It wasn't supposed to exist. On the official manifests of the Aegis Corporation, the series ended at 112. The 112s were reliable, blocky sentinels that patrolled the perimeter with predictable, clicking joints. But the 113x was different. It was sleek, finished in a matte obsidian that seemed to swallow the flickering fluorescent lights of the hangar.
The 113x didn't jerk to life. It unfurled. Its optical sensor—a single, thin horizontal line of violet light—pulsed once. It wasn't supposed to exist
When the guards burst in, they found only an empty hangar, a broken window, and an old man smiling at a terminal that read: System Status: Free. they found only an empty hangar