It wasn’t physical pain that startled Nemesis, rather, the unwanted act of being accosted. Her skin was so numb she barely felt the deeper scratches on her biceps and shoulders—she did feel a bit slimier as blood oozed over the scraps of her suit, but lubrication was more the advantage in her present situation.  As if by instinct, she concentrated on controlling her reaction to the frozen metal being pressed against her body. She shuddered, twitched, but did not cry out. Screaming would be facilitation of her greatest enemies, pain and fear.

No, instead, she let her rage take control. It did not come in an animalistic frenzy or red haze: it was a nearly emotionless state on the surface. Underneath that cool veneer, her brain was operating in an accelerated state of spiteful clarity. She saw the thickness of the robot’s metal plates covering its frame and knew immediately that even with a still functional arm, tearing through that outer defense was impossible. This robot was a thing not built for speed or even strength, but durability. Was such a low-maintenance creation truly her final opponent?

[i]Very well.[/i] Nemesis reached her arms over the lip of the robot’s hand, trying to position herself for an effective strike. [i]I will not submit. I will fight until the conflict takes me—to die resting the laurels of my past was not a suitable end.[/i] Yet, even as she  thought of an end, she strove for a future. Her single mechanical arm dug into the exposed chink in the robot’s wrist. Even in her broken, worthless state, the act was too easy: joints were almost always the weak spots of any robot, since those parts also required the most flexibility.

Sparks flew as Nemesis’ fingers pried into the metal covering protecting the wires and tore the cords apart. Immediately, the grip holding her went limp, and she started to slide. She maintained a hold of the wires, hanging for a moment. It was only natural for the robot to counter-strike, but it didn’t so much as reach for her with its other hand. Even the surrounding robots simply stood there, their little heads jerking around so much it looked like they were malfunctioning.

It wasn’t time to gawk. Nemesis let go of the wires, spreading her legs wide as she landed. It honestly wasn’t much of a gap between the thing’s dismantled hand and the ground, but it was a natural stance suited for dodging quickly. With a missing arm and a damaged left leg, she didn’t actually have means of moving gracefully enough to be combative, but her fighting instinct had been painfully refined. Even if she could barely move, she would not give the appearance of such until it was impossible even to keep up the pretense.

Running was not an option, so she maintained her posture, eyes swiveling around as she tried to gauge the strange group’s next movement. Would they try to crush her with their sheer mass? They didn’t look particularly fast, but there were enough surrounding her that avoiding being trampled would be… difficult. Would one of them try to grab her, too, or did they have the AI capable of changing tactics? Would they—

They just backed off. The ground shuddered as the robots [i]heaved their shoulders[/i] and turned away, their oily, dumpster-like torsos hunched as if disappointed. Nemesis blinked, having no understanding of how turning their backs would help their struggle against her. After they took a few steps away, however, they turned back around, glancing behind their shoulders in a way that could only be described as [i]endearing[/i].

Nemesis’ stance faltered. Were the things malfunctioning? What was the point in grabbing her for capture if they would walk away the second one of them received damage? They had every advantage to destroy her, yet there they were, standing in the rain and looking back at her like… like…

[i]Like they want me.[/i] Nemesis pressed her metal hand against the side of her head, feeling an oncoming headache. That word, [i]want[/i], was a term she was familiar with, but had never used in relation to herself. She did not want anything, nor did anyone want anything from her. Her existence had only one purpose, and fulfilling that purpose justified her existence.

But that just made for another internal fallacy: if her purpose was to test drones and equipment for the robotics lab and she was no longer there, why did she still exist? Had the abyss finally decided to claim her and she simply didn’t realize it?

A strange sense of dread settled into the pit of her stomach. She’d chosen to step out of a potential grave, the one her commanders had dug for her. By trying to return to some semblance of them, she’d disobeyed orders but simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. She’d [i]wanted[/i] to be needed. Yes, that was the origin of her ongoing confusion, why she was deviating from the singular mindset of destroying every mechanical object in sight.

Nemesis let her metal hand fall to her side as she gazed back at the garbage men. “I want to exis—”

“Hey! Is everything alright?” That voice—it was definitely human.

Nemesis turned her body, one shoulder facing the robots and the other facing the stranger because she couldn’t risk having her back turned to either. Once again, she was faced with a bizarre situation, this one being a human in her presence while she was not restrained. She took orders from them, yes, watched them work on her body, but there had always been an understanding that she was something never to approach without caution. The pile of ruined drone corpses behind her was likely the reason why.

[i]Is everything alright…[/i] Nemesis’ brow furrowed as she contemplated the strange question. What was right, exactly? She did not know what her current objective was and thus, could not say whether or not she was performing her work correctly. While the man awaited her answer and the robots (their heads were jerking with those strange motions again) watched, Nemesis simply stood there and ruminated on the nature of the question.

She [i]was[/i] injured—perhaps that was the nature of his inquiry? Had one of the scientists finally come to repair her? Had that encounter with the robots been a test? Nemesis looked down at herself, finding that her suit was little more than shreds clinging to her chest and the tops of her arms and legs. Crosswise cuts streaked across her arms, legs, and sides, and riddled in all that was the oil from the robots as well as the scum of the junkyard. Her hair, more like a matted sponge oozing gunk, was riddled in blood, but she could feel no head injury. Was this state acceptable? That was a stupid question—that was for the commanders to decide.

Nemesis finally turned her back to the robots, deciding the human was her priority for attention. It was dark, so she still couldn’t tell much of the man. He did have something abnormal on his head, but otherwise looked like nothing more than the fleshy, limber humans she was accustomed to seeing.

Her answer, after a complete analysis of the situation, the question, and the asker, was hardly an answer at all: “Please restate the nature of the inquiry.”

OoC: I coordinated with Daxam for the post, so thanks for your patience, Daxam!