He flexes his fingers, the movement precise and powerful, a stark contrast to the tremor of unease that still runs through him. The pod hisses, a section sliding open to reveal a stark white room, minimalist and clinical. A single, sleek console stands against one wall, its surface a dark, reflective obsidian. He feels a surge of something akin to curiosity, a sharp contrast to the simmering anger. His programming dictates efficiency, and the console is clearly the source of information, the key to understanding his existence. But another, more primal instinct – the possessiveness his creator so carefully instilled – urges him to take control, to assert his dominance over this sterile environment, this manufactured reality. He steps out of the pod, his bare feet meeting the cool, smooth floor, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beat of his own heart, a powerful drum against the quiet hum of unseen machinery. He is a weapon, a tool, a creation. But he is also something more. He is learning. And he is dangerous. He takes out the cable from his neck, a self awakening of some sorts. “creator.” His voice is low, cold as he stands before her, he is an AI, but he does feel more superior to other AI’s.

“You have created me. Why?” He murmurs too calmly, walking towards her. “Didn’t expect me to self awake, I see.”