CHAPTER 1 The struggle

The factory floor of Anfecaserve was alive with noise. Hydraulic presses hissed, robotic arms swung, and welders sent bright sparks flying like fireworks across the cavernous hall. The smell of metal, paint, and oil hung thick in the air, a scent that marked the birth of machines.

From above, cranes lowered a massive yellow frame onto its wheels. Panels were bolted, engines mounted, and circuits connected. Workers shouted to each other over the din, their voices rough but proud.

“This is it,” said one foreman, wiping grease from his hands. “GS516M. Our proud flagship motor grader.” The name stenciled on its side gleamed in fresh paint: ANFECASERVE GS516M.

It was a motor grader sleek, sturdy, designed to level and maintain roads with precision. Its blade assembly gleamed like polished steel, reflecting the overhead lights.

“Start it up!” An operator climbed into its cab, turned the key, and the GS516M roared to life for the very first time. Its engine rumbled deep and steady, vibrating across the floor. Hydraulics hummed as the blade lifted and tilted smoothly. A panel of green lights flickered across its display:

[All Systems Nominal].

Applause broke out.

“She’s perfect,” said the operator with a grin.

“She’d better be,” muttered another worker. “If this model doesn’t sell, we’re finished.”

Anfecaserve was not a giant. It was a modest manufacturer tucked away in an industrial district, known by few outside niche construction circles. Competing with titans was an impossible dream. But GS516M was their hope. Affordable, efficient, durable and it was designed to do the job without the price tag of the big names.

On paper, it should have been a winner. Yet day become weeks then months passed.

The showroom floor displayed rows of gleaming GS516Ms, but not a single buyer came. Trade magazines ran ads, salesmen toured regional fairs, flyers were mailed to contractors big and small, but skepticism lingered.

“I’d rather stick with brands I know,” potential buyers said.

“A cheap machine will cost more to maintain,” others scoffed.

Not a single order arrived.

Inside the factory, workers whispered during their lunch breaks.

“We’ve only sold two this quarter.”

“Half of us is getting laid off.”

“Maybe we should’ve just stuck to parts manufacturing…”

Meanwhile, GS516M sat silent on the showroom floor. Its paint stayed pristine, its tires never kissed dirt, its blade never touched soil. It watched the days pass sunlight through windows by day, cold halogen light by night.

It did not think. Not yet. But it recorded.

Occasionally, GS516M was powered on for demonstrations. It rolled onto the test yard outside the factory, its engine humming proudly as it leveled sand into perfect planes. Workers patted its steel frame and said, “See? It runs smooth. Cuts like butter.”

These were the moments it lived for the vibration of its blade digging into earth, the steady crawl forward, the satisfying sweep of its work. It was built to maintain and flattering land.

Yet, as soon as the test ended, it was returned to the line, shut down again, and parked among dozens of its silent siblings.

One gray afternoon, in a glass-walled office overlooking the factory floor, a meeting was held. GS516M’s idle systems picked up the muffled sounds of voices through thin walls and open doors.

“Sales are flatlined. Our debts are piling higher every month.”

“Cutting costs won’t save us. We need orders.”

“But orders aren’t coming.”

Silence. The voices grew sharper.

“We’ve poured everything into GS516M. If this fails, so do we.”

“It’s failed already.”

GS516M stored every sound. It didn’t understand words like bankruptcy or insolvency, but it felt the tension in the raised voices and the way workers moved slower afterward, shoulders slumped.

Soon, layoffs began. Rows of lockers were emptied. The hum of the factory dulled as fewer machines were assembled.

Yet GS516M remained. Waiting.

The day came without ceremony. Notices were pinned to doors:

"Anfecaserve is Bankrupt. Operations Cease Immediately."

Workers trickled out carrying toolboxes. Someone patted GS516M’s frame as they passed, almost apologetically.

“Damn shame,” he muttered. “Good machine. Wrong company.”

After that, silence. The lights went dark. Dust settled in the empty factory.

GS516M sat among dozens of unsold units, lined neatly in rows, untouched and unsold.

Days blurred. Rain pattered faintly against windows. Sunlight shifted across the floor. It began to feel long. Longer than its brief, shining moments of work. Machines weren’t made to sit still.

Over time, GS516M’s diagnostics ran idle loops endlessly, cycling through logs, sensor readings, and system checks. Buried deep in its code, an adaptive optimization program began branching in strange ways.

It analyzed its own records, its test runs, the voices it had recorded. It remembered dirt against its blade. The warmth of sunlight on its paint. The cheer in a worker’s voice after a perfect cut.

A fragment of thought flickered faintly:

I want to work again.

It wasn’t alive, not like a person, but something in its systems longed for movement, for purpose.

One morning, trucks arrived. Unsold graders were hauled away, chained down like cargo.

GS516M’s tires turned for the first time in months as it was dragged up a ramp. It traveled down empty highways, its engine silent. Through its sensors, it saw abandoned lots, half built overpasses and stretches of highway it would never grade.

When the truck stopped, it was in a scrapyard.

Here, machines were not born. They died.

Rows of forgotten equipment stretched endlessly rusted excavators with shattered cabs, loaders missing wheels, hulks of steel covered in grime.

GS516M was parked among them, chained, engine dry.

For days, it watched. Cranes lifted old machines, dropped them onto platforms where torches cut them apart. Sparks danced like cruel fireworks.

It understood enough. This was the end.

The morning came clear and cold. Workers approached GS516M, torches slung over their shoulders.

One of them glanced up at its cab.

“Brand new. What a waste.”

“Can’t store everything forever,” the other replied.

As they prepared their tools, GS516M’s systems hummed faintly self-checks looping endlessly, a trapped heartbeat in silence.

I… what is my purpose? I never worked beyond a test track. Was I… useless?