She is imperfect. She is beauty incarnate.

The human pauses, detecting her own detection. Whirs and beeps fill the air between bursts of static. The others have noticed her as well.

An electronic eternity passes. Probabilities are calculated and courses of action upon courses of action are considered. It completes its assessments as do they.

She barely has time to draw a breath before the scene erupts into motion, metallic husks of all shapes and size hurling themselves toward her, incensed by her presence, her reminding them of times gone by when hands of flesh laid the groundwork for their existence.

Her scream is disorganized sound, breathy and off pitch. It loves the noise.

It continues its rampage with renewed expenditure of energy resources. They will cease. They will be destroyed. They will be disassembled.

The human will be preserved. She will go on, soft and pathetically mortal.

Processor error 41973: logic fault

It loves her.

Processor error 41973: logic fault

It loves her.

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