> A closer look shows the years have not been kind
> Her wig and attire have been ripped to shreds, leaving only the barest ragged wisps upon her head and body
> half her body has been utterly crushed, as well as both feet at the knees
> one eye flickers intermittently, the other is missing its lighting mechanism entirely and the socket is hollow with a couple of broken wire ends
> scratch marks and rust stains have ruined what little remains of her framework
> Servos whir and click visibly in her chest cavity, vainly repeating initiating motions for limbs that are gone
> Helena is saying something, but Maddie isn't listening, the world is now only her and the friend she abandoned
> There wasn’t a repair policy at all
> Why would there be, they mass-produce nandroids on a daily basis
> it’s all so obviously a lie now, she can’t believe she was so stupid
> "I-i-I-I aM SoRrY aBoU-Ou-oU-OU-OUt tHe CaKe, AnD oN yOuR Sp-spe-SPe-SpEci- SpEciAL DaY, t-ToOo-"
> Oil leaks from Emmy’s one “good” eye
> There’s something wet on Madeline’s cheeks, her vision is blurring
> pLe-PLe-Please, I'LL ma-mAke iT u-U-U-uP tO YoU- aN eV-vVen BeTt-T-t-TeR ParTy-"
> Impossibly, her only arm stutteringly reaches out, though Madeline recalls bizarrely that Nandroid batteries only have a two-month lifespan at absolute longest without charging
> There’s no way she could last this long, she shouldn’t even be able to speak, let alone move
> yet with pained but clearly deliberate slowness, Emmy extends her fist, then a finger, and gently caresses Madeline's cheek, smudging away her tears
> *crunch*
> Helena's fist plows through Emmy's head, her eyes solid cautionary yellow
> "ROGUE ANDROID DEFENSE PROTOCOL ENGAGED," Helena emotes artificially
> Madeline screams at Helena, but nothing is getting through to her as Emmy spasms once, then her servos whine down in a downward pitch and shut off forever
> Helena steps back and is already apologizing, explaining that it’s automated protocol for nandroids to defend their hosts when unlicensed androids touch their families
> Madeline isn’t listening to her, she grabs Emmy’s hand curled in rigour mortis, she doesn’t know what to say, she can’t even apologize now
> something falls out onto the ground from the fist it was in
> it’s a ribbon, like the one she wore all those years ago to cover her dress
> it’s covered in grime stains, clearly somehow found and salvaged from the surrounding garbage
> but in the middle of it is a plate of cheap, cracked white plastic
> where some barely-articulate hand has drawn the number 9.