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.