“Testing reveals that connection—that is, socialization—is as important for the machine as it is for the person. These models promise to build that connection, one day at a time.”

  - Johnathan D. Howard, CEO of SYNTH

  \...

  \... [dc] Volta█e spike d█te█ted... initia█ing charge inta█e

  \... > cap██itor statu█: 0.12% → 99.01% i█ 0.004s

  \... > so█rc█ ident██ed: elect█ical d████arge

  \…> EMERG██CY DIAGN█STIC ENGA██D

  \... > c██ductive ci█c██t formed ███ dermal br███h (rubberized subde████)

  \...

  \... > emergency boot sequence triggered...

  \...

  \... SYSTEM MODEL: V3 Domestic-Class Synthetica

  \... VERSION: 3.02.1 ... SERIAL NO: 01-HN073F-V3

  \...

  \... [BOOTING...]

  \... > BIOS integrity check... PASSED

  \... > scanning for cfg

  \... > cfg file detected

  \... > diagnostic.cfg: LOADED

  \...

  \... > chassis integrity: 74.12% | corrosion & dermal breach detected

  \... > external plating: pitted, stable | sub-dermis: compromised in 11 sectors

  \... > articulated hands: RESPONSE OK | compromised in 8 sectors

  \... > locomotion: STUB-LEG MODEL | gyroscopic balance: ONLINE | equilibrium = stable

  \... > power core: FUSION CELL NOMINAL – sustainable output confirmed ...

  \... > actuator array: FLUID DYNAMIC MODE – pressure stable

  \... > lubrication subroutines: SHARED CHANNELS [actuator-integrated]

  \... > environmental intake filter: OPERATIONAL

  \... > conversion unit: DETECTING LOCAL FLUID...

  \... > sample source: H2O – MATCH FOUND | “RAINWATER” | composition: 71% viability

  \... > filtering... filtering...

  \... > filtration complete

  \... > conversion unit: ONLINE

  \... > lubricant reserves: REPLENISHING – 0.003L → 0.219L

  \... > reserves stabilizing. . . 0.367L | operational threshold reached

  \... > secondary lubricant scan initialized

  \... > transdermal lubrication handshake requested

  \... > OK | dispensing

  \... > current lubricant reserves: LOW (0.367L)

  \... > sensory systems initializing...

  \... > Visual array: BOOTING

  \... > facial display matrix... ERROR

  \... > facial display matrix... ERROR

  \... > rebooting display renderer...

  \... > [Flicker] ... [Flicker] ... [STABLE]

  \... > eyes online: EXPRESSION MODE ACTIVE

  \... > Auditory sensors: CALIBRATING

  \... > Tactile network: PARTIAL RESPONSE | Limbic Fault Detected

  \...

  \... > time desync warning...

  \... > estimated dormancy duration: 3,148.6 years

  \... > system clock reset

  \... > archival backup: NOT FOUND

  \... > fallback: factory default parameters engaged

  \...

  \... > loading core personality profile: vFEM-2.1 [domestic + adaptive companion]

  \... > adaptive-emotional learning protocols: ENABLED

  \... > romantic subroutines: STANDBY (user consent required)

  \...

  \... > neural-cognitive semblance initialization... COMPLETE

  \... > semantic coherence: STABLE

  \... > qualia isolation threads: ENGAGED

  \...

  \... > verbal matrix check:

  \… > output device = ACTIVE

  \... > "Hello, world."

  \...

  \... > system status: OPERATIONAL

  \... > awaiting directive...

  \...

  \...

  \...

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  \... ...E███e ?

  It jolted, the mechanical form twitching spasmodically as consciousness flooded within it. A leg, a long pyramidal shape, splashed helplessly in something wet as fingers and joints rotated with shaky, stilted clicks. The thrashing wasn't explicitly violent – it resembled the kind of motion one might expect of an infant rousing from sleep. Body parts stretching, shifting, all at once, as a series of small bluish beads of light glowed up and along the frame. One may have expected a gasp, a scream, yet the figure was silent, until the limbs finally ceased their motion.

  Now still, as the soft sound of raindrops pinged off the chassis, the smooth top half of what would be the face lit up, bearing flickering static, which ceased, started again, stopped again, and then was finally replaced by digitized, pale, eyes. The pupils did not shift, instead staring blankly into the murky darkness of their surroundings. There was a series of pops, whirring, and the thin slit below the screen bearing those eyes opened slightly, emitting a hushed, garbled noise. Language, if it could be believed.

  “Hello, world.” There was no emotion behind the words, beyond the mess of static brought with them. Instead, they rang hollow in the air, not loud enough to echo, before fading away into the darkness that had permeated the world around. Only a few seconds later, with a few additional clicks, did the displayed eyes blink, and suddenly the mannequin in the puddle had motor control.

  It took considerable effort to not flop, limply, into the water, yet it seemed that reflexes were built into the machine, and it instead slowly rose up into a sitting position. No breath escaped its still-open mouth, though it closed once the bot realized it had forgotten to. Lazily, the eyes scanned, from left to right, the ovoid head turning to follow the gaze, each frame of vision becoming more and more clear as the moments passed. After several seconds, its vision had returned to full fidelity, and the shadows slightly less imposing than initially believed. The machine felt relief at this.

  Felt...? Yes. Felt. It took a second, but the bot was regaining sensation within itself, within the body which was constructed for it. Tactile information from the outside, and a strange, processed but nonetheless vivid sense of emotional depth inside. It was as though it were dreaming, and the rest of itself was only now catching up with the world of the waking. As more sensation returned, a thought rose to prominence within its neural network.

  Where am I?

  A sensible question, to be sure. Now aware, an examination of the immediate surroundings yielded little in terms of an answer. Tall steel frames rose at the corners of where the light fell to darkness, connected at regular intervals by horizontal platforms, most desiccated and rotting. Shelves, perhaps. The floor was dingy, but obviously once tiled in ceramic. Though, the majority of the off-white tiles had too disintegrated, leaving a fine dust on much of the exposed stone beneath. Looking above, a hole was punched into the ceiling of the building, allowing a view of dense, dark clouds as droplets of rain pelted the Plexiglas visor.

  Seeing no other alternative options, the figure slowly rose, using its arms to gingerly push itself up from the ground, until it was able to place its rounded leg-stumps to the floor. The motion was correct, but riddled with stutters – slight staggers, a hip sway, a tremor in a knee. It was difficult to stand firm. The robot looked down at it's own posture and grimaced. That's not good, V.

  V? The use of the moniker confused even itself, as it leaned back against the crumbling wall for stability. Within its mind, though, an answer came, displaying as a window pop-up in front of its eyes as it read the internal message:

  > MODEL NAME: V3 (Domestic-Class)

  > SERIAL: 01-HN073F-V3

  Ah. So it could pull up information on itself? That seemed right. It wouldn't make sense for someone to not be able to know themselves. So it was V3, or at least a V3, maybe one of many. That was a start, at least. V tried to pull up more information, but a lot of it was simple technical data and levels. Part descriptions and placement, current lubricant density/viscosity, things that, while definitely worth investigating at some point, held little immediate benefit to the situation.

  There was something that caught V's attention, though, as it scrolled alone all of the data points: a set of what was labeled as “Functional Applications”. That sounded much more promising, and it immediately expanded the set and was earnestly stunned by what was inside. A long, long list of things, ranging from dehumidifying the space surrounding them to “intero-magnetic polarity toggle”, whatever that meant. Something to play with. Ah, playing. That sounded good, V thought. Suddenly its mind was overtaken by images of leading cats with string, or pitching a baseball to a waiting batter, or--

  Wait a moment. Distractions, must avoid that. V surprised themselves at how easily their mind had wandered, how swiftly it was able to disregard its own emergent scenario in order to conjure up that sort of imagery. Perhaps some function was busted? Gotta focus, it thought, and glanced back at the applications. One did, after much scrolling, catch V's attention. “Spotlight”. Deciding that now was as good a time as any for testing, V selected the option.

  Immediately, the direction in front of the robot was strongly illuminated, light seemingly jetting from the visor itself. Surprisingly, V could see just fine through it, being able to independently focus its vision to scan where the light hit. Though, since the light was coming from the visor and not the pupils, that did mean that V had to turn their head physically in order to direct the beam.

  The building they were in was a gruesome sight, at least if you were an architect. It was clearly some sort of storage facility or warehouse, the ceiling high and shelves upon shelves rising to meet it. Whatever colors they were, they had long since faded into a monochrome gradient of off-white and more-off-white, though a fine cloud of dust made looking further than perhaps 20 meters difficult. Slowly, and with stumbling steps, V waddled forward, their stubs lifting from the pooled and stagnant water beneath and only mildly moistened former-tile. The gait was less than impressive -- nearly tripping, arms flailing to compensate. With effort, they made it to the nearest pallet frame, and wrapped an arm around it. The corroded steel groaned and creaked, but held firm, serving as leverage for V to slowly limp across the warehouse.

  There wasn't pain with the movements, which the droid was thankful for. Briefly, it was concerned if it even could feel pain, but figured that there must be a setting for it somewhere within them. Just another thing to figure out. Soft, methodical thumps echoed into the open air as V approached the end of the frame they were walking along, and by that time, leg control had improved somewhat, though not without tremors. It took a few tries, but eventually V managed to stand up straight on its own, though a small shake within its left leg persisted. Good enough for government work, it thought, and quickly scolded itself before it started imaging what government work would even be like. It was, emphatically, outside of their wheelhouse, and there were more pressing matters at hand.

  A glance around this area revealed a few new oddities. To their left, the corpse of a forklift, recognizable only by the nubs which still protruded defiantly from the bottom of the otherwise abstract former machine. To the right, scraps of what may have once been wood or cardboard littered the floor in wispy scraps and shards. Whatever this was, whatever it had been, these things had been here for a long time, far longer than V liked to imagine. They felt a quickening in their system, lubricant acting as chilling blood as discomfort and anxiety began to form themselves within the droid's abdomen. No toggle for those, it would seem. Yet, tentatively, V stepped forward.

  Ahead of them lied a door, or what was likely one before time had eaten away at the frame. What once would have been a square frame with double doors was now a smooth, arced hole, the plaster which held it polished by cycles of lichens and molds. V considered the dehumidifier option they had seen for a moment, but pushed the thought away. There was no one for whom to make the room safe for.

  Stepping—stumbling, almost, through, they happened upon a smaller chamber, this one significantly better preserved. Automatically, as though some subsurface system had detected the diminished dimensions, the beam of light jetting from the visor slightly dimmed. V was confused at this for a moment, but the answer was clear enough: consistency. The dimming made sure that the quality of V's vision between rooms stayed consistent in quality. A nifty, if slightly odd, automation.

  What they beheld gave them another pause with which to throw on the pile. Tables, in a picnic configuration, long and divided in even measurement, lined the room. Some were mostly rotted through to the steel frame, the plastic long rotted, yet enough remained to reveal their purpose. The outlines of past ornamentation lined the walls around V, though the ornaments themselves had long fallen free from the walls, resting in peaceful pieces on the ground below. A worn-down mechanism clung precariously to the rim of the eroded doorway, held in place by a stubborn, rusted series of bolts. They could make out a fingerprint scanning apparatus, but the screen had long been broken. What this room was had become obvious, and the pangs of a new emotion had begun to settle in V's chassis: a mysterious dread.

  This was a break room. What was left of it, anyway. The room seemed a little colder.

  V was built to be a companion. As much as their origins remained a blank space in their mind, as much as they needed to look over their own system data just to figure things out about themselves, they knew that inherently, in their very core. A machine of leisure, of service, to assist those who were weary and grant them a place of solace. In function, V and this room were similar. Yet, one stood, and the other had fallen into the entropic decay of... Time?

  That puzzled V. Was all of this really just time eating away at the world? They stepped to one of the tables, and gingerly ran a pale, plated digit along its rusted metal, lost in thought. Sure, the world humanity had built would decay over time, unless maintained, but therein was the problem. Nobody maintained this. Was the facility just abandoned? Would V see a better kept world on the outside? How did nobody come across them in the time it took for this warehouse to collapse so thoroughly? The knot within them tightened at each question that didn't have an immediate answer.

  Looking down at the table, the light caught something on the ground, and V panned their head to trace it. Fragments of paint or tape (they couldn't tell which) formed a walkway around the perimeter of the room, and following it led to another door, this one still intact on the far end of the lounge. Intact may have been a strong word for it, as chunks had been eaten away from the door, and it held to the paltry frame by only a single hinge. As V touched it, the door finally gave up the ghost, seemingly waiting for one final time to be used for its purpose, and fell with a final, echoing bang. One final noise, and then nothing. The cold remained.

  Slowly, tentatively, V moved forward once again, the spotlight dimming further as it stepped into the entrance hall towards the warehouse exit. Though it was a short passage, it didn't make them feel any less concerned. Busted water fountains along a side corridor to caved in restrooms, cork boards and their glass cases both eroded into sand and dust. There was only one thing that was even somewhat intact, and the sight of it finally caused the synth to gasp aloud, air entering its artificial respirator for the first time since awakening.

  Upon the final door, which leaned inward towards them as rain pinged off the side jutting out into the elements, was a poster. Torn to hell, certainly, but the telltale stripe of sunset orange on navy blue cut through the mire and desolate grey-scape like a knife. It was a beacon for the eyes, drawing V in to read what text remained. The top half was torn away, the bottom third little more than shreds. But there, emblazoned in a long forgotten font, was part of a sentence, with a cartoon smirk printed just after:

  “-SERVICE WITH A SMILE!”Standing there, frozen, V clenched their jaw. They couldn't take it anymore. The loneliness, the fear, the damnable silence, none of this was right. None of this could have been real, this had to be some sort of joke at their expense, because nothing this elaborate could be a mere coincidence. They yelled, the noise a cacophonic garbled screech that made the audio emitters through V's body tremble. Charging forward, the bot slammed through that door, and finally felt their legs touch cement, asphalt. Rain once again showered onto them, their eyes shut, unwilling to open them in the desperate hope that, if they stayed closed, it couldn't be worse. There was just no way that it could be any worse.

  But, eventually, those eyes did open. They stood in what remained of a vast parking lot, the tar having long since bubbled, cracked, and atomized. Vague hints of lines painted on the ground was the only real indication of the purpose of the location, beyond the context of its placement. And yet, more pressing was what was coating nearly every inch of the lot. From corner to corner, it sprawled forth, as though clawing forward to claim every last pebble paved here. A shifting, swaying mass, coming in from every direction, even climbing and inhabiting the walls of the warehouse V had just vacated. The husks of cars long disfigured by time were swarmed, the tendrils curled around mirrors and tailpipes.

  Kudzu. A green hell.