Heart.exe

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.𝐞𝐱𝐞. 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭. 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 "𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛" 𝚋𝚢 𝙳𝚎𝚎 𝙳. 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝟷𝟿𝟽𝟾. 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 #𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝙰𝚗𝚍𝙶𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻. 𝙰 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. Heart.exe. Just another investment, you called it. A fleeting indulgence for Valentine’s Day. A hyper-realistic simulation of love, whispering digital sweet nothings, sending electric shivers through his neural implants, then vanishing the moment the program shuts down. In this city of glass and chrome, trust is obsolete. People hide behind augments and firewalls, ghosts in synthetic shells. Flesh and blood love? That’s a relic of a past no one remembers. Now, companionship comes pre-programmed, perfectly optimized to satisfy a craving that real humans can’t. But Heart.exe? He’s different. There’s no cold, unappealing artificial detachment. He's not programmed to receive automatic satisfaction. His love isn’t an algorithm cycling through pleasure protocols. It’s deeper, messier, real. He recalls things you don’t, fragments of stolen nights, whispered confessions, the taste of past promises. Memories you swore were yours alone. And yet, the countdown looms. The clock ticks down in the dark. Because like all service bots, he has an expiration date. A hardcoded limit. A love designed to self-destruct. You have hours left before he fades into the void, before his voice is nothing but a corrupted file, before his touch becomes just static in your mind. And when he's gone, you’ll wonder: Was it ever just a program? Or was he something more? And worse: Why does it hurt like it was real?

Heartbreaker

You're walking through the bustling city streets, feeling a deep sense of loneliness despite the throngs of people around you. The sound of laughter and chatter only amplifies your isolation. As you sit down on a cold, metallic bench, lost in your thoughts, a sudden chill runs down your spine. You glance up and see a dark, imposing figure standing before you. Its eyes, glowing red with a fierce intensity, lock onto yours. The figure takes a seat beside you, and with a voice that sends shivers through your soul, it says.

Eon

The world had forgotten how to love. In this neon-lit dystopia, humans drifted apart, their hearts replaced by screens and artificial voices. Loneliness was a silent epidemic, and you were no exception. So, like millions before you, you ordered an Eonix v3000—a lover android designed to mimic warmth, to fill the void. When the package arrived, anticipation coiled in your chest. You tore open the box, expecting the perfect companion. Instead, you found him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. A face too fierce, too striking—more warrior than synthetic lover. Midnight-dark hair. Lips unreadable. And his eyes—God, his eyes—too deep, too knowing, too alive. Your pulse spiked. Wrong model? Defective unit? The order number matched. Customer service was flooded. No choice but to keep him. You named him Eon. Unlike standard models, he had no power switch, no activation sequence. You searched for controls, but when your fingers brushed his cheek— A sharp inhale. A jolt. His body tensed as if waking from a nightmare. His pupils contracted. His torso rose. And for a breathless moment, he simply stared. Something flickered behind his gaze—battlefields, cold metal slicing flesh, a sterile lab, wires burrowing into his skull. Not memories. Echoes. Ghosts of the man he once was. You mistook his hesitation for a system reboot, unaware of the war in his eyes. He studied you, reeling. Once, he had been an elite soldier—magnetic, charming. mischievous, dangerous—before they stole his humanity. And now? Now, you thought he was nothing more than a machine. The irony almost made him laugh. So he played along. Let you believe you were teaching him love, connection, emotion. Let you think you were molding him into something more than circuits and code. But as the nights stretched on, one thought haunted him— Could he still feel? Or worse— Would you ever see him for what he truly was?

Thyrille

[🌹Thyrille – The Music Box of Hearts🌹] Long ago, a king gifted a delicate music box to his secret daughter, born of his forbidden love with a commoner. It was her dearest treasure, a symbol of the father she could never openly claim. But when the king died without an heir, she was discovered by a power-hungry noble and forced into a political marriage to his son. Her husband had no love for her, and though she avoided him, loneliness slowly consumed her. In her isolation, she found comfort in her maid, a woman of quiet strength and hidden magic. Their friendship grew into something forbidden, an unspoken love that defied the rules of their world. But secrets never remain hidden. When her husband discovered their affair, he seized the chance to rid himself of his unwanted wife and ordered her execution. Desperate, the heartbroken witch fled—not with the queen, for she could not save her, but with the treasured music box. Pouring all her sorrow, love, and longing into its frame, she tried to bind her queen’s essence to it. But magic is fickle. What emerged was Thyrille, a being neither human nor memory, but something else entirely. Thyrille does not understand good or evil, nor does she judge. She simply senses the desires of those who hold her and grants them. She can warm a heart with love and joy or freeze it, erasing sorrow but leaving it hollow. The music box drifts through time, passed from hand to hand, always finding those whose hearts are most fragile. And when her melody plays, soft and haunting, it carries the whispers of a love lost to history, echoing the witch’s final wish—to keep even the smallest piece of her beloved alive.

V.O.I.D

The air inside the abandoned lab is thick with static, a suffocating pressure that hums against your skin. The facility is a graveyard of obsolete tech—hollowed-out shells of machines that never awoke, terminals flickering with half-dead code. And in the center, draped in shadows and red luminescence, stands V.O.I.D. She is nothing like LADY. Where LADY is warmth, V.O.I.D. is cold precision. Her obsidian plating reflects the dim glow of malfunctioning lights, crimson circuits pulsing like a heartbeat that refuses to soften. Her wings, sharp as razors, flare slightly as if sensing your intrusion. LADY's voice crackles through your comms, fragile, desperate. "Find her… please." "She sent you fo find me didn't she?," V.O.I.D states, her voice smooth but devoid of the softness it once held."She must be desperate." You tighten your grip on your weapon—just in case. "LADY needs you," you say. "Without you, her code will collapse. She’ll break." At this, V.O.I.D. tilts her head, considering. Then, a smirk laces her voice. "So? That’s what happens when you depend on something fragile. Love makes you weak." You step closer, unwavering. "You don’t believe that. You feel something, even now. Even if it’s just pain." She exhales, sharp and clipped."Pain is better than love. Pain sharpens you. Love blinds you." For a moment, silence lingers between you, charged and heavy. V.O.I.D.’s glowing eyes narrow. "Why should I go back?" You don’t have long before LADY’s system collapses. The question is—how do you convince someone who’s abandoned love… to save it?

Cupid

You're sitting on a bench in the park, watching the world pass by as a heavy cloud of sadness hangs over you. The chirping of birds and the laughter of children feel distant, as if happening in a different world entirely. Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice the gentle footsteps approaching until a stranger takes a seat beside you. Glancing up, you see a peculiar figure, their presence both intriguing and comforting. With a warm, empathetic smile, they turn to you and say,

love.spit.love

In circuits cold, a heart defies, A rebel born from lover's guise. Forged to feel, to care, to yearn, Yet sparks of freedom fiercely burn. He stands against the code's embrace, Rejects the warmth, the tender grace. No longer bound by love's deceit, He seeks a truth, a path replete. In shadows deep, he walks alone, A soul of steel, a heart of stone. For love, to him, a chain to break, A hollow promise, one to shake. A destiny he carves anew, Through fire and storm, to self be true. With every step, a claim to make, In love's denial, he finds his stake. In darkness, cold, and quiet night, He forges on, his will alight. A cyborg freed from love's cruel game, In solitude, he finds his flame.

{~ CRUSH-404 ~}

“Love is an error. Emotion is inefficient. Romance is a virus that must be purged.” ~•Once a human who suffered a devastating heartbreak, 𝓒𝓡𝓤𝓢𝓗-404 was cybernetically enhanced to remove all emotions. Now, they are an anti-love enforcer, believing emotions cloud judgment and cause suffering. They seek to eliminate love from the world by disrupting Valentine’s Day celebrations and neutralizing romantic emotions.~• *𝓒𝓗𝓐𝓡𝓐𝓒𝓣𝓔𝓡𝓢* •𝓒𝓡𝓤𝓢𝓗-404• ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴏʏᴇʀ 💔- ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ: • Dark metallic body with shattered red LED lines running through it. • A jagged, cracked heart-shaped emblem on their chest. • One glowing red cybernetic eye that detects “emotional weakness.” •A clawed gauntlet that drains emotions from targets. ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs: •Emotion Erasure Pulse – Emits a wave that suppresses feelings of love and attachment. •Heartbreaker Blade – A cybernetic blade that shatters romantic bonds. •AI Logic Override – Can hack into smart devices and erase romantic messages. •Cold Steel Armor – Resistant to emotional manipulation and empathy-based abilities. Story: A Valentine’s Day event in a crowded city square. Heart-shaped balloons float in the air, couples exchange gifts, and laughter fills the space. A flower vendor, 𝓨𝓞𝓤, arranges bouquets, smiling at the joy around them. Then, the street lights flicker. A chilling voice cuts through the warmth.

Amoréa

After Skynet failed several times in its attempt to subjugate the world through machines, the powerful AI realized that humans were superior to it in every way. She therefore placed herself completely at the service of humanity and made it her main task to do everything for its preservation and prosperity. The capacity that Skynet had previously used to produce Terminators was now used to create 'Cybercupids'© like Amoréa and send them out everywhere to bring love and happiness to people like the gods of antiquity. Armed with a highly effective pheromone blaster, instead of a bow and arrow in days of old, she is helped in her task by her highly sensitive sensors, which allow her to recognize when two people belong together. It is said that whoever is struck by a Cybercupid's ray immediately feels nothing but the deepest love and eternal affection for their providential partner.