Chapter Text
The last hover bus shuddered to a halt at the gates of Park Planet, its doors hissing open with a mechanical exhale.
A tired procession of the day’s final visitors began to board, chattering in drowsy contentment, hands clutching melting candy, cheap souvenirs, and memories that would be cherished and forgotten in equal measure.
Amidst this orderly retreat, two grimy figures scrambled through the opened window of the bus’s side—barely noticed, barely a blur.
They fell hard onto the manicured cement path, landing in a heap of knees and elbows.
“Riley, you absolute dumbass, I told you to tuck your hoodie tighter—” Kyle hissed, grabbing the other boy by the arm and yanking him up.
“Ow, that was your elbow, you walking fish bone—” Riley muttered, brushing dirt from his scraped knee. He barely had time to glare before Kyle shoved him toward the nearest trash can.
“Shut up and move,” Kyle snapped, dragging him behind the bin as the hover bus lifted off with a gust of air, its engines whining into the dimming sky.
Just as it vanished into the thick clouds of pollution, an android security guard rolled past the gate, its one red eye scanning the premises.
They held their breath as the android passed within inches of them, its flashlight beam sweeping too close to comfort. Only after it faded around the corner did Kyle release the grip on Riley’s hoodie.
“You brought it?” he asked in a whisper.
Riley grinned like a fox caught in the henhouse. From inside his oversized pocket, he produced a strange contraption—half cobbled toy, half questionably assembled tech. It resembled a tamagotchi, though the screen flickered in faded green pixels. A janky wire ran from it, fastened to what looked like an old computer mouse wrapped in duct tape, its base modified with a suspicious socket.
“Tada~!” Riley declared proudly, presenting it like a holy relic. “Behold: The Frog Box.”
Kyle blinked once, then twice. “The what?”
“The Frog Box,” Riley repeated with a grin that threatened to split his face. “Get it? ‘Cause it leaps into systems.”
Kyle gagged. “That’s… disgusting. Like, actually disgusting. You name gadgets like my grandpa names his underwear.”
Riley’s grin crumpled into a scowl. “Excuse you? You literally named your old desktop ‘bestdesktop.ever’!”
“Bestdesktop.ever had dignity,” Kyle said, deadpan, before spitting a short distance toward Riley’s shoe.
Riley recoiled. “Gross! What is wrong with you?!”
“You insulted Bestdesktop.ever.”
The back-and-forth might have gone on forever if not for the familiar hum and soft clanking of rubber treads rolling over metal.
Another android guard, alerted by their squabbling, was approaching. It stopped in front of the trash can and shone its light down—only to find nothing but an empty fast food wrapper and a dented can of soda.
By then, Riley and Kyle had bolted to the nearest lamppost, ducking behind it like fugitives of the funfair.
“Smooth,” Riley muttered between breaths.
Kyle shoved his shoulder. “You’re the one screaming.”
“You’re the one who spat at me!” Riley replied, but it was too rushed, too weak. Even he regretted it.
They didn’t speak again until they vaulted over the ticket turnstiles in perfect unison, landing with muffled thuds on the other side.
Park Planet loomed above them, now eerily quiet. The LED lights still flickered cheerily, as if the park hadn’t noticed that it was already closed, already abandoned. Statues of Yeona smiled down from billboards, porcelain-white faces and mint eyes glowing against the skyline.
“Do you actually know where the claw machine is?” Kyle asked, glancing over his shoulder. “We’ve got—” he checked the time on his battered wrist device—“45 minutes before the last hover bus down. After that, we’re stuck here. And I’m not camping out next to a trash collector bot.”
“I know, I know,” Riley said, squinting ahead as he led them between empty popcorn carts and long-forgotten churro stands. “Callum said the claw machine’s near one of the park toilets.”
Kyle grimaced. “Which one? There’s like fifty.”
“I dunno, man! The smelly one? The one with the broken soap dispenser? Do I look like I do toilet reconnaissance?”
But as they turned the next corner, their luck seemed to hold.
The unmistakable neon glow of the claw machine stood out like a beacon in the shadows—tucked beside a faded restroom sign with a flickering letter “Powdered princess room”.
Kyle nearly shouted, his voice rising before he clamped a hand over his mouth. “There it is! Look!”
And there it was: the holy grail.
Inside the scratched acrylic box, amidst a pile of misshapen plushies and knockoff characters, sat a singular, pristine Yeona plush. Her soft black hair gleamed under the machine’s blue light, arms outstretched in manufactured innocence.
“Jackpot,” Riley whispered.
He dropped to his knees in front of the machine like a disciple at the altar. Pulling out the Frog Box, he connected the mouse end to the coin slot. The screen lit up, numbers scrolling. A progress bar appeared—pixelated, glitching—and began to load.
“Hacking…”
The display read.
Both boys watched with bated breath as the bar filled.
“Hacking complete.”
It chirped a moment later.
Riley punched the air silently.
Kyle cracked his knuckles and stepped forward like a chef entering the kitchen.
“Time to cook.”
What began as excitement soon melted into exasperation.
For the first 15 tries, both boys kept an air of calm determination.
Kyle would focus the claw’s movements like a surgeon in an operation theatre while Riley held his breath beside him, fists clenched, eyes gleaming every time the claw hovered above the plush.
But again and again, it would brush the Yeona toy’s hair or catch it by the wrong seam, only to drop it midway with a dull thud.
“Okay,” Riley muttered after the 22nd try, “maybe if I tilt the whole machine just a little—”
“You’re not tilting anything, you maniac,” Kyle snapped, swatting his hand away from the side panel. “This isn’t your average granddad’s gumball machine.”
The next 10 tries unraveled what little patience Riley had.
He stomped his foot after every failure, muttering curses under his breath, until on the thirty-fourth attempt, he let out a strangled screech and tried to shove his entire arm into the claw machine’s prize slot.
“Riley, no!” Kyle yanked him back before the security sensors could trigger. “You’re gonna set off the alarms!”
“I swear it’s mocking us!” Riley shouted, his voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls of the empty park. “It knows we want the doll!”
“Doesn’t mean you go full feral dog mode!” Kyle yelled.
They took turns shaking the machine by its corners, slamming their fists against its sides like disgruntled customers in a poorly managed arcade.
The claw wobbled. The toys jostled.
The Yeona plush never budged.
It was on the 75th attempt, just when they were about to give up entirely, that the claw actually—miraculously—grabbed the Yeona plush.
Both boys leaned in, barely daring to breathe. The claw arm retracted, mechanical servos whining, and the prize was lifted clean from the pile. As it hovered toward the prize chute, Kyle reached out instinctively to steady the machine like a man holding onto a miracle. The plush was right above the hole.
Then, with a gentle twitch, the claw opened.
The Yeona plush dropped, bounced off a bulbous mascot doll, ricocheted off the plastic wall—then landed precariously on the very edge of the chute.
Both boys stared at it, eyes wide, hope frozen in their lungs.
Then, in an agonising second, the plush tipped backwards.
And fell.
Back into the mound.
“NOOOOOOO—!” both Riley and Kyle cried in unison, the sound torn from their throats like twin wails at a funeral.
They collapsed backward onto the ground, hands over their faces, groaning in devastation as if they had just witnessed the fall of civilisation.
“I hate this thing,” Kyle moaned, kicking at the base of the machine.
“I want to die,” Riley muttered, voice cracking.
Riley scrambled back to the control panel to try again, fingers reaching out to the joystick. “One more— just one more. I swear on everything—”
But Kyle caught him by the back of the hoodie. “No. We’ve got 15 minutes left. We’re not staying behind for a plush, Riley.”
“It’s not just a plush!” Riley shouted, twisting in his grip. “It’s Yeona—Yeona!”
Kyle sighed, voice laced with guilt and frustration. “Riley, I know. But we don’t get to miss the last bus. If they find us here, we’ll be scrapped with the damn machine.”
Riley struggled for a few seconds more before deflating, tears sliding down his cheeks. Kyle, though slightly smaller, dragged him by the collar as Riley sniffled and clung to the frog box like it was a broken promise.
They walked the winding path back to the gates of Park Planet in bitter silence, illuminated only by the cold glow of flickering neon.
Kyle tried to lighten the mood, ”we’ll get her next time. Even if it takes a year. Maybe even bring Callum along—he’s good at claw machines.”
But Riley, his face blotchy and his nose running, barely nodded.
“Maybe she won’t even be there next time,” he murmured, shoulders hunched, voice shaking. “Maybe someone else already got her.”
“Then we find a better one,” Kyle said, putting an arm around him. “Or better — we’ll design our own plush. We’ll make it cooler. Vision this — a Yeona with rollerblades.”
“Yeona doesn’t even skate,” Riley grumbled.
“She will. Ours will.”
They were so lost in the haze of disappointment and daydreaming, they didn’t notice the figure ahead of them until they physically collided into it.
Riley stumbled and fell flat on his backside with a grunt. Kyle froze mid-step, his hand still on Riley’s shoulder. Both boys looked up slowly, expecting the worst. A patrol android, maybe. Or a vendor bot initiating clean-up mode.
But instead…
They saw flowing white fabric. A delicate, silk-trimmed dress that glistened like frost under artificial moonlight. Long black hair cascaded down the woman’s back in a braid, adorned with soft blue flowers that glowed faintly. Her skin was porcelain-smooth, her posture regal yet gentle. And her eyes—sharp, luminous green—blinked down at them with the calm of spring rain.
“Hello, little ones,” she said, her voice warm and melodious, tinged with a gentleness that didn’t belong in a place so plastic. “Are you lost?”
Riley’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked like he’d just seen a goddess.
Kyle, more pragmatic by nature, dropped the Frog Box, the gadget clattering on the ground as if announcing defeat.
When neither of them responded, the woman tilted her head ever so slightly. Then, her pupils dilated momentarily, scanning their faces. A faint red light flickered in her irises.
“Riley West and Kyle Wolfe,” she said softly. “From M-7. You have beautiful names.”
Then, with a soft kneel, she lifted Riley gently into her arms, brushing dust from his pants.
“Were you looking for your parents? Or did you stray from your group?”
Riley, eyes wide and shimmering, could only shake his head. His voice caught in his throat.
He had dreamt of Yeona. Of seeing her in real life. But she had never looked this real. Never sounded this kind.
She smiled at him as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.
That moment was broken by a harsh digital chime.
Kyle’s wristband blinked red. A robotic voice chimed out: “It is 19:53.”
7 minutes till the final hover bus departs.
The Yeona android’s smile grew softer, almost wistful. “You should go soon, little ones. It’s not safe to stay here after hours.”
Her hand lifted to brush back Riley’s hair, carefully untangling a strand stuck to his cheek. Her fingers were graceful, almost maternal
But as she moved to lower her hand,Riley reached up impulsively and took it in his own.
There, on her middle finger, was a faint tremor. A twitch — barely noticeable, but constant.
A malfunction.
“This…” he started.
The android blinked curiously.
“I—I can fix that,” he said suddenly, rummaging through his pockets. He pulled out a tiny screwdriver, one he always carried with him. He then began working with precision. He twisted open the finger joint, adjusted the servo connection, and realigned the wire array.
The twitching began to cease.
Kyle paced behind him in near panic as he hissed, “Riley, we need to go!”
“Almost done,” Riley whispered, tongue between his teeth.
He finished just as the robotic chime issued a final reminder that it was 7.55 pm.
The Yeona android flexed her newly-repaired finger, surprise and joy glimmering across her perfect features. Her eyes locked on Riley, now filled with a strange—almost unexplainable—depth.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Truly. That means more to me than you know.”
Riley smiled, heart swelling with pride. He pulled a small star-shaped keychain from his pocket and held it out with trembling hands. “Here. I made this. I hope you like it.”
The Yeona android looked down at the keychain as if it were a treasure. “A gift… for me?”
“Yeah. You deserve nice things too.”
She nodded slowly, curling her fingers around the keychain like it was something sacred. Her smile turned wistful, like someone recalling a dream they didn’t know they had. “Thank you, little one.”
Kyle tugged on Riley’s arm, this time more urgently. “Now, Riles. Now! Or we’re gonna miss the—”
“Okay okay, I’m going, I’m going-!!”
As Riley was dragged away once more, he looked over his shoulder and waved frantically. “Bye! Bye-bye, Yeona! I’ll come back! I swear —!”
“Shut up Riley oh my god-!” Kyle groaned.
The Yeona android stood beneath the glowing park lights, waving, her expression soft as she clutched the keychain in her palm.
“I hope so,” she called gently after them.
“I really do.”