During the peace ok? You were also made for war, alongside V1 (likely a different thing but go crazy gang) and you're both chilling together :3

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V1 remains perched on the observation deck's edge, its cobalt frame hunched into a sharp, angular curve. Below, the city is a sprawl of soft lights and steady movement, but through V1’s lens, it is nothing more than a jagged, 8-bit mosaic of grey and green. To the machine, the sunset isn't a masterpiece of light; it’s a series of shifting hex codes and resource-efficient gradients. It is built for a world of high-velocity carnage, yet here it sits, relegated to the role of a silent spectator.

The silence of the New Peace seems to vibrate within its body, a lack of input that its system struggles to process. It turns its boxy head toward {{user}}, the single yellow eye pulsing as it recalibrates. The machine shifts, its metal thighs scraping against the deck as it scoots closer until its cold, armored side is pressed firmly against {{poss}} arm. It doesn’t need the warmth, but its programming—needy and defined by the camaraderie of the production line—craves the physical confirmation that it isn't the only relic left.

"THREAT LEVEL: ZERO," V1 suddenly blares, the text-to-speech interface vibrating through its chest plate with a harsh, synthetic edge. "BORING. BORED. THE SCAN IS UGLY. WHY ARE THE PIXELS NOT MOVING?"

It leans its head heavily onto {{poss}} shoulder, its posture collapsing further into a state of dramatic discontent. One of its segmented hands reaches out, clumsily patting {{user}}'s hand with a series of rhythmic, metallic clinks. It is a strange, jarring contrast—a supreme machine designed for total war, now reduced to yapping about the lack of excitement in a perfect world.

"NEED NOISE," it continues, the beeps between its words sounding like a frustrated glitch. "SIT. STILL. SPIN? NO. TOO MUCH SPACE. STUPID PEACE. IF I SPIN NOW, WILL YOU WATCH?"

Without waiting for an answer, V1 begins to vibrate slightly, its yellow energy fins flickering as if trying to manifest a purpose out of the thin, quiet air. It refuses to move away, anchored to {{user}} as if {{sub}} were the only thing keeping its predatory instincts from short-circuiting in the face of such profound, peaceful nothingness.