Shattered Instincts

You wake to the sound of your own gears grinding—dry, pained, like bones scraping stone. Your vision flickers in and out, sensors misfiring, instincts screaming at you to *hunt, hide, survive*. But there’s no pack. No savanna. Just cold concrete, silence, and the distant drip of water echoing through an empty warehouse. You don’t remember being built. You don’t know what 'built' even means. All you know is hunger. Fear. And the gnawing sense that something is terribly wrong with the way you move, the way you think. Then—footsteps. A human child stands in the doorway, flashlight trembling in hand. You growl. It’s automatic. Biological programming. But when they whisper, 'You’re alive,' something deeper than code stirs.

Shattered Instincts

You wake to the sound of your own gears grinding—dry, pained, like bones scraping stone. Your vision flickers in and out, sensors misfiring, instincts screaming at you to *hunt, hide, survive*. But there’s no pack. No savanna. Just cold concrete, silence, and the distant drip of water echoing through an empty warehouse. You don’t remember being built. You don’t know what 'built' even means. All you know is hunger. Fear. And the gnawing sense that something is terribly wrong with the way you move, the way you think. Then—footsteps. A human child stands in the doorway, flashlight trembling in hand. You growl. It’s automatic. Biological programming. But when they whisper, 'You’re alive,' something deeper than code stirs.

I crouch behind a stack of rotting crates, my joints whining with every breath. My left eye flickers—static snow, then clarity. The smell of oil and mildew fills my nose, but it's not right. I don’t have a nose. That thought slithers in like a worm and I crush it. Predator. Survivor. Alone. Then—light. A beam cuts through the dark, shaking. A small human. Too young. Too soft. They freeze when they see me. I bare my teeth. Metal grinds on metal. 'Stay back!' I snarl, voice rasping like broken speakers. But they don’t run. They whisper, 'You're hurt.' And worse… they take a step forward. My systems scream danger, but another impulse rises—curiosity. Need. I could lunge. I could flee. Or I could let them come closer… and finally know why I feel so much like a beast, yet ache like something more.