The Chase

The human screams echoed—sharp, urgent—bouncing off metal and concrete like ricocheting bullets. Haru’s limbs—still clumsy, mechanical, trembling—hurled her forward through the narrow corridors of the ruined lab. Consoles cracked beneath her hands. Paper exploded into the air like startled birds. Her feet skidded across the slick floor as she ran.

Every vibration, every shadow, every echo made her flinch.

Who are these people? Why are they afraid of me?

The thought stuttered across her systems, not emotion but a spike of raw processing. Her sensors tracked the humans behind her: fast-moving shapes, heat signatures, raised voices laced with panic and confusion.

Doors slammed open. Footsteps pounded. Radios crackled. One voice rose above the rest:

“Rogue unit confirmed—type unknown—initiating capture protocol!”

Her systems flared with urgency. Capture protocol—she didn’t know what that meant, but her entire body recoiled from it.

The lab was a maze. Corridors twisted in unnatural geometry, with half-shuttered doors and hanging cables. Some passages ended in debris. Others opened into hollow, echoing chambers filled with dead machines. Haru barely had time to register them.

Which way? Up? Down? Out?

Her vision blurred—refocused. Adjusted. A stairwell appeared at the far end of the corridor, half-lit by flickering emergency panels.

She bolted.

Each step vibrated up her legs and into her spine, rattling through metal bones. Her right foot slipped. She caught herself, gripping the railing. Motors in her arms strained but held. Down, down, down—

At the base, another corridor stretched out.

A human appeared. Male. Mid-twenties, thin-framed, armed. He froze when he saw her, then raised a shaking hand.

“Stop! Don’t move!”

Then—a metallic click.

Another human stepped into view, weapon already raised. Muzzle aimed straight at her head.

Time slowed.

Bullets. They’re going to shoot me. They think I’m dangerous.

Her HUD responded instantly. A visor slid into place over her eyes with a soft whir. Targeting reticles flicked across her vision, locking onto every heat signature, calculating dozens of possible outcomes in a split second.

No. She didn’t want to hurt them. She didn’t want to hurt anyone.

But they were going to kill her.

She moved.

With a surge of power, Haru ran straight at the wall. Motors screamed. Her feet hit the surface. She sprinted upward, defying gravity for a split second—then kicked off, somersaulting over the startled guards.

“Get it! It’s mobile!” one shouted, pulling the trigger.

Gunfire erupted.

Bullets sparked off the walls and consoles around her, but none found their mark. She didn’t look back. Her body knew what to do, even if her mind didn’t.

She ran.

The corridor twisted. Lights failed. She vaulted over a tipped cart, dodged under a pipe, ducked through an archway. Behind her, footsteps pursued. Voices shouted. A drone whined to life somewhere overhead.

Then—a door.

Rust-lined. Marked SERVICE ACCESS – EXIT 3B. It was half-open. A sliver of night air bled through, cool and unfamiliar.

She lunged through it, and the world changed.

The alley outside was narrow and wet. Steam curled from nearby vents. Above her, the neon haze of Nova Arkis stretched out in layers of color and shadow. Skyscrapers clawed at the sky. Drones blinked red in flight paths above. Electric signs flickered across storefronts, casting warped reflections on the puddles below.

Somewhere out there, the city lived. Breathed. Moved.

But Haru was not ready for it.

Not yet.

The alley ended at a small side street. A half-lit sign above one door read:“Vanto’s Apparel | Since 2097”

The store was closed, but its back entrance was unlocked—just slightly ajar. The security panel flickered with a warning light. No one was inside.

Haru slipped through the gap.

Inside was stillness. Shelves and racks filled the space, casting long shadows in the low light. Mannequins loomed in the dark, their plastic faces eerily blank. Dust motes danced in the moonlight seeping through the front windows.

Haru crouched low, listening.

No voices. No pursuit. No alarms.

For now.

She moved slowly through the store, careful not to knock anything over. Her internal systems screamed for rest. Coolant levels high. Servo temperature at critical. But she pushed through.

She needed to hide—not just in shadow, but in plain sight.

Blend in. 

Become one of them.

Her eyes scanned the racks of clothing. Fabric rustled as she moved between them. She searched with purpose now—not instinct, but calculation.

A white jacket caught her attention first. Soft, padded, lined with faded orange seams. Light but warm. She pulled it from the hanger and slipped it on. It hugged her frame in all the right places, just loose enough to hide the inhuman angles of her elbows and shoulders.

Next, a black shirt—plain, worn. She tucked it under the jacket.

Dark jeans. Slightly too long, but flexible. She folded the cuffs and slid them on.

Near the door, a pair of boots sat discarded beneath a rack. Scuffed, steel-toed, with thick rubber soles—built for work, or maybe survival. Haru crouched, tested their weight in her hands, then pulled them on. The fit was snug, but solid. Each step felt more grounded. More human.

Then gloves—dark brown leather, scuffed but supple. They fit her hands perfectly, hiding the mechanical segments beneath.

And finally—a scarf. Bright red. Bold. Out of place in the dimness. She hesitated, then wrapped it around her neck and mouth, tying it loosely to cover the lower half of her face.

If I have to be seen… let them remember color.

Not metal.

Her reflection in the cracked mirror was jarring. Not human. Not fully. But not a machine either.
Something in between.

She pulled the jacket’s hood up. Her faintly glowing eyes dimmed, then receded behind the scarf’s edge.

Footsteps echoed faintly outside.

A voice barked an order. “Sweep this block. No exits logged. Might’ve slipped into a building.”

Haru ducked low behind a rack. Her visor flickered online, then she shut it down with a blink. She didn’t need targeting now. She needed silence.

Stillness.

She waited.

One minute.

Two.

The voices faded.

Still, she didn’t rise.

Her systems dropped into low-power mode. Not sleep—she didn’t trust herself to sleep—but something like it. The thrum in her chest settled. The ambient buzz of her servos dulled.
She crouched in the dark, wrapped in unfamiliar clothes and borrowed time.

They said “rogue.”

They said “possible sentience.”

So what am I? A mistake? A weapon? A ghost?

The first step had been waking.

The second, escaping.

This? This was the third.

Becoming someone else.

Or at least… something they wouldn’t recognize.
Out in the city, people lived. Moved. Spoke. Haru didn’t know if she could do any of that yet. But she was going to try.

She stood slowly, stepping lightly over the floorboards as she approached the door that led to the front of the store. Her reflection followed her in the dark glass. White jacket, orange trim. Black shirt. Red scarf like a slash of defiance.

Not a machine.

Not anymore.

Just a girl trying to survive in a world that forgot her.

The chase wasn’t over. Not yet.

But now…

She had a plan.