The lab hummed with low-frequency vibrations, the faint smell of ozone and lubricated gears filling the air. Panels along the walls flickered with multicolor codes, scanning streams of data across floating holographic displays. Thomas stepped back, hands behind his back like a mechanical overseer of perfection.
"Eighty percent is now perfect," he announced, voice clipped and precise, echoing slightly against the steel walls. "Final touch. Valerian, your skin color is stormy blue with silver and blue wires visible along your arms, neck, and chest. Luna, your skin is light purple with lilac streaks along your limbs and torso. The optical implants will be installed next."
Luna's pulse jumped. She stood rigid, gaze darting between the sleek humanoid machinery around her and the ominous bed in the corner. "Why do I feel like every time I lay on that bed, they're going to see straight into my soul… or at least straight into my embarrassing thoughts?"
Valerian, as usual, didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, body posture perfect, motion fluid as a predator's. Every step the nanites under his boots synced seamlessly with the room's environmental sensors.
Luna hesitated, her hands fidgeting at her sides. Her light purple coat fluttered slightly, nanofibers adjusting to the smallest movement. Her eyes, wide and luminous, reflected the cool green glow of the panels. She bit her lip, trying to push forward, but every step felt like walking through a magnetic field pulling her into embarrassment. "Just go… just do it… oh god, the bed, the machine… what if it sees… everything?"
Thomas clapped his hands once, sharp and metallic.
"Lay down. Now."
Luna's knees trembled. She slid onto the bed, curling slightly, her face flushed bright red. Her mind spiraled: "Okay, focus… it's for the mission… it's just technology… he won't laugh… oh god he might laugh—"
Valerian was already on his bed, eyes forward, body perfectly still. The machine whirred to life around him, tendrils of microfiber lightly scanning, wires of silver and blue forming intricate circuits beneath his skin, illuminating faintly as if he was a living hologram. A soft glow coursed along his limbs.
Luna's machine hummed as it started its work. A thin layer of lilac-tinted biowire crept along her arms and torso, following her natural contours. It shimmered faintly, making her feel like a walking neon gemstone. Then came the final installation—the eye pupils. Tiny, luminous micro-layers embedded in her eyes, causing them to flicker with a soft violet light.
She blinked rapidly. "Oh no, I look… I look like some sci-fi heroine… with glowing eyes… he's going to stare… he's definitely staring…"
Valerian's eyes, now stormy blue with silver filaments, didn't move from the machine's control panel. He's calm. Perfectly composed. Why am I panicking? He's not even looking at me… why do I feel like he's looking at me even when he isn't?"
After a few tense minutes, Thomas clapped again.
"Both of you, rise. Eighty-two percent done. Next step: fashion accessories. Select your preferences."
Valerian adjusted his coat's collar slightly and selected a minimalist bracelet—silver with embedded chronosensors. Functional, stylish, not flashy.
Luna's hands hovered over the holographic display. She picked a small, half-moon earring set—matching the crescent on her nanocoat—and a wrist cuff that shimmered faintly lilac, pulsating with her biowire patterns. "Just don't sparkle too much… just normal… please let this be normal…"
Thomas's mechanical grin widened—if a scientist could grin.
"Good. Eighty-five percent complete. Now comes the most important part." He leaned forward, voice dropping a half-step into theatrical. "This is a duo mission. Here's your reality in Mechatopia: You will pose as a couple. Unmarried. Both… experienced. Not virgins. If anyone asks about sons or daughters, you are boyfriend and girlfriend. Understood?"
Luna froze, blinking rapidly. Her mind scrambled: "Wha—what?! What?! This is not mission training… this is… I can't breathe… he's calm… why is he calm? I… oh god… oh god oh god oh god—"
Valerian's jaw tightened, lips twitching for a brief fraction of a second, then closed into a thin line. Calm. Cold. Controlled. He looked at Thomas.
"For Flame."
Luna's heart skipped several beats. For… Flame? She swallowed hard, cheeks burning hotter than the machinery's glow. She managed a whisper, shaky but audible:
"Y-yes…"
Thomas blinked, then pursed his lips, nodding.
"Good. Now, in Mechatopia, you'll perform. You will act the part. Display affection where needed. Subtle, believable. No theatrics that draw attention, but enough to appear… human."
Luna's brain short-circuited. She looked at Valerian, whose stormy-blue eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. He didn't flinch, didn't smile, didn't blush. The perfect model of composure.
"Okay… Luna… breathe… just… act… don't let him see your brain melting… you can do this… yes… yes… pretend… just pretend…"
Luna's face was crimson, hotter than any reactor core thrumming in the lab walls. The words Thomas had dropped — "boyfriend and girlfriend, act like it" — still echoed in her skull like clanging alarms. Her thoughts tangled, every possible scenario replaying in her mind: holding hands, standing close, maybe even—she cut the thought off immediately, her cheeks burning deeper.
"Lovebirds…? For the mission? I… I wanted this, didn't I? I wanted him to see me, to notice me, to feel something. But not like this, not forced under orders. And yet… if it's acting… if it's just acting… maybe I can do it. Maybe I can stay by his side without my heart betraying me."
Thomas's sharp voice pierced her spiral like a blade.
"You damn S-rank, Luna! Who promoted you S-rank if you can't keep your composure for even one second? It's just acting! Acting for the mission purpose! I expected seriousness, discipline. And here your joiner—an A-rank, mind you—is doing excellent."
Luna shrank into herself, fingers gripping the edge of her skirt, head lowered. Her glowing violet eyes dimmed with shame. The words stung; she had trained her whole life for this, fought battles without blinking, endured brutal ISA trials that broke even veterans. Yet here, in front of Valerian, one word like "couple" was enough to shatter her steel mask.
"He's right… I'm a disgrace. A fraud. An S-rank in name only. Valerian's calm, unshaken, untouchable… and me? I'm trembling like a child. He must think I'm pathetic."
And then it happened.
A sudden warmth pressed against her shoulder—steady, grounding, firm. Luna froze, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, her wide, bright-purple eyes lifted and locked onto his stormy-blue ones.
Valerian stood close, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp, steady, unyielding. His hand remained on her shoulder, anchoring her trembling body. His voice was cold, precise, cutting through the air with no hesitation.
"I know you're uncomfortable. You already told me earlier that you didn't feel anything toward me. And naturally, that makes you nervous."
His words stabbed, clean and merciless.
Luna's heart cracked silently. Her mind screamed against his statement.
"No… that was a lie! I said that because I was afraid… afraid if I told the truth—that I like you, maybe even love you—you would ignore me, hate me, push me away forever. I can't… I can't lose even the little closeness we have. The reason I'm flustered, nervous, trembling—it's not the mission. It's not Thomas. It's you, Valerian. Always you."
Her lips parted, but the truth tangled in her throat, suffocating under her own fear. Instead, she forced a small, nervous smile.
"O-okay… for our mission, I will act accordingly."
Her voice was quiet, almost fragile, like glass threatening to break.
Thomas folded his arms, letting out a long sigh, the mechanical amplifiers in his coat making it hiss.
"Finally. That's what I wanted to hear. Mission above all. Now, both of you, remember—you are not just infiltrators, you are partners. In Mechatopia, hesitation means exposure, and exposure means death. If you cannot hold this illusion, you will not survive."
Luna nodded, still staring at the floor, her mind storming with contradictions.
"Act accordingly. Yes. For the mission. Just acting. But my heart won't stop beating like this. My cheeks won't stop burning. My chest won't stop aching every time he talks to me so coldly. If this is acting… then why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel so real?"
She tightened her fists on her knees, willing herself to be stronger, to not let her feelings show again. Yet deep inside, she knew—her act wasn't going to be an act at all.