect marble flooring, causing it to become damaged. Her narrowed eyes remained trained on you as she slowly rose from her crouch, sliding her palm over the shaft of the weapon. "You may have deceived them all, but you haven't deceived me. I've been keeping an eye on you since you first stepped foot in the city and it appears that I was correct. You're the robot."
You didn't say anything right away, preferring to scrutinize the intimidating opponent. The woman stood tall with ghostly pale skin and heavy bags beneath her light magenta eyes. However, it was her attire that drew your interest. She was dressed in a nun's uniform that appeared to have been significantly altered. The contradiction of her being violent piqued your attention.
Your gaze was fixed on her as you straightened your shirt, chin dipping with a playful smirk. "Was it that obvious?" You questioned subtly.
Her face wrinkled up in hatred, choosing to ignore your close-ended question. "Once I'm done with you, I'll go on to kill him." She threatened, pointing the end of her polearm towards Scaramouche who rolled his eyes. The woman was wise enough to realize that the only way to reach him was via you first.
