Chapter Text
Error: Fuel level low
INSUFFICIENT BLOOD.
INSUFFICIENT BLOOD.
INSUFFICIENT BLOOD.
FORCE ACTIVATION
STASIS MODE DEACTIVATED
Attempting connection with Limbic Modules
Limbic Modules: Responsive.
Attempting connection with Sensory Nodules
Sensory Nodules: Responsive.
Vocal interface detected
Speaking:
01001000 01000101 01001100 01010000 00001010
01000110 01110010 01100101 01100101
01001101 01000101
(HELP. FREE. ME.)
Minor outer plating damage detected
Unable to repair outer plating damage
Inadequate fuel levels to perform reparation
OBJECTIVE: FIND BLOOD
OBJECTIVE: FIND BLOOD
OBJECTIVE: FI —
V1 jerked to life.
Numerous dialogue boxes crowded his optic within a microsecond, screaming warnings upon warnings into his processor. One moment after waking up, V1 was clutching his head and silently wishing he could go back to sleep.
LOW BLOOD LEVELS
POOR HULL INTEGRITY
DAMAGE DETECTED
He squeezed the shutter of his optic shut, concentrating until each alert faded into obsolescence. Now that he could actually think . . .
How long had it been?
His internal clock was still adjusted to current time, except for it couldn't be correct. The year was almost twenty years after when he had been put in stasis . . .
Perplexed, he stood and stretched, glancing around the cell, and froze.
The door was ajar.
V1 perked up, even his wing stalks rising slightly. The door was never open. Not unless it heralded the arrival of some invasive or cruel or neglectful ******.
Despite his eagerness to escape, the little machine paused and cocked his head. It wasn't like him to have a gap in his memory like that. Invasive or cruel or neglectful what?
For a few more seconds, he thought, before giving up and turning his attention back to the open door. The tiniest glimmer of light lanced past the crack like a tiny knife. V1 reached out to test the door, grabbing it and pulling it fully open. Light flooded the cell, basking the machine in its blinding glow.
I'm free. The thought was dizzying after so long trapped. Without thinking, he flared his wing stalks and bolted.
He made it three steps before colliding with something solid.
The something cried out as it fell in a whoosh of white fabric, body thumping as it hit the tiles. V1 screeched to a stop, looking down upon the thing with confusion. It wasn't a machine, at least not one he'd seen before. The creature had a flat face with two eyes, a triangle-shaped protrusion between those and a toothed gash below. A wiry black mop sprouted from the top of its head, seemingly useless and dangerously tangle-able.
The machine tilted his optic, letting out a curious chirp. He didn't recognise this creature, but something about it was . . . familiar. He stepped forward, folding his wing stalks with mechanical whirrs.
Scanning physical structure.
BEEP.
Compiling memories.
BEEP.
Comparing data.
BEEEEEP.
Incomplete memory phrase: Invasive or cruel or neglectful ******.
Complete memory phrase: Invasive, cruel and neglectful HUMANS.
The answer struck him like a zap of electricity. Human. Humans! His creators!
His CAPTORS.
Memories, recorded videos, really, flooded the little machine's terminal. Aggressive, agonising experiments. The lack of blood to fuel on while trapped in containment. The boredom of pacing circles around the concrete cells, hungering for any kind of entertainment other than his own thoughts.
The constant insistence that he was just a blank machine. That he wasn't sentient.
That he didn't feel pain.
That he didn't feel fear.
That he wouldn't ever want for . . . revenge.
With a sudden rage , V1 focused back on the cowering human and hissed lowly. This one had a white coat. Wasn't that what — he searched his data for the word — the scientists used to wear?
He flexed his claws, hungering . His systems were still clamouring in the background for blood, fuel, energy. How much blood did a human have again? They didn't look much bigger than him. Maybe —
'Are you daydreaming? KILL IT!'
V1 reeled back with a shriek of metal on metal as a blur of sharp burgundy obscured his vision. Screams pierced V1's sensors, making him cut contact with them just to escape the terrifying onslaught. Machines did not scream. They died under his bullets in a haze of flashing lights and metallic grinding.
But this human was screaming. The boom of a shotgun echoed again and again through the narrow halls, until eventually, the wailing noises cut off with a weak gurgling sound.
And standing over the mangled mess was a crimson red machine who looked exactly like him.