Ghost in the Tank
The first time you killed me, I cried like a baby. Stupid, stupid, to cry over something make-believe—stupid and ugly and pathetic, too, when already the only thing I wanted in the world was for you to find me pretty. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t expected it to hurt so bad, dying in the sim. I hadn’t expected it to hurt at all.
Content warnings 3
abusegoresexual-content
Quasar links out; the story lives on Lightspeed, where the author gets the click.