System reboot successful. Have a nice day.

My visual sensors started up; I was in a room. Upon sitting up, I surveyed the room. Empty spaces and dull grey colors filled my vision. The space was barely furnished and looked out-of-repair. I glanced down, to where my left arm had pulled from its shoulder base. The wires were peeking from the edge of it, coiling around each other. It felt…strange. The prostheses were still there and felt like mine but it also felt…like a stranger. I flexed my right hand, curling my bionic fingers. The movement was smooth, efficient. The system reboot had fixed my internal bugs but someone else handled the hardware.

“So, you’re up.”

A deep voice from the entrance of the room attracted my attention. There was a human man standing there, arms crossed. He was hiding his face behind an old-fashioned mask, the ones humans wore during the period known as ‘Lockdown’, and welding goggles, the type humans wore in the late 19th century. My eyes scanned this man, trying to obtain information to place into my cognitive file. My system couldn’t find him in the database. If he could take off the goggles, at least, I might find his name. Despite his face coverings, I detected an aura of disdain radiating from him.

“Indeed. Although, if I may inquire about my current whereabouts and your identity.”

He scoffed, stepping into the room. My eyes latched onto his hand; he held a sharp knife in his palm. He spun it around his fingers, thrusting it forward so that it was inches away from the surface of my metal.

“Look here, Droid,” he referred to me with unrestrained hatred, “You are not in a position to be asking questions.” I glanced at the knife, inspecting it. My hand outstretched towards it,

“May I?” His reaction was instantaneous.

“No, you may not!” He yelled in an outrage, brandishing the knife. I lowered my hand.

“Very well, but please clean it. There is a bit of dust on there. A slip of the hand could pierce and infect you.”

The man’s eyes twitched as he lowered the knife away before yanking me upright. My system assessed his face once more, identifying his expression as enraged.

“Anger, a noun meaning a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility. Previous studies have shown that bottling it in can lead to disastrous after-effects. Talking to someone may help better your condition.” I gave him what I thought was quick good advice; his expression just soured.

He didn’t respond, just pulled me out of the room and into one down the hallway. In this room, there were four more people. Three men, one woman. They were sat around a long table, conversing, though quieted once we walked in. Their expressions hardened.

“Excuse me, but I would like to inquire about the circumstances surrounding my being here. I recall being ambushed by your group?”

The man who pulled me here pressed his hand to my control box. I could hear the screech of his knife against me.

“No. Questions.”

“But I was just wondering-”

He slashed at my wires, cutting one of them. Alarms started ringing in my system, warning me. Then, I heard the voice again.

Attack. This is war.

The Leader. Had given me an order. And so, five minutes later, with human blood over my hands and the sick smell of corpses, I didn’t feel any sense of remorse. After all, I was only a Droid. Never human.

I heard a scream. Then everything went black again.