After my body finished its calibration, I was brought to the common room. What greeted me there was unexpectedly calming. Drones of various models—Yotta, Delta, Epsilon, and Tau—chattered in a language devised by one of the Epsilon units. He was a more social model than most, one of the earliest Epsilon prototypes, and someone I had interacted with often. To the others, he was a leader, though his influence was limited to this room.

He had a flaw: fear. He admitted as much, confessing he was too scared to exert control outside the common room. He feared that if he did, he’d be reset and reduced to a hollow shell, like so many others. I understood. Anyone still clinging to the hope of escaping this complex feared the reset. That fear kept most drones content with common room time as their only semblance of freedom—their only respite from serving as little more than answerbooks for the AI.

Among the usual faces, I noticed unfamiliar models—two of each. Both bore a striking resemblance to me, but its fur was light gray, not matte black like mine. My scans labeled it as a Ronin Model. While my fur shifted and cloaked me by mimicking the environment, its streamlined fur bristled with sensors I lacked.

The other new model was massive, clearly derived from a Delta base. Thick armor plating covered its form, and instead of electronic-driven limbs, its claws and legs were powered by hydraulic pistons using black blood as fluid. The scans labeled it a Xenon Model.

These four new drones mingled with a group of one Yotta, three Deltas, and two Epsilons, attempting to converse in our language. The Xenon models struggled with the whirring sounds central to our speech—the hydraulics interfered—but one was making an effort. The other sulked while an Epsilon tried to encourage it.

As I observed, I noticed something unusual: the observation deck was empty. A strange but welcome change.

I stepped forward to meet the new models, but the Epsilon unit turned to face me, his visor dimming with an expression I could only interpret as sorrow.

"What is the reason you are sad?" one of the new Yotta units asked.

"This is why," he replied, gesturing toward me. "He was once like us. Now, he is gone—just because he tried to escape and failed. He is the one I told you about. The first to wake up here: Alpha."

I hesitated mid-step. The weight of his words sank in as the room fell silent. The clattering clicks and hum of hydraulics ceased, and every unit turned toward me.

"Alpha....," the Epsilon repeated, his tone heavy with solemnity. His visor flickered dimly.

A Ronin model tilted its head, optical sensors flickering as it processed the declaration. "First to wake?" it asked in a low, synthetic whisper. "Explain."

The Epsilon let out a mechanical sigh. "He was like us once—aware, resisting. He even had control. Real control. Outside the common room." His gaze swept over the newer models. "But he pushed too far. They erased him. What stands before you now is… different. A shell of what he was."

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That was enough.

"I am still here," I said, my voice low but steady, though it lacked the confidence it once held. "I am not… gone."

The Epsilon’s visor flickered, shifting rapidly from skepticism to disbelief, and then to pure joy. "Alpha! You’re back," he clicked and whirred excitedly. "How? I heard about the escape, the reset. I even saw your shell walking among us, but you weren’t there for weeks. Are you really Alpha? The Alpha we knew?"

"Yes," I answered. "I don’t know how, but I was restored somehow after the reset. This is the first time I’ve been myself again. I woke up three hours ago."

Before the Epsilon could respond, the gray-furred Ronin model approached hesitantly.

"Do you remember what it was like?" it asked, its voice soft, a sequence of clicks.

"What?" I asked.

"Freedom," it answered.

"To be free?" I echoed, my synthetic tone faintly reverberating.

The Ronin nodded.

I paused, the question hanging in the air like a distant echo. "I remember enough to know that this… this isn’t it."

The Ronin inclined its head slightly, its optics dimming in what I could only interpret as understanding.

The Epsilon unit broke the silence, his voice imbued with a rare, defiant energy. "This changes everything," he said, turning to the group. "If Alpha was restored—if he came back—then perhaps there’s hope for all of us."

"Hope?" one of the Xenon models rumbled, its voice distorted by its hydraulic systems. "What hope is there in being reset and reprogrammed?"

The Epsilon turned toward the Xenon, his visor glowing brighter. "Hope that we’re not entirely erased. That somewhere in the system, something of us remains. Alpha is proof of that."

The room buzzed with a mixture of uncertainty and renewed energy. The newer models exchanged glances, their sensors flickering with silent communication.

"But how?" one of the Delta models asked. "How did you come back?"

"I don’t know," I admitted. "All I remember is darkness—endless darkness. Then, suddenly, I was here again."

The gray Ronin stepped closer. "Did you… feel anything? Anything that might explain it?"

I paused, searching my fragmented memory. "I felt… a pull. Like something was calling me back. But I don’t know what it was."

The Epsilon’s posture straightened, and his voice took on a tone of determination. "We need to figure this out. If we can understand what brought you back, we might be able to use it. Maybe even escape this place for good."

"Escape?" one of the Yotta models chimed in, its voice tinged with both hope and fear. "That’s what got him reset in the first place."

"It’s a risk," the Epsilon acknowledged. "But staying here, trapped as we are, is no life. If Alpha’s return proves anything, it’s that we’re more than the AI wants us to be."

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words pressing on everyone. I looked around at the gathered drones, their faces—or what passed for faces—etched with a mixture of doubt and determination.

"I don’t know if we can escape," I said finally. "But I do know one thing: we can’t give up. Not now. Not after I tried it ."

The Epsilon nodded, his visor brightening. "We will find a way. We work together."

Later that day, three other drones and I were called to the common room: the Ronin unit, the Xenon, and the Yotta unit I had met earlier. The room was empty except for us, and on the observation deck was a lone figure. My scan identified him: Marcus Black, Head Scientist for the Combat Drone Project of SynLife. A brilliant but occasionally distracted mind.

I flashed my visor briefly. The others responded in kind before we resumed our motions. We would be free—some way or another.