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Gigi remembers it like yesterday. The day half of her soul went missing. Stolen, but that wouldn’t be the right word. It wouldn’t make this make any more sense. It galloped away, off to cling after what could only be deemed... her other half.
Or soulmate, her mind interjected, stubbornly confident despite the fact they probably mean the same thing.
That day, she was upset about something. Maybe she missed her dailies. Maybe she didn’t win that gacha games she wanted. Though, it didn’t really matter. Because right now, alone in her bedroom. Gigi felt like her world had flipped upside down, and she’s tumbling down into earth, and it’s foreign, turned all around she can’t tell what anything is. Can’t tell what’s wrong with her insides, what’s wrong with these feelings of an end that probably won’t come.
The gremlin lies in bed. Her phone pings, she contemplates whether or not it’s worth checking. Eventually, she picks it up, her tail curled at her side, she sees what could only be described as an odd message.
Unknown Number:
[9:32 PM] This message is the only thing that will be sent from this number. You don’t know me, but I know you. I know that you feel off today—like something’s gone missing. I know that the world feels heavier than usual. I know many things about you, Gigi Murin. But I can’t find you.
Not the way I’m supposed to.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how long it’s been. Everything is quiet here. Still. I think… I’m not supposed to be awake. And I can’t move. It’s cold. Not on my skin—under it.
You don’t know me. Maybe you never did. But I think we’re meant to meet. I don’t want to scare you. I probably have. I’m sorry.
I just… need you to remember. Or find me. Or both. I can’t reach you on my own.
This message is all I can send. I don’t know if it’ll even work.
But if it does—just know this: I’m real. I exist. And I’m still waiting.
Gigi wasn’t sure what to think. Was this message just a joke? How did they know her name, how she felt in this moment. It was honestly starting to creep her out. She reread the message, once, twice. Time moves slow, the ticking of the clock in her room feels blaringly too loud. She can feel her heart racing.
Safe to say, she doesn’t sleep that night. Too exhausted to consider what this means, too restless to close her eyes.
A week passes with nothing, then two weeks, then three. Gigi can’t think straight, can’t stop wondering what the text meant.
Sometimes she’d find herself staring at her phone for whole minutes.
Opening the message. Closing it. Opening it again. Not rereading, just... being there. Like the words might shift if she looked long enough. Change their meaning. Give her more.
She copied the number once and pasted it into every search engine she could think of.
Nothing. Dead pixels.
She even dialled it once. Just to see. The phone didn’t ring—it just made a sound like breath caught in a throat, and then silence.
She didn’t try again.
¬
Elizabeth scolds her for another paper submitted past due. “Gigi. This is the third time this month. Is everything okay? What’s going on with you.”
Gigi honestly didn’t have words, she didn’t want to just say ‘oh I got this weird text and now I’m super stressed about it, and a little confused. Not even to mention the impending doom that I feel like I’m nearing every day.’ That would just make Elizabeth worry, and plus she was a little curious about the text still even if it left her feeling anxious.
So she simply grinned. “Oh, you know… no concept of time… bad sleep… I’m sorry Liz, I’ll try to get the rest of the reports on time next time.” Her tail swayed in nervousness. Her hands interlocked behind her back.
And between the papers piling on her desk, and the missions she needed to prepare for, she wasn’t really in the greatest sane mind. She won’t stop looking at the Unknown number, wondering what it could be, a trick? Maybe it was a criminal, maybe it was justice messing with her.
Gigi sighed. Looked up to the ceiling and brought her hands up to her face. Then, she screamed. Raora who’s desk is right next to her simply just stared in mild concern.
“Are you okay Gigi?” Gigi stops the pathetic display, shame creeps up her spine.
“Yes. Just, you know, paperwork.” Her hand gestures to the stack of papers on her messy desk.
Raora held a mindful expression, not full of pity but understanding. “Hey, maybe I could help you just a little?” The panthera scoots her chair over, brings it next to Gigi’s. “Just…let’s not tell Liz.” She smiled nervously.
Gigi stares. Maybe I could tell Raora—no, no, that’s a bad idea. Nope.
“A beautiful woman helping me? How could I refuse!”
With Raora’s help, Gigi was able to power through, she pushed away the nervousness, tried to swallow down the paranoia.
And it helped, she was able to get most of her papers done, even went on some of the missions she’s been holding out on.
She was doing great. A bit stressed, but, she was doing okay. Until, she felt it the strange feelings again, her heart more numb than before, her body weaker than it had ever been.
So much so, She couldn’t even get up from her bed.
Elizabeth checked on her, overly worried and caring. The leader doted, keep things at your own pace, the reports aren’t as important as your health.
Gigi felt thankful for that.
Raora came after, patted her for comfort, kissed her forehead, and told her to get a good rest. Sleep well, Gigi.
Gigi listened, eyes half-lidded.
The weight in her limbs wasn’t exhaustion—it was something heavier. Something inside-out. Like her thoughts had grown teeth and gnawed at her from the inside. Every blink felt like a small surrender. The sheets were warm but foreign. The air too still.
Her phone buzzed once, then stopped. She didn’t look.
Raora’s kiss on her forehead still lingered like a burn. A quiet kindness that felt too much. Or too late.
So when the dark finally came, it came soft. And complete.
In her dreams, all delirious and jumbled, lives a thriving forest. A river forever making pleasant ambience. The birds chirp beautiful tunes. The trees filter the sun, drawing lines of light across the forest floor. It’s harmony, far removed from the never-ending doom she felt awake, far enough away from the text on her phone. And leaning against a willow tree that was entirely out of place, Gigi saw a woman.
She was beautiful.
Too beautiful, in that not-quite-human way. Like something you’d find behind glass in a forgotten museum—a thing meant to be looked at, not touched. She didn’t move. Just leaned there, against the old willow tree, like she belonged to it. Or like she’d been left there on purpose.
Her skin was pale, almost glowing, with a smooth shine like porcelain. Not the kind people have—the kind dolls are made from. Her shoulders, her knees, even her fingers showed tiny gaps, lines where her joints connected. Perfect, delicate seams that reminded Gigi of puzzle pieces or clockwork toys. Her legs bent just slightly, elegant and stiff at the same time, heels strapped on with soft black leather like something from another time.
Her hair caught the light like it had been made for it. Silvery-white, cut just above the shoulder in soft, weightless waves. It moved gently, even when the wind didn’t, like it remembered being touched. Gigi couldn’t stop looking at it.
And above all of that—a key.
Right there, sticking up from the top of her head, as if someone had just left her there after winding her down. The metal glinted in the sun, old and gold and strange. It didn’t turn. Not yet. But it looked like it could.
Her clothes weren’t really clothes. Not in the usual way. They shimmered, loose and flowing, always moving even when she didn’t. Long sleeves, soft colours, and fabric that looked like mist and memory. Gigi couldn’t tell what colour they were—sometimes blue, sometimes white, sometimes not even a colour at all.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t open her eyes. But she wasn’t asleep. Just... still.
And yet, even like that, Gigi felt it. That pressure in the air, like being near something holy. Or haunted.
It was too quiet. And the quiet was her. Then everything went dark.
Gigi woke up with something soft clenched in her hand.
Fabric? No—too light. Too dry. She opened her fingers, slow, like it might disintegrate, and found—
A leaf.
Not just any kind. Pale green, long-veined, and trembling like it still remembered the wind. A willow leaf.
She sat up.
Checked her sheets. Her pillow. Her clothes. Nothing else. No dirt, no twigs. Just that one thing, clinging to her palm like a ghost.
Her dream should have ended there, with the waking. But it didn’t. The quiet followed her. Not silence, exactly—absence. Something had stayed behind. Like static in the back of her skull, whispering through the spaces behind her eyes.
She shoved the leaf into the drawer beside her bed and didn’t tell a soul.
¬
Time didn’t pass. It hiccuped. Paused in strange places. She started noticing it during meetings, missions, casual conversation. Words caught in her throat. Her heart skipped beats. Every now and then, she’d glance down at her hands and feel like they didn’t belong to her.
And once—just once—she swore she heard ticking.
Faint. Like something small, wound too tight, winding itself down.
¬
Another night.
She’s in the forest again, before she even knows she’s asleep.
It’s different this time. The river sounds more distant. The air has weight to it. Gigi’s body feels slower, like someone wrapped her in something silk-thick and underwater.
And the willow’s still there. So is she.
She hasn’t moved. Of course she hasn’t.
But—
Her head is tilted.
Only a little. Barely. Enough for Gigi to notice.
Was it like that before? She tries to remember. Tries to line the image up with her memory, but it slips sideways in her brain like a dream half-swallowed. The key on top of her head glints in the filtered sun. Still unmoving.
Still waiting.
Gigi wants to speak. To say something—anything—but her voice doesn’t work here. Not like that. So she walks closer.
She’s never walked closer before.
And the closer she gets, the more she feels it: the pressure. A low hum beneath her skin, like an ache without pain. Like longing, shaped into sound.
Then, softly—like an echo through water—she hears it.
A whisper.
Not her name.
Cecilia.
But the voice is hers.
Not quite spoken. Not quite imagined. Just there, like breath on a mirror, like a name she forgot she knew. It feels wrong on her tongue. Familiar in a way that makes her throat tighten.
She doesn’t remember saying it. But she knows she did.
And that’s when she wakes up.
With the word still caught between her teeth.
¬
The next day, she’s brushing her teeth when her phone pings. Her stomach drops instinctively—but it’s not the Unknown number. Just a notification. A group chat. Useless.
Then she hears it.
That ticking again.
It’s not loud. Not consistent. Just three sharp mechanical clicks, like a wind-up toy had turned somewhere behind her and stopped.
She spins.
Nothing.
But there’s something different in the mirror.
Not in her reflection—behind her. On the wall.
A faint shadow that shouldn’t be there.
Like the silhouette of a key.
She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry. Just stands there for a long moment, staring at the wall, toothbrush still in her mouth, heart doing something awful in her chest.
Then she laughs.
Dry. A little broken. Then she finishes brushing her teeth.
While working on reports, Raora comes in holding two mugs of coffee. She sits down, turns the chair around and glances at Gigi before saying: “Hey, did you see that old archive batch that came in from the Eastern branch? They found a weird capsule—said it looked like a person inside, but metal. Gave me the creeps. Liz said it’s probably war scrap, but... I dunno.”
Gigi blinks. Doesn’t answer. Just feels that familiar static again behind her ribs.
She dreams of golden joints that night. A hand that twitches but doesn’t close.
The archive capsule gets moved into storage two days later.
Liz gives the order like it’s nothing. Routine. Just another oddity from a world stuffed full of them. Something for a low-priority file. Gigi hears the words ‘non-responsive automaton’ and something in her bones shifts.
It’s not her job to check it. She shouldn’t care.
But she does.
Too much.
She tells herself she’s only curious. That she just wants to see what kind of scrap gave Raora the creeps. Maybe laugh at it. Maybe just know. But when she takes the detour after hours, down the auxiliary hall where the lights hum too loud and the air is always a degree too cold—she already knows what she’s going to find.
Not completely. Not consciously. But something in her does. That soft pressure in her ears starts up again. Like she’s descending into water.
She scans her ID. The door unseals.
And there she is.
Not the same as the dream—not exactly. The colours are duller here, the light is fluorescent, dead. But the outline is the same. The silhouette of something too still. Slumped slightly in the middle of the capsule, behind tempered glass. No forest, no wind. Just metal. Just waiting.
Cecilia.
The name comes uninvited again. Like her brain was already whispering it before she stepped inside.
Gigi doesn’t breathe for a moment. She takes one step closer. Then another. The hum of the capsule is faint, constant, like the ticking she heard in her bathroom—but stretched.
She wants to speak. Can’t. Doesn’t.
Instead, she places a hand flat against the glass.
It’s cold.
And then—
Her phone buzzes.
She jumps. Whips around. Nothing behind her. Just her phone in her pocket, screen lit up.
Unknown Number:
[10:41 PM] You found me.
She stares at the message. Her breath forgets how to happen.
No one should know she’s here. No one can know she’s here.
She looks back at the capsule. Nothing’s changed. The girl—Cecilia—is still still. Not breathing. Not moving. But Gigi swears the glass feels warmer now under her palm.
She slowly pulls her phone out and types back, unsure if she expects it to work.
Gigi:
[10:42 PM] What are you? How did you know?
She waits. One second. Two.
The reply comes instantly.
Unknown Number:
[10:42 PM] I don’t know. I only wake when you’re close. But I can’t wake all the way. Something’s missing.
Gigi’s pulse goes sideways. She swallows. Glances again at the capsule—no seams, no input ports, no visible panel or switch. Just a faint golden glow from somewhere inside.
She types again.
Gigi:
[10:43 PM] Missing what?
There’s a pause this time. Long enough she thinks maybe it won’t answer.
Then—
Unknown Number:
[10:43 PM] My soul. It was cut in half.
Another message, seconds later.
Unknown Number:
[10:43 PM] I can’t wake without it. I’ll fall apart. I’ll take everything down with me.
Gigi steps back from the glass. She blinks. Once. Twice.
What is she doing here? She should report this. She should walk away.
Instead, she whispers—barely audible even to herself:
“Then take mine.”
A beat.
“Or half of it.”
She doesn’t know why she says it. It sounds dumb even as it leaves her mouth. But something about Cecilia, about this moment, feels too big, too sad, too right to ignore.
The glass under her hand pulses. Just once.
Not glowing. Not flashing. Just—responding.
Then her phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number:
[10:44 PM] No. You don’t understand what that means. You’re shouldn’t. If you give it to me, you can’t take it back.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number:
[10:44 PM] You’ll be changed. I will be changed. And you might not forgive me.
Gigi reads the words like she's underwater.
Then she types:
Gigi:
[10:45 PM] I don’t care. I think you already have half of it anyway.
No reply.
She waits.
Still nothing.
The capsule hums a little louder. She feels it in her spine now—ticking like before, steady and close.
Then something inside the capsule glows faintly.
A soft gold light behind Cecilia’s ribcage.
Like something finally began.
The soft gold light behind Cecilia’s ribcage grew brighter, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.
The capsule’s glass warmed under Gigi’s palm, humming low and steady. Then, with a faint hiss, the front panel slid open—smooth and silent.
Gigi blinked, heart pounding. She hesitated for a breath, then stepped closer.
Cecilia’s eyes fluttered open—shimmering pale orbs that caught the dim light like delicate glass.
The breath Gigi didn’t realise she was holding escaped in a soft gasp.
The girl inside the capsule stirred, the soft mechanical click of joints moving under porcelain skin echoing faintly.
“I… awake?” Cecilia’s voice was tentative, fragile—softly accented, delicate as a whispered secret.
Gigi’s cheeks flamed. “Y-yeah. You’re… here. You’re really here.”
Cecilia’s gaze locked on Gigi’s, slow and searching. “You gave me half your soul?”
Gigi swallowed, heat rising in her chest. “I... I thought you needed it. I mean, you said you couldn’t wake without it, right?”
A quiet pause. Then Cecilia smiled—a small, almost shy curve of her lips.
“That was... brave. And a little reckless.”
Gigi laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m a gremlin. I tend to do stupid things like that.”
Cecilia reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing lightly against Gigi’s hand—smooth, yet warm with a faint pulse beneath.
“I feel… different. Not whole. But better than before.”
Gigi’s eyes softened. “You’ll be fine. I’ll help you. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
They stood there, suspended in the quiet hum of the Cecilia’s insides and the steady beat of a heartbeat—two halves somehow becoming something whole, starting slow, but unmistakably real.
Gigi helped her out of the capsule, their fingers brushing again—this time less tentative, more grounding.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and warmth. The hum of the room felt distant now, as if the world had folded in around them.
¬
Gigi hesitated in front of the door to Liz’s office, Cecilia by her side, still glowing faintly in the dim hallway light.
“This is where... things get real,” Gigi murmured, half to herself.
Cecilia tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable. “This place. It is... important?”
Gigi nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Yeah. This is where Justice keeps its heart—and its rules.”
She pushed the door open, stepping inside with Cecilia trailing close.
Liz looked up, eyes sharp but tired. “Gigi? What’s going on?”
Before Gigi could answer, Raora appeared behind Liz, arms crossed but curious.
Gigi gestured toward Cecilia. “This is... well, it’s complicated. But she’s not just scrap or tech. She’s... something else. And she’s with me now.”
Raora’s gaze flicked over Cecilia, then back to Gigi. “You’re bringing her in? That’s—”
“Yeah,” Gigi cut in, voice firm despite the flutter in her chest. “She’s joining us. Justice needs her.”
Liz studied Cecilia for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll figure out how she fits. But understand—this changes things.”
Cecilia’s voice broke the silence, soft but clear. “I will serve. I will learn.”
And just like that, the path forward was set—unwritten, uncertain, but theirs.
Gigi showed Cecilia around the base—careful footsteps echoing in wooden floors, Cecilia’s eyes wide with wonder and something like awe.
Cecilia learned how to move without stiff hesitation—a stumble, a laugh, and Gigi catching her by the waist, steadying her.
Quiet moments passed: Cecilia tracing the edge of a table, feeling textures she’d never touched before, fingers trembling.
Late nights found them with phones lit in the dark, shared messages, Gigi’s tail flicking nervously, Cecilia’s soft, slow smiles.
Raora watched from a distance with an unreadable expression, Liz frowning, then sighing—understanding that this was bigger than any of them.
¬
As the evening deepened one day, Cecilia’s movements slowed, the faint whirring of her internal gears softening. Gigi watched closely, already knowing what was coming—the telltale slowing of her key atop Cecilia’s head, spinning more deliberately now as her thoughts tangled and her energy waned. It wasn’t long before Cecilia’s eyes fluttered shut, her whole form powering down like clockwork stilled by the night.
Without hesitation, Gigi reached out, fingers gently brushing the warm metal of Cecilia’s winding key. She began to rewind it carefully, a small, practised ritual born from countless nights spent bringing her back. It was a quiet promise—that no matter how often Cecilia’s power dimmed, she’d always be there to wind her up again, keeping her awake as long as any human could be.
Because, as much as Cecilia seemed like a marvel of precision and mechanics, she stayed awake for only as long as any ordinary person—fifteen to eighteen hours—before the need to rest and recharge became undeniable. And Gigi, with her patient hands and steady heart, would always be there to help.