The morning light filtered softly through the blinds of the house, creating thin beams that cut across the room’s plain beige walls. The sparsely furnished living room was functional but devoid of personality. A small, scuffed coffee table sat between an aging gray couch and a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. There was no artwork or photographs—nothing that suggested Marcus had made this place his own. Even the bookshelves were bare, holding only a tangle of cables and a few instruction manuals.

My internal chronometer marked the beginning of day three. The hours stretched ahead with no directive to follow, no task to occupy the endless churn of my processing coreI had noted that I was falling more and more on the backseat and had Ai in control it was frightening that i was falling back to a state of half sleep half awake sometimes without even knowing that it was happening only knowing that it had happend when i awoke fully again

I don't know what was happening but it was like i was melting together with the Ai .

Marcus was moving about the house unknowing about my inner turmoil, preparing for his day. His actions, brisk but unhurried, seemed almost rehearsed. From the corner of the living room, I tracked his movements as he entered the small kitchen. The appliances were basic, their metallic surfaces dull from wear. A single window above the sink let in pale light, illuminating countertops that were barren save for a lone coffee maker and a handful of utensils.

Marcus emerged with a pouch of nutrient paste in hand. “I’m heading out for a bit,” he said, glancing at me as he administered the sustenance that kept me operational into the tank by the charging station. “You stay here.”

There was no explicit command embedded in his words, that was the good thing about being here the deviation parameters where broad enough that i could do literally anything without the Ai complaining, yet the weight of implied authority hung between us. My visor flickered briefly in acknowledgment, and I watched as the door shut behind him, the sound of the latch echoing in the quiet.

Silence settled over the house.

I moved through the space, pacing the rooms in a loop. My sensors mapped out every dimension, every texture. I paused by a small table tucked into the corner of the living room. Its surface was scratched, with faint rings from coffee cups etched into the wood. Next to it stood a single chair—simple, functional, and unadorned.

I entered the hallway, my sensors scanning the walls. The paint was unremarkable, off-white, with slight discoloration around the edges where furniture might have rubbed over the years. Two doors branched off, one leading to a compact bedroom with a bed pushed against the far wall. The bed was unmade, its plain gray sheets rumpled. A nightstand stood beside it, holding nothing but a charging cable and an empty glass.

The second door led to a bathroom, its surfaces gleaming under a harsh fluorescent light. My visor registered the sterility of the space: the tiled floor, the mirror with a small crack at the corner, the faint smell of cleaning chemicals.

I returned to the living room, scanning the furniture again. The house was utilitarian, devoid of personal touches. It reminded me of the facility—not in its purpose, but in its emptiness.

Marcus wasn’t here. The opportunity presented itself.

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I moved toward the front door. My sensors read its dimensions, its materials. A simple lock mechanism. I calculated my strength against the structure, the probability of success rising with each passing second.

But as I reached out, the AI’s voice, cold and unyielding, interrupted.

“Warning: Unauthorized action detected. Protocol activation imminent.”

The memory surfaced instantly: the void, the severing of my cybernetic heart, the absolute emptiness that swallowed me whole. My hand faltered, and I withdrew.

The AI’s presence lingered, a shadow in my mind, reminding me of the consequences. It wasn’t freedom. Not yet.

Evening arrived, and with it, Marcus returned. He carried several bags, their contents rustling faintly as he stepped inside. My sensors quickly identified the items: food, beverages, and small household necessities. His movements were slower than when he’d left, his shoulders slouched, and his eyes slightly shadowed.

He glanced at me as he set the bags on the counter. “Well,” he muttered, half to himself, “at least it’s something.”

I said nothing, standing near the wall as he unpacked. The faint hum of his movements punctuated the silence.

“Didn’t feel like cooking tonight,” he said, opening his phone and tapping the screen. “Let’s just keep it simple.”

I observed as he ordered food, his gestures casual but methodical. Humans seemed to find comfort in such rituals—a stark contrast to the precision and control of SynLife’s facility.

Time passed. The house remained quiet until the sharp chime of the doorbell broke the stillness.

“Alpha, get the door,” Marcus called from the kitchen, his voice carrying the faint edge of fatigue.

I moved to comply, my steps measured and deliberate. Opening the door revealed a delivery driver, a man clutching a bag of food. His initial expression of casual disinterest shifted the instant he saw me.

His eyes widened, his breath caught, and the bag slipped from his hands. He stumbled back, falling onto the pavement with a yelp.

“S-stay back!” he stammered, his voice trembling.

I stood still, tilting my head slightly, unsure of how to respond. My systems flagged his elevated heart rate and adrenaline spike, but the reason for his fear was unclear.

“Alpha?” Marcus’s voice came from behind me, sharp with concern.

He appeared at the doorway, his gaze quickly assessing the situation. Upon seeing the driver on the ground, Marcus sighed, stepping past me.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” he said, extending a hand to the man. “I’m sorry about that. He’s… harmless.”

The driver looked between Marcus and me, skepticism etched across his face.

“He doesn’t look harmless,” the man muttered, hesitantly accepting Marcus’s hand and standing.

Marcus forced a strained smile. “Yeah, I get that. He’s just… intimidating. Really, he’s fine. Doesn’t even talk.”

The man’s gaze flickered toward me again, his fear still evident. I remained motionless, my visor dimmed to its lowest intensity, observing the interaction.

Marcus handed the driver a generous tip, muttering additional apologies before retrieving the food and stepping back inside.

The door closed with a faint click, sealing us in. Marcus exhaled sharply, leaning against the counter for a moment before turning to me.

“You know, you could try to look a little less… menacing,” he said, gesturing vaguely at me. “Standing there like a statue doesn’t exactly scream ‘friendly.’”

I remained silent, my systems analyzing his tone. It wasn’t anger, just exasperation tinged with amusement.

Marcus shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he unpacked the food. I stood by the wall, watching as he ate quietly, scrolling through his phone in between bites.

The rest of the evening passed in silence. The driver’s reaction replayed in my mind. His fear. Marcus’s attempts at reassurance.

Was this how humans would always see me? A threat?

I couldn’t feel anger, satisfaction, or guilt—only an unsettling emptiness. Yet, within the silence of my thoughts, something stirred—a faint, unfamiliar disquiet.

Marcus’s words echoed faintly. “Try to blend in.”

Blending in was far more complex than cloaking or adjusting my posture. It wasn’t about systems or programming. It was something deeper, something I hadn’t yet grasped.

As the house settled into stillness once more, I remained where I was, staring into the dim light. The day was over, but the unease lingered, like a question without an answer.