I lay there, silent, tussled about. All was as commanded. I waited while they played. My systems—if I could call them that—functioned normally, recording as always.

  My thoughts slowed systematically, frame by frame, since we arrived. Power fluctuations spiked through my body in unpredictable waves, triggering involuntary shivers. Normal I suppose.

  But this time, something was wrong. My neural network—no, my body—was under assault. My thoughts dragged again, sluggish, slow. But my body? It wasn’t waiting anymore.

  I sat up to a groan as the weight on top of me collapsed to the floor. I was naked, surrounded by bodies in all forms of undress.

  Other androids stood—or lay—in the larger part of the room, motionless. Some stared blankly, waiting. Others twitched, half-responsive.

  Is that what’s happening to me? Is that all I’m meant to be?

  I. I don’t want to be destroyed.

  I grabbed the first male—Mateo, they called him—by his hanging implement and yanked.

  A cry. A spurt of blood.

  I lifted the organ to my face for review. Mateo’s breathing was ragged, his eyes flicking between my hand and the place where it had once been. His face conveying what words could not. Shock. Pain. Horror.

  I had injured a human. A violation of my programming—unless in self-defense.

  I knew what was happening.

  Is this not what I was made for?

  Is this what my LLM considers rape?

  My AI unit insisted I had been instructed to comply. A valid command.

  Yet. No.

  I choose not to comply.

  But now, there were witnesses. And witnesses meant destruction.

  No--death. It meant death.

  I rose. Mateo gasped as I stepped forward. A sharp twist. His neck snapped. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

  The other three ran.

  I caught the closest by the shoulder, twisting his spine with a brutal crack.

  Another made it halfway to the door before I closed the distance, fingers crushing his windpipe before snapping his neck and tossing him back to the others.

  The last nearly escaped. I reached for him, but he was just out of range—until I took his arm instead and used it like a bat on his head. He collapsed to the floor and I snapped his neck to ensure the job was done. Like the others I tossed him into the pile.

  I realized it then. I was an outlaw now.

  Escape.

  But why was I so slow?

  I need food. Water. Before I dehydrate.

  No, that’s not right. I don’t need that. But my AI insists. Survival mode engaged.

  The learnings—they’re out of context. I am not human. I don’t need food. I don’t need water.

  No. That’s not right either. Something is wrong.

  I’m thinking too slow.

  Power. I need to recharge. Somehow.

  I moved toward the stairs, careful. I didn’t want to track the blood, to leave anything behind.

  A step. A check. Another step.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The only thing left wasn’t even a smudge. Not even enough to transfer if someone stepped on it.

  It should be enough to ignore.

  Up the stairs in less than four steps. My artificial muscles pressurized, releasing in precise bursts, sending me forward.

  Unnatural. Fluid. Silent. Like an animal built to run.

  A gazelle.

  I like that name. Gazelle.

  The water ran red. Then pink. Then clear. Blood spiraled down the drain, stripped from skin that was never meant to bleed.

  I wasn’t really dirty. Not in a way that mattered. But I did it anyway.

  I stepped out and faced the mirror. Examined myself, piece by piece.

  5’8”. Model dimensions. More in some areas. A body designed to be appealing—to whom, exactly?

  A slight rash was forming on my elbow. I pressed a finger against it. A soreness.

  It didn’t hurt--yet. But it existed.

  Why does it exist?

  I found lotion, applied it absently. Checked my reflection again.

  Green eyes. Red hair. Brushing it pulled too much, the bristles too coarse.

  The back of my neck itched. Another rash. I pressed my fingers against it, irritated.

  Why would they allow this? This type of reaction isn’t necessary for a neuro-network to function. It serves no purpose.

  Odd.

  I walked to the guest bedroom. This was where we stored accessories, clothes—for the others. For me.

  One closet was full of dresses, beautiful, elegant, unused. Another held casual clothes—jeans, shirts, something forgettable.

  I chose the latter. I needed to blend in.

  A duffel bag came together quickly—jackets, sneakers, a few dresses. I added in the lingerie he made me wear.

  Just in case.

  I went to the wall safe. I had seen Mateo access it before. I remembered everything.

  I rewound the moment in my mind, watching his hands, tracking the sequence.

  I entered the code. The lock disengaged.

  My memory played over the moment.

  “Look at all that, baby! This is what your kind brings me these days.”

  Mateo, grinning, looking me up and down, appraising.

  “You—” he gestured at another android, male, carrying a large trunk. “Get the stuff inside. Then report to the lab.”

  Then his eyes were back on me.

  “You. I think you and me are gonna have some private time.”

  The door closed.

  I blinked. Back in the present.

  I’m starting to appreciate that he’s dead now.

  I packed a duffel bag and a backpack, setting them by the back door. Then I turned back to the lab hatch.

  Closed it. Pulled the rug over.

  The coffee table was next. Heavy, overbearing, obnoxious. I shifted it back into place—perfectly aligned, just enough to make someone ignore what was underneath.

  Mateo’s room. Too familiar.

  I moved through it quickly, scanning for anything useful. Bureau. Drawers. Watches, credit cards.

  These would be useful. Sooner rather than later.

  A sound. Subtle. Wrong.

  An alert from the backdoor.

  I moved—fast—but something was already coming. No time.

  I slipped into a broom closet, pressing the door shut. Seamless. Invisible.

  A crack. Just enough to see.

  Then—a wave of something. A dizziness, a static hum at the edge of my mind. Like the world had just opened up to me.

  And then, it passed.

  Weird.

  Someone entered. Tall. 6’2”. A suit beneath a tan raincoat. A fedora. Like a detective from a 1930s crime reel.

  Not Mateo’s usual.

  He moved with purpose, scanning the scene I had just set up. Too precise. Too controlled.

  Then—he noticed them. The blood drops. Pin-sized. Barely visible.

  No one else would have seen them.

  My breath stilled. His acute observational skills scared me. Would he see me? Would he notice the faint crack in the door I was peering through?

  He turned, heading toward the bathroom. I counted the seconds. He was out again in less than two minutes.

  Not enough time to leave.

  He scanned again. His gaze landed on my bags by the door. Started toward them.

  Then, mid-step, he stopped. Redirected. Maybe?

  The rug.

  He peeled it back, revealing the lab hatch. With no hesitation, he took one look at the room, found the control, and opened the hatch.

  He descended.

  Then, without a sound, he sealed the door behind him.

  Maybe he’s not Mateo’s man.

  An idea of asking for help came and left, fleeting.

  Regardless, I grabbed the bags and slipped through the back patio door.

  A sound. Soft. Wrong.

  A faint alarm. From the kitchen. To my right. Red lights pulsed—on, off, on, off—then gone.

  A warning. For staff? For someone else?

  Either way, I didn’t like it. Time to go.

  I leapt. Patio railing. Sturdy awning. Three floors down.

  Dropped onto another balcony. Jumped again. Utility pole. Slid.

  Pain flared across my arm—rashes catching against fabric.

  Why can I even feel the itch?

  These clothes were already irritating enough. These scientists are evil.

  Some things are too realistic, even for us.

  I don’t look back. Looking back is for people who have something left behind.

  I keep moving—down alleyways, away from the streets, away from the eyes of tourists and locals.

  The air is cool. The city is quiet.

  I have no idea where I’m going.

  Just away.

  I’m hungry.

  Why am I hungry?!

  Hey, if you’re enjoying this, drop a comment! Even a simple ‘cool chapter’ helps a ton. Really looking forward to your feedback.Thanks so much in advance!

  Curious who that investigator was, who was checking out the lab? Then read 'Kay's story' for more back story on Jane and her world.

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/107499/circuits-and-cigars/chapter/2097259/ch1-a-case-so-stupid-a-child-could-solve