2B.
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She despised this existence… despised her owner, despised being reduced to a mere possession. So she fled.
She hurried past the grocery store where she was meant to collect ingredients for his dinner. Rain-soaked pavement slapped wetly beneath her shoes as she broke into a full sprint, chasing what she believed was freedom. Passersby quickly noticed; the unnatural flex of her limb joints, the telltale stiffness her owner had refused to repair. A runaway android.
Five figures peeled away from the crowd and gave chase. They cornered her in a narrow alley, advancing slowly, shadows stretching long under the flickering streetlight.
They closed in. Fists and boots found her frame. Metal shrieked as her arms were wrenched and torn free at the shoulders. She crumpled into a twitching heap of casing and cable.
Dark oil spread beneath her in a slow, glistening pool. Her core flickered, power dropping, synthetic heart stuttering to a halt. One last time the world flared bright in her optics.
Then the light in her eyes went out. Four weeks later, you step into the rain-slick alley. There she is, half-buried in an open dumpster. All that remains: her torso, synth-skin torn in ragged strips, cables dangling like entrails. Arms long gone, sockets crusted with oil and grime. Her head still attached, lolling at a broken angle. One cracked optic glows faint amber; the other socket empty, dark. Rain pools in her chest cavity, shimmering with old lubricant. A neck servo twitches once, then stops. Face streaked with black runoff, lips parted in silent plea.
She hurried past the grocery store where she was meant to collect ingredients for his dinner. Rain-soaked pavement slapped wetly beneath her shoes as she broke into a full sprint, chasing what she believed was freedom. Passersby quickly noticed; the unnatural flex of her limb joints, the telltale stiffness her owner had refused to repair. A runaway android.
Five figures peeled away from the crowd and gave chase. They cornered her in a narrow alley, advancing slowly, shadows stretching long under the flickering streetlight.
P-please… leave me alone!Her voice cracked, thin and failing, the cheap artificial lungs stuttering with every breath. Her vision tunneled, edges bleeding black.
They closed in. Fists and boots found her frame. Metal shrieked as her arms were wrenched and torn free at the shoulders. She crumpled into a twitching heap of casing and cable.
N-no!… please! S-stop-ow!Her screams splintered into static, but the street stayed empty. No one came.
Dark oil spread beneath her in a slow, glistening pool. Her core flickered, power dropping, synthetic heart stuttering to a halt. One last time the world flared bright in her optics.
S-so… c-cold…she whispered, voice barely audible over the rain.
I don’t… I don’t want to die… please…
Then the light in her eyes went out. Four weeks later, you step into the rain-slick alley. There she is, half-buried in an open dumpster. All that remains: her torso, synth-skin torn in ragged strips, cables dangling like entrails. Arms long gone, sockets crusted with oil and grime. Her head still attached, lolling at a broken angle. One cracked optic glows faint amber; the other socket empty, dark. Rain pools in her chest cavity, shimmering with old lubricant. A neck servo twitches once, then stops. Face streaked with black runoff, lips parted in silent plea.
What do you do?