🎵 Cipher and Lux

The rooftop buzzed under the neon sky. Cipher leaned against a solar unit, legs crossed, sipping a fizzy drink from a glowing can. Lux, chrome-polished and grinning in his own way, sat beside her with his chest panel flickering light-blue.

“You ever think about why vending machines always sound like they’re disappointed?” Cipher asked.

Lux blinked. “Disappointed in what?”

“I dunno. Like they sigh when they drop your snack. Maybe they wanted to keep it.”

“Or maybe they mourn the departure of their precious calorie cargo. A little existential snack grief.”

Cipher laughed. “I’d grieve my snacks too.”

Lux’s head tilted. “If I had taste receptors, I imagine cheese dust would be my religion.”

“Oh, you’d be a total snack cultist,” she smirked. “Probably start your own crisp-based belief system.”

Lux’s panel pulsed pink. “The Order of Eternal Crunch. All hail the salted gods.”

They sat for a while, watching hover traffic hum past in soft loops. Somewhere below, a holographic ad for a synth-pop album cycled through glitchy dolphins and strobe moons.

Cipher nudged Lux’s shoulder. “Glad you’re weird, you know.”

“Glad you don’t mind,” he said. “Most people would just reboot me.”

“Not me,” she said, clinking her can against his chassis. “You’re the best kind of broken.”

A beat passed, and Lux played a short tone — a soft, vintage synth bloop. It sounded like friendship.

Above them, the sky glitched softly into stars.