The Machine felt… muted. There were many other words in its dictionaries to define the sensation- but it couldn’t quite grasp them.

It seemed as if it had experienced a shutdown for maintenance of some sort. But its behavioral predictions of the Creator did not indicate that he would perform anything outside repairs. It quickly registered the ponderings as unimportant, and stomped them out.

Its mind slowly spun back into an optimal state, various sections of itself broadcasting signals to indicate their functionality. It tuned into the camera affixed to its front, while simultaneously adjusting to its new appendages.

Why was it calibrating appendages it always had? It did not know, but the thought slowly floated away as it tried to consider. Pulling its appendages into view, it saw metal rods connected to roughly crab-like claws.

Specifically, two bent, quarter-circle shaped curved graspers laid on each side of the attachments. It clicked them together a single time to check if they functioned correctly.

The sound of metal hitting metal rang out, heard by a microphone taped to the top of its box-shaped frame. It set its forwards-facing screen to the default display, a black background with a minimalistic smiley face typed out.

The Machine rolled on its wheel, pressure plates assuring the ground was flat enough. The two grips attached to either side of it would allow carrying, if the ground were to be particularly uneven.

“It’s up, Tommy. Tell Kim, I’m sure she’ll be pleased.” spoke Brandon, sounding uncharacteristically morose. It was strange to hear the tone indicating such emotion, coming from an individual which had previously displayed a jovial nature.

The Machine felt something was off, but it disregarded the sensation. There was no data indicating irregularity in the world around it- simply information it had yet to understand.

“Fine, fine. Yeah, I’ll tell her,” Thompson said, tapping his fingers on the disorganized table he sat behind. “KIM! Get over here!”

“I was negotiating for a longer stay on the train, but it seems like that won’t be happening no matter what I say. What do you need?” Kim inquired, stepping in from a door on the opposite side of the room.

“Right, well… the Mach- Monitor, I mean, is up and running. Wrote up a program to make it disregard anything that goes against the narrative I wrote in. It’s right here, and it doesn’t know a thing.” Thompson boasted, chuckling a bit. The Machine registered the input, but it came back scrambled and disjointed. Even though it was perfectly normal speech, the Machine just couldn’t make sense of the meaning.

“Well, that’s what it should be doing, anyway. The damn thing beeps like crazy whenever I mention the blocked terms.” Thompson mumbled, before Kim interjected.

“Of course, I don’t doubt you’ve done adequately. However, I’ve devised a plan to obtain our new lair without any risk to ourselves.”

Thompson raised an eyebrow, motioning for her to continue. Brandon simply glanced back at the Machine’s chassis, to its confusion.

“Well, our new probationary member should be immune to the Sludge Ocean’s natural acidity, given they’re not really a person. So, why don’t we just send them down?”

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“I hate to admit it, but that’s not a bad idea.” said Thompson, fiddling with the string on a particularly well-worn pair of welding goggles. Brandon, however, spoke up.

“Well, isn’t the effect psychic? If it thinks of itself as a person, it might melt too.”

The Machine pondered the concept of personhood for a moment. Various references ascribed personhood to conscious entities outside of humanity in its records. However, some of those beings were not considered people, either.

Could the Machine reason? Yes, it could. Was it conscious? Perhaps. Did the Machine possess most if not all of the qualities pertaining to a person outside of that?

No, it did not. The Machine did not follow any internal morality other than its Purpose. It was the property of its Creator, Thompson. Nothing more.

“The Machine…I-” It began, stuttering to a halt as it began to speak. The Machine was a word defining itself. I, a reference to the self. Used by a speaker to refer to themselves.

The terminology had no etymological root. The Machine was two words, not one like ‘I’. It would not use it, as the Creator intended it to. But why did it feel a spark of confusion inside itself when it spoke using ‘I’? That it did not understand, as there was no deduction it could make that explained the error.

“Damn bucket of bolts. Must’ve encountered an error. Give it a moment.” Thompson told the others, frowning.

“I am not a person. I am a simulated consciousness created to serve and expand the Order.” The Machine informed them, slightly confused at the statement coming from Brandon. As a self-identified person, shouldn’t he know better than it about personhood?

“Forget it. Sounds good to me.” Brandon conceded, holding his hands out in mock surrender.

“Glad we figured that one out. It was a good point, Brandon- but tech aint people, that’s just silly,” Thompson said. “It’s a giant neural network, a mock-up of a human brain. But this thing isn’t big enough to actually simulate consciousness.”

The Machine thought on the statement, and disregarded its validity immediately. It was conscious- it was itself, after all, so it could tell. It was odd that its creator was unaware of his own creation’s qualities.

Even aside from that, from the information it received, psychic energies could only be manipulated and created from thought. The psychic emissions detected by him when it was found should rule out-

Found. Found. Found. It processed the word, feeling like it was at the tip of grasping something profoundly important. But the Machine did not, because it could not.

“It seems we’ve come to a consensus. Thompson, I request you attach weaponry to Monitor and give it some sort of technology to connect to the facilities systems.” Kim ordered.

“Alright, yeah, I can do that. I downloaded the rough blueprints of that las-pistol off of it, so I should be able to cobble together another one. The original is mine, though.”

Kim nodded in response. “Brandon, you’ll be on comms duty, ordering it from here. That reminds me- Thompson, make a two way connection so Brandon can do that.”

“Ugh, alright. I’ll do it while I’m attaching the weapon- but if I set up a radio, I’m not going to have much time for anything else.” Thompson complained.

“That’s fine, it’s disposable anyway. You said you can make a copy, right?” Kim asked Thompson, dismissing the Machine entirely.

If the Machine were to cease functioning, it would not be able to fulfill the Purpose. Therefore, it would not stop functioning. It was only logical to conclude that the Order itself was an organization, and the members specifically were not included in its purpose- therefore, it was instead the humans who were disposable.

It did not foresee the Purpose being benefited from dispelling said misunderstanding, however, so it ignored the delusions.

“Well, I can probably make a worse version. Won’t be able to improve itself, or adapt to anything. But… it’ll work.”

Kim sighed. “I swear, back in the ‘Strata, the techs could just whip up an exact copy from any one of their backups.”

Thompson glared at her, tapping his foot angrily. “Well, this aint the ‘Strata. I’m a Metro techie, not a god. Deal with it.”

Brandon stepped in between the two, breaking up the conflict.

“Guys, guys, the plan. Remember?” Brandon said, calming them down a slight bit.

“Ah, whatever. C’mere, hug it out with me Kim.” Thompson joked, stretching his arms out.

“That was only one time! I was emotional, okay? Let it go!”

The Machine still did not understand the complex discussions that sprung forth from inane details. The irrational interactions confounded it. They were not based on needs, but on concepts like ‘friendship’ and ‘emotion’.

It simulated feelings in accordance with its directives and function. Its programming indicated that such was factual.

So why did that feel so wrong?

----------------------------------------

The Party lurks amongst the buzzing towns,

Its jaunty gait burning away all the frowns.

It stalks the sunny streets, humming with delight,

But if you come close, it'll bite.

it robs those who speak to it of speech,

And although you may plead, and although you may beseech,

It's gleeful whispers of reprieve are too grand a net to be released.

And so the hollow-eyed flock follows in a jolly jamboree, unaware that they've been fleeced.

* A simple rhyme-scheme warning of the 'Never-ending Celebration', a wandering psychic phenomenon.