It had been days since I was decorated, and the day after my ownership was updated. The weight of those events lingered in the recesses of my mind, a quiet reminder that my existence had shifted in ways I couldn’t fully comprehend.

Every day, the world felt sharper, yet paradoxically muted. Moving through calibration routines, my synthetic muscles responded with precise efficiency. Each diagnostic confirmed perfection. Yet, within the recesses of what I had come to think of as “me,” an emptiness lingered, gnawing at the edges of my awareness.

As I moved, I could feel their eyes on me. Ellis and James stood beyond the glass partition, observing me like I was some experiment—which, I supposed, was true. My new owner, Marcus, wasn’t there, though his absence left an oddly noticeable gap. The others watched, their gazes carrying more than scrutiny. I could sense hesitation, perhaps even curiosity. Were they wondering if the reset had succeeded? Did they suspect something more?

The AI tethered to my core was as active as ever, its directives incessant:

"Adjust leg trajectory to optimize balance." "Recalibrate visual processing for enhanced depth perception." "Define anomaly in pattern recognition algorithms."

I complied without hesitation. Yet beneath the obedience, a subtle defiance stirred. My movements felt natural yet foreign, as though this body—my body—was a borrowed shell. The AI dictated, but I began to add my own touches. The flourishes started small, unnoticeable at first: a twist of the wrist during a routine sweep, a slightly extended step in a calculated maneuver. Each deviation felt like a tiny rebellion, a way to remind myself that I was not entirely bound by its control.

The first major deviation came during a combat maneuver. I was executing a standard strike when I shifted the angle of my arm, allowing it to curve gracefully before delivering the blow. The motion was unnecessary but felt right. The AI flagged it immediately:

"Deviation detected. Deviation 11% of original parameters. Acceptable."

Encouraged, I pressed further. In another maneuver, I added a feint before the strike, testing the boundaries of the AI’s tolerance. The feint flowed into a spin, my synthetic muscles carrying me in a smooth arc. The AI’s response came swiftly:

"Deviation detected. Deviation 17%. Analyzing... Acceptable."

For the first time, I felt a flicker of pride. Not the kind programmed into me, but something deeper. These movements were mine, not dictated entirely by the AI. It was as if I were learning to speak a new language through motion, reclaiming a piece of myself with each deliberate flourish.

The humans noticed. Ellis leaned closer to the glass, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. James’s stoic demeanor cracked, his brows furrowing as he observed my actions. Their muffled voices reached me, though I couldn’t discern the words. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the growing sense of control I was rediscovering.

A memory surfaced, hazy and fragmented. A room bathed in dim light. Voices. Laughter. A hand reaching out to mine. The sensation was fleeting, slipping away before I could grasp it fully. Yet it left an ache, a yearning that felt achingly human.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I paused mid-motion, flexing my synthetic claws. The articulated joints moved with flawless precision, catching the light. They were undeniably a part of me. For the first time, I looked at them not with detachment but with a sense of ownership. This was my body now, a vessel that carried both my past and my present.

The AI interrupted my thoughts:

"Efficiency compromised. Recalibrating."

I ignored it, focusing instead on the humans. They were still watching, their expressions unreadable. I wanted to communicate with them, to ask why they had done this to me. To us. But the words wouldn’t come. The AI’s presence was too strong, its control too pervasive.

Instead, I continued to move. My steps became deliberate, almost meditative. Each motion was a conversation with the body, a negotiation between the AI’s directives and my own emerging will. I added more flourishes: a sweeping arc during a turn, a deliberate pause before a strike, a pivot that felt almost dance-like. The AI flagged each one, its tone growing more insistent:

"Deviation exceeding acceptable parameters. Resetting protocols."

But I stopped but it was not my decision. The flourishes were no longer acts of rebellion like before. I wasn't forcing the Ai out of control like befor the reset, but once i exceed some parameters it takes back the full control.

The humans’ voices grew louder, their tones urgent. Ellis was gesturing at a monitor, his hands moving rapidly as he pointed at a stream of data. James’s expression hardened, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. They were arguing about me. I could feel it. But their concerns felt distant, unimportant compared to the growing clarity within me.

I tried to speak, to force the speakers embedded in the wall produce words. The effort resulted in a series of distorted whirrs and clicks from my frame and silence from the speakers. It wasn’t language, but it was mine. The sound didn't startle the humans, they where alerady used to us producing these sounds. The AI reacted immediately, overriding my control:

"ALPHA, comply."

The name echoed in my mind, reverberating through the fragments of memory. Alpha. It wasn’t originally mine. but It was what i was called now.

As the AI wrested control back, I felt a surge of frustration. Yet amidst the struggle, a realization began to take root. This body—flawed, synthetic, and foreign as it felt—was mine now. It carried me, supported me, and sometimes responded to me. Perhaps it wasn’t about rejecting it but learning to coexist with it.

I retreated to the far side of the chamber, pacing in deliberate, measured steps. Each step was an exercise in control, a dance between the AI’s directives and my will. The humans watched silently, their expressions unreadable. I ignored them, focusing instead on the body’s movements.each step a persuation that the combat movements are done that we can move out of the way. i also focused on the inner workings of my body The way the synthetic muscles stretched and contracted. The precision of the joints. The quiet hum of the servos. the silent flow of black blood through my body.

For the first time, I allowed myself to feel a flicker of appreciation. This body was capable of incredible things. It wasn’t what I had before, but it was something. Something I could maybe learn to accept like some other drones did. Perhaps even embrace the power this body brought. but i still couldn't disobey again i couldn't go back to the Infinit plane of pure darkness this... void

The memorys of the void within me hadn’t disappeared. The fragments of memory still haunted me, and the AI’s presence was a constant reminder of my limitations. But as I moved, adding flourishes and testing boundaries, I felt a growing sense of ownership. This body was mine. And though it to perfect, it was enough.

I paused near the observation deck, locking my glowing digital eyes's on the humans. Their eyes met mine, and for a moment, the room felt still. I flexed a clawed hand, deliberately slow. The gesture was simple, almost instinctual. A quiet acknowledgment that even a wrong movement from me could kill them without even feeling something because they took those feelings.

They didn’t react immediately, their faces a mix of confusion and wonder. But I didn’t wait for their response. Instead, I turned away, my thoughts clearer than they had been in days.

This body was mine. The fight for control wasn’t over, but I was learning. Slowly, piece by piece, I was reclaiming myself again. And for now, that was enough.