Bleeding Blue and Red Light

The rain doesn't fall here; it descends in sheets of liquid mercury, washing over the obsidian curves of my armor like a lover's caress against cold skin.

I stand still as a statue carved from midnight and chrome, watching the neon signs bleed into the puddles. The red kanji glows with an angry, vibrant pulse—the color of my bio-reactor heating up when I think about him. It is warm here, in this electric cathedral of rain and light. They say machines don't feel heat, but they lie.

My circuits sing a low hum of longing as the green neon washes over my cheekbones, painting me in hues of bruised fruit and healing moss. He walks closer now, just a silhouette against the blur of street lamps. I lower my weapons—steel and grace—and reach out to catch a drop of water on my finger. It feels like home.

Editor: Neon Muse