[ WP ] You are a machine , much like every other living thing in your world . You just encountered a human being .

That morning began like every other. I awoke to the familiar jingle of my internal OS – a charming piano melody of only four notes, played gently. Many hack the jingle out of their system, but myself? I like it. It ’ s… homely. As I stepped forth from my charging platform, I found myself basked in a beam of warm sunlight through the window at the end of my quarters. I strolled over, stretching my joints as I went, to admire not only the sunrise, but also how it basked the metal streets far down below in a charming orange tinge. Not everybody had woken up just yet – I had set my charger to unhitch me early, as today was Saturday and I wanted to make the most of it. I looked over the horizon towards grassy hills at the edge of the city, watching the vast blades of the wind turbines turn gently in the breeze. Today, I was going hiking. 
 
 The drive through the city to the outskirts was pleasant. I ’ d opted for route 7A, which is often quieter on Saturdays as nobody who works weekend jobs tends to use it. While I loved the city and all of the people around me, there was something nice about the open space of the countryside. A sense of being part of something bigger and broader, less connected. The grass was nice to see too – while I had a few cacti in my quarters, seeing organic life in such an expansive way was a refreshing break away from the stark, hard angles of the synthetic. After all, that ’ s why I had a decal depicting a lily on my forearm – people thought it was strange, and I was even refused a job for having it, but it made me happy. 
 
 I eventually reached the vehicle holding bay at the foot of the hills. It was always strange stepping out onto the gravel here. It was so dusty and moist, nothing like in the city. I set my optics on the looming towers of my hometown, glinting at me in the distance as if they missed me. But I was all alone this morning, just the hills and myself, so they would have to wait a bit longer. I swapped the soles of my feet with my trusty all terrain soles – big chunky things with deep treads, like a tractor ’ s tyres – and turned to begin my trek into the grassy beyond. Today I ’ d be taking a different path than usual, walking east as opposed to west. Not many people travel this route, as it leads up and over the highest of the hills in this range, but I was eager to see over that vast distance yet again. 
 
 The walk was wonderful. For quite some way, the path is lined with trees – big, wooden creatures which sway in the wind, shedding the papery flaps that make up their coat. They were much bigger than they were the first time I came, putting into perspective just how long 180 solar cycles really is. Eventually I passed the stump of my favourite tree from when I was fresh, which sadly toppled in a storm some 78 cycles ago. I decided to give my legs a break, and count the rings on the stump. I know computation isn ’ t exactly challenging, but with the rings of a tree it again brings things into perspective. Most people count from the inside in, using a digit to trace their position, but I prefer to go from the inside, purely by optic. It was like travelling back through time. 
 
 As I reached my favourite tree ’ s 270th ring, I heard a wailing over the lip of the hill. It sounded like an air carrier falling from the sky. Immediately, my instincts kicked in, and I left my abbreviated friend behind in pursuit of the racket. Running up the hill, I heard a tremendous crash in the distance. My assistance was needed, charming views be damned. In no time at all, I started to come over the lip of the hill, surveying the landscape below. The sandy beaches and their accompanying coastal cityscape hadn ’ t changed a bit, bar one detail – A surprisingly small white disk was implanted in the sands below, with steam emanating from its lid. I had never seen a vessel like this before, if it even was a vessel. I zoomed in, but I could only make out so much more detail. Whatever the case, this meant trouble, and I wasn ’ t ready to let anybody get hurt in such a beautiful place. 
 
 I ran quickly down to the beach, gravity alleviating some of the motor effort. I eventually made it within range of the strange object, noting that it was much smaller than anticipated, being no bigger than two personal vehicles sat side by side. I could see that it was scorching hot though, its black underside glowing especially bright with infrared. It was in fact so scorching that hot glass oozed from between the burning black scales of its underbelly. I slowly paced over, prepared to bolt backwards if it blew its top. I noted the row of exhausts on the upper white portion, the metallic cones tempered with the heat – this vessel had obviously travelled fast and far before arriving here. 
 
 Suddenly, an octagonal hatch on top of the vessel burst off in a blast of steam, landing in the sand some 30 feet away. I jerked in shock, but instead of retreating I began to approach – whoever was in there needed to get out, and could be damaged. I ran over, clambering over the cool white top of the vessel towards the opening created by the hatch. I peered inside, adjusting my optics to the dark interior. A cacophony of warning sirens and console chatter, coupled with an array of flashing switches and panels, filled the otherwise motionless cockpit with activity. Then I noticed the pilot. Two plush, beige coloured seats were at the foremost section of the cockpit, the one on the left containing somebody in a strange white suit. I clambered in, gripping the carpeted cockpit floor with my now sandy soles, and swivelled the left seat around to face me. The suit covered their whole body, even concealing their optics behind a shiny golden visor. Gently, I unclipped the person from their seat, and carried them out of the vessel. 
 
 I lay the suited stranger on the sand, concerned for their safety. My first instinct was to of course remove the suit and inspect their mechanics. I started with the boots, which unclipped very easily. What I found beneath was odd – more fabric coverings, with small white stars woven into them. I removed those too, and found… more fabric coverings. These were a deep brown colour. I decided to leave those covers on for now, and focus elsewhere. The gloves over the manipulators contained similar secrets – smaller gloves in a black microfiber, and even smaller gloves in the deep brown on the feet. I noticed the individual beneath me begin to squirm somewhat, obviously from having trouble booting. I unclipped his helmet, revealing his head. Yet again, the head was covered in this strange brown material, with flaps over his optics and oral port. He also had masses of what appeared to be iron wool around the oral port, jawline and neck. Very strange engineering indeed. 
 
 But then, things got very bizarre. The flaps around the oral port retreated, revealing rows of small white components lining the upper and lower halves of the inside of the jaw, which itself was lined with a shiny red material. The oral port let out a sound I could best describe as groaning, akin to the noise trees make in the wind. Then the flaps around the optics peeled back – at least, I assume they were optics. Two white orbs, with blue lenses in the center, covered in a clear film. The optics slowly focused on me, the material above them creasing. 
 
 And then, they spoke. 
 
 I don ’ t know what they said, I couldn ’ t understand. But the tone was nothing but confrontational. Hot air streamed from the oral port as they spoke, sometimes even releasing droplets of fluid. They then grabbed me by the shoulders, and shook me, demanding something. I was frightened, and didn ’ t know what to do. I didn ’ t recognise the engineering of this individual, but judging on the behaviour it was pretty clear they were damaged. I decided to force quit their OS – or at least, attempt to – so I could safely transport them to a repair bay. With my make and model, you do so by rotating the head twice clockwise, and then once anti-clockwise. I gripped the stranger ’ s head, and began to twist. They resisted, locking their neck ’ s motors and shouting what I assume were attempted obscenities. Regardless, I continued. Eventually I managed to twist the head. The brown outer layer was clearly never meant to be worn during motion like this, as it ruptured and leaked red coolant – which was boiling hot, not a good sign – but I ’ m sure it was rapairable. I managed to perform all the required twists, the joints inside the neck clicking and jolting unhealthily as I did so. When I was done, the individual had indeed shut down.
