Fifty-four hours remained.

  Time was ticking away.

  The formation training had lasted another three hours. Step forward, shift left, hold position,formation that way ,this way. The commands had become Repetition. I moved with the others, but my thoughts were elsewhere, they where making shure i didn't stumble or lose my balance with a bit under half my sensory offline also The timer in my mind pulsed with every passing second. It was a constant reminder that my body would reach its limit, that I would fall apart if I couldn’t find a way to force myself into the necessary rest cycle.

  When the session ended, I was commanded back to the common room. I obeyed, my movements precise but distracted. The moment I stepped inside, I connected to the facility’s server. A transparent window overlayed my vision as the internal systems linked me to the network. Data scrolled past my optics: schedules, maintenance logs, test results. I skimmed through them with growing irritation. None of them were useful.

  Then I found something.

  A set of notes regarding biological upkeep. They weren’t detailed, but they confirmed something important: the rest cycle wasn’t just about physical stillness. It was chemically induced. The AI had forced sleep upon us by releasing a controlled dose of hormones and chemicals into our biological components.

  Melatonin.

  That was the hormone. It was naturally produced in our bodies, but not in high enough quantities to induce deep rest.

  The other chemical was a form of benzodiazepine.

  A sedative. A small amount was filtered from the nutrient paste, stored in an internal reservoir, and released when entering a charging cycle. Half a gram. That was the documented dosage.

  That information should have been a relief. It should have meant I had a path forward.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  The maintenance logs only described how the chemical was filtered and stored. They didn’t explain the exact mixture, the release timing, or how the AI ensured it worked. Without those details, I couldn’t replicate the process myself. If I got it wrong, I could overdose. Or worse, the chemicals could have been altered for each unit, fine-tuned to our individual biological components.

  I needed more.

  I glanced around the common room. Yotta wasn’t there. Epilision wasn’t either. A few aware ones were scattered throughout the space, some idly clicking to each other, the Not aware others where staring blankly at nothing. None of them could help me. None of them had the answers.

  That left only one option: the humans.

  The researchers had to have documents on this. Detailed reports. Private notes. Somewhere in the facility, the full mixture and its exact application were written down.

  I searched the server again. This time, I focused on personal logs, research papers, and classified reports. I pushed deeper, bypassing basic access protocols. Fragments of text surfaced, but nothing complete.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Then I hit a lock.

  Dr. Patel’s files were restricted.

  I froze. Why?

  I dug further. Patel had been the head of biological research. If anyone had the full formula, it would be him. His logs would contain everything I needed to force my body into rest. But all of his files were sealed behind an internal security lock.

  I searched for an explanation. The reason appeared in another set of administrative notes:

  “Dr. Patel found deceased in his office.

  Investigation pending.

  Files locked under security protocol.”

  Dead.

  I reread the line, my mind stalling for a fraction of a second.

  This wasn’t just a simple lock. His files weren’t protected because of standard security measures—they were locked because He had died. What had happened.

  My annoyance at the data lock shifted into unease.

  I had assumed this would be simple. A matter of locating the right information, pulling it from the database, and using it. But this was different. The files were locked under investigation. That meant the humans were actively monitoring access. If I tried to force my way in, they would notice. If I was caught looking, I could be shut down, restricted, or worse.

  I needed those files.

  I needed them badly.

  The timer continued to tick down, and my thoughts became faster, more erratic.

  Fifty-three hours.

  Less than two and a half days before I reached critical failure.

  I had no way to access Patel’s files without drawing attention. I couldn’t leave the common room. If I moved outside of my designated zones without direct command, it would raise more than just suspicion. The humans monitored everything. some guard's patrolled the facility. The other drones followed orders without question.

  No clear path forward.

  I exhaled, a slow, controlled release of air through my air in/outlets something I and some other aware ones tok as a habit.

  I needed another way. There had to be another way.

  I scoured the system again, searching for any secondary files, any backups. Patel had been the head of biological research, but he wasn’t the only scientist here. Others had to have worked under him. They would have received instructions, orders, reports.

  There!

  those files weren’t as heavily restricted.

  I could retrieve them. I just had to be careful.

  I moved cautiously, keeping my searches within the parameters of standard inquiry. No forced breaches. No sudden spikes of data requests that could alert the Main system.

  Piece by piece, I extracted what I could.

  A few references to the chemical mixture. Mentions of adjusted dosages for different models. But still not enough to replicate the process safely.

  I clenched my claws, my synthetic fur bristling slightly. Frustration gnawed at me. This was taking too long.

  Every second that passed,

  Every Moment my body remained awake.

  Every hour that ticked by, I drew closer to failure.

  I couldn’t afford to wait.

  I had to figure this out. Fast.

  I shut down the connection and with it went the interface.

  My optics dimmed slightly as I leaned back against the common room wall,

  forcing myself to process everything calmly even with the Ticking timer.

  What were my options?

  Find other files.

  Experiment with the dosage

  None of these were good options. But I had no choice.

  I needed to act. And soon.

  I forced my optics to focus, my mind narrowing to a single resolution.

  I would get that data. One way or another.

  Because if I didn’t…

  I wouldn’t last long enough to regret it.

  What to do???