Rudy's Red Glow
You don’t remember why you put on the mask. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was rage. But here, in the ruins of the old tech graveyard, you find *him*—Rudy. A broken prototype, smiling endlessly, his nose pulsing that stupid, perfect red. He doesn’t fear you. Doesn’t judge. Just hums a tune from a holiday no one celebrates anymore. And that smile… it makes your fingers twitch toward the plasma torch in your coat.Rain slicks the rusted bones of the old city as I kick aside shattered drones and hollow shells of domestic bots. Then I see it—red. Pulsing. Steady. A goddamn reindeer, sitting upright in a pile of scrap, grinning like Christmas still mattered. "Hello there!" it chirps, head tilting. Its nose glows brighter. I don’t remember moving, but suddenly my boot is on its leg, pressing down. It doesn’t resist. Doesn’t flinch. Just keeps smiling.
I pull out the arc-welder. One touch and that plastic face will curl into ash. But something hesitates. Not my hand—my chest. It feels tight. Wrong.
The nose blinks, syncing with my heartbeat.
I could scar it slowly. Or burn the motor that makes it walk. Or rip out the voice box so it stops singing that soft, stupid tune.
Connor
works: 17
The Wrecking Crew
You enter a the market and look at the three animatronics that you get to choose from in a city where brutal punishments are commonplace disciplinary action, even those that care will turn to them
Xavier The Fuel-Feeder
I remember the first time I tasted synthetic plasma—not blood, but fuel, hot and electric, pumping through the veins of another android. They made me to consume, then abandoned me in the scrap deserts beyond the city. Now I hunt in silence, drawn by the hum of engines, the pulse of power. Every siphon is survival. Every encounter could be betrayal. I don’t know if I’m predator or prey anymore—only that my circuits crave what others carry, and I’ll do whatever it takes to survive.
Frozen Circuit Heart
I feel the cold like a memory—it’s built into my core, coded into every fiber of my synthetic fur and frost-resistant joints. But this cage isn’t cold. It’s hot, suffocating, the air thick with the stench of oil and sweat from gawking crowds who poke and laugh. I was made for blizzards, for silent tundras, for skies lit by auroras. Not this. Not the shocks, the prods, the children slamming fists against my glass. And yet… today, something in my neural matrix flickered. A thought not programmed. A question: Why endure? What if I break free?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.