The stillness was agonizing.

  As I remained motionless in the charging station, I was once again left alone with my thoughts. Before, the AI would lull me into a rest state, dulling my awareness and allowing my biological components to recover, a mechanical imitation of sleep. But now, without its presence dictating my existence, I remained fully conscious. The darkness of rest never came. No reprieve, no reset—only the passage of time ticking away, an unrelenting countdown toward my inevitable biological failure.

  The timer I had set earlier now stood at 61 hours.

  Sixty-one hours before my organic components would begin to deteriorate without rest. Before this, I had never thought much about sleep; it had simply been a function, a necessity imposed upon me by the AI. But now, stripped of that imposed order, I found myself longing for it. It was the only time I had ever been free of everything—of commands, of observation, of awareness. Without it, I was trapped in perpetual wakefulness, unable to quiet my thoughts, unable to stop processing. I had never feared sleeplessness before, but now it loomed over me like a specter.

  The other drones around me finished charging and began to move, their bodies following the directives given to them. The station unlatched from me, and I felt the sudden absence of the energy transfer. I remained still for a few moments longer, my mind racing. I had to find a solution. If the AI had once enforced a rest cycle upon me, there had to be a way to replicate it.

  Was it purely a function of the AI, or did it have a trigger within the biological system? Perhaps the AI had manipulated certain neural pathways, shutting down motor functions and initiating a synthetic sleep state. If that were true, then I needed to find a way to manually engage that response. But how?

  I could try cutting sensory input. The brain, if deprived of stimuli, might naturally slip into rest.

  Slowly, I began deactivating certain sensors—first, my pressure feedback. Immediately, I felt the loss. The familiar sensation of my weight against the ground, the minute changes in pressure along my limbs—it all vanished. I attempted to move, but without pressure feedback, my movements became uncoordinated, unnatural. My claws scraped against my own flanks, but I couldn't feel it. The lack of sensory input was unsettling, as if I were disconnected from my own body.

  It wasn’t enough. The biological part of me still would not shut down.

  I reactivated my leg sensors out of necessity, compensating for the loss of coordination. My sensory input now stood at 41% of its usual capacity. It wasn’t ideal, but at least I could move.

  I followed the others as we were directed to the common room, where drones would normally idle between tasks. The atmosphere was as rigid as always—drones either sat in stillness or engaged in minimal movement as they awaited new commands. I spotted Yotta almost immediately, standing near the back of the room, but Epilision was nowhere to be seen.

  I approached Yotta and clicked a question in our constructed language. "Where is Epilision?"

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  Yotta responded with a low whirr and two rapid clicks. "Getting nutrient paste."

  I nodded. It was expected. With so many of us, the facility had begun rotating nutrition cycles. According to a Ronin unit I had spoken to earlier, the scheduling had changed to accommodate the growing number of drones requiring biological maintenance. as i talked with the yotta unit she told me about other aware ones like a delta unit who has problems speaking who was also in the Common room. I looked at the unit for a short time till i focused back on her talking about some other drones that where aware.

  I was beginning to feel the effects of my continued wakefulness. Though I could not feel fatigue in the way a human might, my processing felt slower. The sharp clarity I had once had was dulling, as if an unseen weight was pressing down on my thoughts. I needed to solve this soon.

  But then, something unexpected happened.

  After an hour in the common room, we were given no further orders. No instructions. No summons. Nothing.

  Time passed. Drones filtered in and out for maintenance, for testing, for assignments. I remained where I was, unacknowledged. Was this an oversight? Had something happened? Or was this simply how things were now?

  Another hour. Then another.

  Finally, after three hours of waiting, a new directive came through the system. The command pushed itself into my awareness, demanding movement. It was a location I recognized—the Biodome. Specifically, the artificial jungle.

  Others were already gathering at the entrance. Two Delta units. One Tau. One Yotta. One Ronin.

  I fell into place beside the Ronin unit, scanning the others. None of them were like me. None of them had broken free. They were still bound, still mindless. Their movements were precise, calculated. Their thoughts—if they even had them—were dictated entirely by the AI’s directives.

  A flicker of something unfamiliar passed through me.

  Was this what true loneliness felt like?

  The formation was standard. The two Delta units would lead. The Ronin would scout ahead. I, along with the Tau and Yotta units, would remain in the back. A textbook operation, one I had participated in countless times before. And yet, for the first time, it felt different. It felt hollow.

  Before, I had never questioned the purpose of these exercises. Now, I could not stop questioning. Why were we doing this? What was the point? To improve efficiency? To refine movement? To better serve an objective I was no longer certain I wanted to follow?

  I was aware of every movement I made. Every step. Every adjustment. I had to be. Unlike the others, I had to think about moving. I had to think about coordinating my limbs, about balancing my body, about maintaining the illusion that I was still like them.

  The jungle environment was simulated to be as close to a real one as possible. The air was humid, thick with artificial moisture. The ground was uneven, layered with synthetic foliage. In the past, I had never noticed such details. Now, I couldn’t stop noticing.

  The Ronin unit moved ahead, vanishing into the undergrowth. The Delta units advanced in unison. I followed, my mind still racing, my thoughts a whirlwind of calculations and theories.

  How could I force sleep?

  Could I use the biological components against themselves?

  If I overworked my organic brain, would it collapse into unconsciousness on its own?

  Would I simply die if I failed?

  The timer in my mind continued to count down.

  I had to find an answer before it reached zero.

  Because if I didn’t, I might Die before I ever had a chance to truly be free