His comp beeped. Fizzled. Died.
Kingpouge froze. His hand twitched toward his wrist-comp. kingpouge laika
She hated the way he stroked her fur with his cold, chrome-plated fingers, calling her his "good little monster." She hated the way he fed her the still-warm hearts of his rivals, watching with detached curiosity as she crunched the organic matter mixed with circuitry. She hated that she was bound to him not by love, but by a kill-switch embedded in her cybernetic spine. One press of a button on his wrist-comp, and she'd seize, then burn out like a blown fuse. His comp beeped