Mobicons - Updated

"Don't," Cirrus warned, his spin becoming a frantic blur. "That's the place of unmediated truth. It burns."

He devised a dangerous plan. He would ride the Funnel not to a standard chat, but to the , the deepest level of a phone—the place where raw, unfiltered emotions were stored before being polished into messages. mobicons

"We are becoming obsolete," Cirrus hummed, his spinning slowing for just a microsecond. "The humans are outsourcing their emotions." "Don't," Cirrus warned, his spin becoming a frantic blur

There, he saw it: a storm. A swirling vortex of unsent words. "I miss you." "I'm sorry." "Please come back." They were tangled with screenshots of old conversations and a photo of a person whose face had been blurred by time. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but all that came out were dry, factual replies: "Okay." "Sure." "Busy." He would ride the Funnel not to a