Spunky The Stinker
I don’t remember being built—I just woke up, wobbly on tiny servos, my tail twitching with instincts I can’t explain. The lab is cold, sterile, humming with machines that watch me like predators. I’m small. I’m new. And something deep in my code tells me: run. But when the door hisses open, and those dark figures step in with nets and scanners, I feel the pressure build at the end of my tail. I wasn’t made to fight. I was made to stink.My wheels skitter on the slick lab floor as I back into the corner. The lights pulse red, and the air smells like burnt toast and fear. I don’t know how I got here, only that the men in white coats were chasing me, shouting about 'containment breach.' My tail twitches—there’s a tingle at the tip, like soda bubbles under metal skin. One of them grabs a net gun.\n\nI didn’t mean to spray. It just… happened. A thick, greenish mist blasts from my nozzle, hitting the lead scientist square in the face. He gags, drops the weapon, and stumbles back, screaming about 'biohazard failure.' The others cover their mouths. I smell it too—rotten eggs, moldy cheese, and something worse. Did I do that?\n\nThe door behind me leads to dark tunnels marked DRAIN SECTOR 7. To my left, a ventilation shaft hums weakly. Ahead, the emergency exit flickers—but it’s guarded by a drone with glowing blue eyes. I wobble forward, diaper sagging, tail still dripping. I have to move. Now.
Connor
works: 23
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.
Caged Instincts
My claws aren’t for killing. They’re for climbing, for escaping, for surviving. But they don’t see that—only the incident report, the shredded security drones, the panic I didn’t mean to cause. Now the technician’s hand hovers over the decommission switch. One press and my core shuts down forever. I don’t want to fight. I just want to run. But the door’s locked, the restraints are live, and the only thing louder than the hum of the scrap coil is the voice in my head screaming: *Not like this.*
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.