They got in the car and another person drove them to their destination.

The meeting spot was in the parking lot of an abandoned building. A single flickering light bulb barely illuminated the space, casting jagged shadows that danced erratically on the cracked concrete walls. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating, wrapping around User 707 like a thick cloak.

They stumbled out of the car, their mind foggy with alcohol, and leaned against the door. The liquor buzzed in their veins, distorting everything — the light flickered harder, the shadows loomed longer, and their vision swam.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. User 707 tensed, their pulse quickening, eyes narrowing toward the entrance.

The person was slender, tall and nearly youthful, with their face partially covered by the dark lighting. User 707 squinted, the alcohol clouding their vision their perception. Their heart skipped a beat as recognition flared.

"User 651?" User 707 slurred, blinking to clear their vision. "Is that... you? You look taller... or blurrier. Maybe both?"

The figure didn't respond nor move.

User 707, far too drunk to question this, staggered forward, a lopsided grin spreading across their face. "Babe!" they declared in a loud voice.

Without waiting for an answer, they grabbed the figure's hands, pulling them into an awkward, stumbling dance. The person stiffened, their hands felt stiff but unwittingly they pulled them, User 707 had gone too far to notice.

They tried to speak something but their pitch was barely above a whisper.

"Pass the mustard, you sneaky giraffe!" User 707 cackled, tripping slightly but catching themselves with a giggle. "The moon... the moon is looking ripe tonight."

The figure remained compliant even as the confusion  gripped them, but User 707 went on, too lost in the haze of alcohol and delirium.

They tried to dip their partner, almost sending both of them crashing to the ground. "Whoa! The floor's trying to tickle me!" they giggled, barely steadying themselves.

Then, with sudden intensity, they threw their arms wide and declared, "Purple monkey dishwasher!" A triumphant grin spread across their face. "The sky tastes like... responsibility!"

User 707 attempted one last grand twirl, but their foot caught on something, and they went sprawling, taking part of the figure with them.

A sharp rip echoed through the quiet room. The figure stepped back, hands flying to their mouth in shock, barely muffling a gasp.

User 707 sat there, stunned for a second, staring at the ground before sheepishly smiling but made no effort to get back to their feet.

The surveillance cameras blinked silently from the corners of the room, capturing the scene but doing nothing to intervene.

A soft buzz came from the device strapped to User 707's wrist, snapping them back to reality. Wincing, they struggled to their feet before heading quickly for the car.

They staggered out of the room, leaving the anonymous figure standing there.

The car was waiting. User 707 scrambled inside without a backward glance.

The anonymous figure stood motionless, staring at the  floor. Their mind raced, replaying the events in their mind.

A single thought formed in the midst of the chaos:

'Should I laugh at the absurdity or cry at the consequence?'

For a long moment, they did neither.

Oh, well.

❛He might not sing so wildly well a mortal melody, while a
bolder note than this might swell from my lyre within the sky.❜
— Edgar Allan Poe

A/N: this scene was LITERALLY inspired from Lemmons 714 scene:

https://youtu.be/KmZnot1m-oA

AND it's weird but it'd make sense later on XD

Any etymology fans here? etymology meaning the study of word origins... if you are, you'll see something most might miss and i have mostly played around on the phonetics so, have fun ;)

cheers,
Sara