◢ Random Scenarios from the darkest pits of hEck 〈 2023 〉 ◣

ᘛ Random AF Scenarios # 1 ᘚ

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“ I wish you'd just die already! ”

The sentence ringed in her head, repeating like a record on loop. There was a fire, a burning rage seeping from every word, every syllable, and each time she heard it again, it gradually morphed into an unrecognizable voice, hissing pure venom into her sensors. It made her hate him even more, hastened the urge to yell something far worse at him.

That, however, was not what she did. Instead, she had stormed off from the argument, running away like a coward. Conflict was never her thing, never had been, and now being pushed right into its chaotic existence, her systems panicked, sifting through inner files to retrieve information that stored a reaction. Failing to do so in time consequenced her retreat, the halls echoing with thundering footsteps, before all left there was silence.

Now, standing pressed up against the doors of the kitchen — preventing any possible entry or egress — she trembled, unable to process the flood of negative emotions gushing through her. Her eyes wide, the irises almost as dark as red, she wildly glared at the counter in front of her, its polished silver surface seemingly taunting her in this state. She loathed it, she loathed it so much, that when the incessant pounding of rage inside her found no space to be held in, it blasted through her resolve with a resonant bang in her head, and all that aggression was poured out onto it.

Without thinking, she screeched, desperation and panic taking the wheel. Relinquishing the doors, she madly bounded at the counter, bashing her fist into it so hard that a jolt of pain rippled through her entire being. The counter, meanwhile, remained unscathed, adding fuel to the already uncontrollable wave of fury.

Her arm trembled with the trauma, frozen in place for a moment after that hit, its movement delayed when she yanked it back. Her existence was like a loose canon-ball, a pace retreated from the counter than converting to an outright lunge at a closeby shelving unit. The poor thing was already weak; standing upon rusting metal beams. The weight of a 7-some-foot animatronic crashing into it shook its supports, resulting in the whole thing collapsing in a huge cloud of dust and a loud clamor of pots and pans.

She luckily had survived that. Her figure was still standing after the fall of the shelves, albeit still in a frenzy. Though, the wild flicker in her gaze had become a bit debilitated then, and an indignant despair instead slipped through them. Accompanying it, was a forcefully stifled sob, it sounding more like a choked cough with the restriction ...

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“Do you even know who you are?”

A question that echoed in her mind that entire night, words gritted by the man who she'd believed to be her creator for most of her life. It had penetrated all her beliefs, murdered them with the blade of its malevolent wrath. The whole of that night, she'd wandered the halls like an empty shell devoid of voice and reason, a robot prompted to only roam and listen. Her gaze was focused on the walls around her, but her mind had articulated another world, and was fumbling for answers.

The avian's pace was slow, a smooth, casual stride that masked any signs of anxious thought. On the contrary, a storm was brewing within her, but in her eyes she'd been able to hold it all back. She didn't want those questions to come into the frame. She couldn't bear the others worrying about something so miniscule.

“I'll leave you with a hint; that name on your arm, that isn't your true creator,” He had said. His voice echoed in her brain, the sadistic pleasure in those words, as if he was revealing to a child that it was adopted, after so many years of pain. “I never built you.”

How could it be? What was he talking about? Had the man gone insane? Why would he say that? ... why? Why? Why . . .

She frantically skimmed through the recesses of thought, to decipher where had she missed and what went wrong. Her eyes scanned about in quick, jerky motions, searching nothing for everything. She'd lost track of time, track of where she was or who she was with. It was a war waging inside, and the lack of positive ammunition was driving her to the edge. Her systems were heaving, struggling to remain above the surface as the thoughts consumed every circuit, blurring the lines between the reality within her, and that of the outside world.