Nemesis’ blue eyes widened as the… [i]thing[/i] squeezed itself through the fence, thoroughly disturbed. It was neither robot nor human, but some bizarre, erratic creature, and she did not want it anywhere near her. Sadly, she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. With some difficulty, she stood up from her fighting stance, using her single arm to help straighten her left leg out. In the meantime, the human seemed to be prying his way through the fence, and she felt a strange rush of relief. Was she about to be reclaimed?

Whatever hope might have been on her face flattened when the man requested a damage report. For the first time she could ever recall, she entertained the thought of lying. After all, if she was too badly damaged, wouldn’t he just leave her to rot as the scientists had? Or perhaps the nature of his question was more benign—did he merely want to make sure that her ability to sense and process was intact? Nemesis scrutinized what she could make of his face, but the light expression he had wasn’t helping her dilemma at all.

She went with honest, beginning with the worst. Though her voice seemed entirely natural, like that of a woman’s, her tone remained monotone enough to imitate a computer. “Internal body temperature is critical. Neuron receivers in left leg attachment, ports z32 and z37 are damaged; mobility severely impaired. Wing ligaments and operational gears damaged; flight capability impossible. Skin damage moderate, blood loss significant: estimated time before critical system failure is less than an hour.”

In an afterthought, the pitch in her voice rose uncomfortably. "I require assistance."