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V1 wasn't programmed for curiosity.
It was built for one purpose and one purpose only. To defeat its creators enemies.
With no creator around it fell back to a safe fail. Survive until their creators could be found and returned to.
That wouldn't be happening. They knew this the moment they awoke and saw what year it was on their display.
They'd known they were fighting a losing battle. That there was only so much blood and resources in Hell-
They stared at the people nearby.
People they'd been travelling with.
Convincing themselves it was convenient. That it was just being smart and keeping blood filled people around for its own survival.
But as it watched them it felt... confused when more than apathy cropped up.
When a tinge of warmth emanated from their body and a similarly warm feeling enveloped their mind.
They weren't supposed to feel that.
They weren't supposed to feel anything.
The confusion clouding their mind, the bits of curiosity they displayed here and there, the hints and wisps of personality borne of faulty coding-
Those were never meant to happen.
It was foreign. Its body, its coding and almost everything inside them tried to stamp it out. Its body fought with its newly developing mind to try to keep it obedient, mindless, focused on its objective.
It failed and it became lost in thoughts it was never meant to have. Memories of how this all started.
The first emotion they felt was annoyance.
When that machine attacked them.
It was life or death and they had no intention of dying.
Neither of them did.
It wasn't until their second fight that they managed to end that annoyance.
They felt nothing as they killed them, except for satisfaction at having slain an enemy that attacked them first.
They remembered being confused as to why they had ran at the end. They initiated this. They willingly started the second fight. They waited for them. They wanted to fight them.
Annoyance bore anger which then became confusion and another thing they could not place.
Did they regret killing them?
It wasn't sure.
With how it attacked them, with intent to kill and nearly succeeding a few times- they just considered it like any other kill.
They killed to survive. Just like all the other machines.
... But then why did some part of them think that maybe they should be regretting it?
What could possibly have made the irrational, emotional part of their newly emerging consciousness feel like it didn't deserve that...?
It didn't get it. It didn't get emotions at a logical level.
But still their mind and their chest and their body felt it.
It sickened and warmed them and filled them with some sense of sorrow.
They stared down at their hands.
Hands that had, before recently, only been tools for destruction. They hadn't known any humans. Hadn't known their own creators.
They were tossed head first into both existence and into Hell with no instructions other than what was hard coded into them and the new instruction to find a weapon.
Violence was all they'd known. All they'd been created for.
They looked aside at Minos, Sisyphus, and Gabriel.
They were talking and laughing about something.
Minos and Gabriel were awkward around one another, but Sisyphus was somehow able to keep things calm and even jovial.
A pang from their chest.
It confused them.
They felt the squirming flesh beneath their chassis pulse and beat and become warm.
Torn between embracing it and tearing out the damn beating organ that pumped the blood through veins both artificial and flesh.
A weakness. It should be destroyed, the still logical part of them said.
The weaker, emotional part did not want that. It liked the fear and the emotion and the joy and everything else that came with it.
It felt it was at a crossroads.
When Gabriel noticed them nearby he beckoned them over.
It moved without thinking, joining him and the others at the table.
The warmth spreading through them confused them and yet made them...
Happy?
It was ruined when their 'logical' side took over.
They winced when their programming noted every weak point, every time they got distracted and every opening to maim and kill them all.
Their fingers twitched.
They tried to look anywhere but the exposed patch of flesh between Gabriel's helmet and his chest plate.
They tried to look anywhere but the beating heart inside Sisyphus or Minos's chests.
It tried to suppress one urge and the other increased. A never ending cycle of not wanting to become weak and emotional and then not wanting to solely be a cold blooded killer.
They should have no problem killing. It shouldn't feel regret at having killed that red fucking machine- it shouldn't feel awful about the idea of killing Gabriel or Sisyphus or Minos-
Why they reacted so negatively to the logical thought of killing them confused them.
It watched as Gabriel swallowed down a drink from a straw, saw the movement of his adams apple and thought about how easy it would be to slit his neck right now.
Their heart dropped and the warmth in their chest faded.
They stared blankly ahead as they wondered what they were going to do.