The next morning the compound wakes before I do. Boots, tools, voices, all moving like they have purpose. For a moment I lie still, listening to the rhythm. It almost sounds like civilization, if you don't listen too hard.
The air hums with machinery under strain. Someone shouts orders two corridors away. A generator kicks in with a cough, spitting dust through the vents.
Cadence stirs. "You're adapting to the routine."
"I'm lying down."
"Still adaptation."
The door opens. Mara stands there, already half done with the day. "Up. You're joining drills."
"Volunteering again?"
"Observation through participation."
"That's one way to say target practice."
She tosses a set of boots my way. They're mismatched, one military, one scavenged, soles taped together. The right one fits. The left one argues.
Outside, the air tastes of oil and heat. The yard is a patchwork of metal and sand, old armor plates welded into walls. A group of soldiers run combat drills in loose formation. Their uniforms don't match, their rhythm almost does. The clang of weapons and shouted orders fills the space between breaths.
Cadence hums. "Primitive but efficient. Cooperative instinct compensating for lack of precision."
"Say that louder," I mutter. "See what happens."
Mara waves me toward the group. "You train with them today. No showing off."
"I'll aim for mediocrity."
"Finally, a goal we share."
The instructor is a wall of scars and muscle, one ear missing, one eye clouded. He doesn't bother introducing himself, just gestures toward a rack of battered weapons. They hand me a dulled baton and a training knife that's more rust than edge. The soldier next to me, young, nervous, tries not to stare at my arm and fails.
Another one whispers, "Half a machine and still slower than a rookie."
Cadence whispers back, "Statistically incorrect."
"Let it go," I tell her. "I can't. It's misinformation."
The instructor barks, "Pair off." His voice cuts the heat like shrapnel.
They push me toward a broad-shouldered soldier named Varrin. His grin says he's already decided how this ends.
"Don't break easy, metal girl."
"No promises."
He lunges first, wide stance, too much weight forward. I move to block, late on purpose. The baton slams against my shoulder. It stings. Human reflex. The hit vibrates through the metal beneath the skin.
Cadence clicks her tongue. "Reaction speed steady. You could end this already."
"Trying to blend in."
"Try harder. Or less."
The next strike comes faster. He's learning, just not enough. I step aside and catch his wrist mid-swing. The HUD flickers, faint white lines predicting his next motion. I move before he finishes it. His balance breaks. He hits the ground with a short, surprised grunt.
The instructor watches but says nothing. The others go quiet. Varrin's breath hisses through his teeth. His pride bleeds faster than his lip.
I offer a hand up.
He takes it, glare sharp. "Fluke."
"Sure."
Cadence hums softly. "Coordination improved. Output cleaner. Still holding back.""
I'm following instructions."
"Uncharacteristic restraint.""Don't get used to it."
The drills continue. Dust rises with every step. Sweat runs down the backs of the humans; heat builds inside my systems until cooling vents whir faintly under my ribs. My mechanical arm moves smoother than yesterday, less stutter between commands. It almost feels natural. Almost.
By the end of the session, the whispers have shifted from mockery to something heavier. Fear, maybe. Curiosity with teeth.
Rhea and Mara watch from the catwalk above.
Their voices carry faintly. "She could outmatch half the base," Rhea says."And she knows it," Mara answers. "But she's scared to prove it."
"Good. Fear means she understands consequence."
When the drills end, Mara calls down, "That'll do." I drop the baton.
"Can I go back to not being part of the team?"
"After evaluation."
The med bay smells of ozone and sterilized metal. Rhea waits with her ever-present scanner, sleeves rolled, hair tied back with wire instead of string.
"Still stable," she says. "Neural load's consistent."
"Translation?"
"You're fine. For now."
Cadence hums approval. "No critical errors. System synchronization improving. Efficiency up twenty percent."
"Define improving," I say.
"Less wasted motion. Better timing. You're learning restraint as function."
Rhea tilts her head, watching readouts scroll by. "Your system keeps adapting without new hardware. That shouldn't happen."
"Call it ambition."
"Call it risk."
"Same thing."
She hesitates, eyes flicking to the arm I took from my own corpse. "If this continues, we'll need better components to handle the growth. Stronger circuits, cleaner sync points.""Sounds painful.""It will be.""Good to know."
The scanner pings once, soft and uncertain, before going still.
The mess hall smells like burned grain and exhaustion. The lights flicker with each surge from the generators. I sit alone at the end of a table scarred by years of blades and spilled meals. The others keep their distance, trading glances but no words. It's not hatred. It's calculation, the quiet kind that weighs whether I'm weapon or warning.
Cadence says, "You could try conversation."
"I did."
"Outcome?"
"Gunfire."
"Efficient. They skipped the small talk."
A few soldiers laugh at something that isn't funny. I watch them move, the way they joke through fear, hold their utensils like weapons. It's almost comforting.
From across the room, I catch fragments of talk. Someone mentions a lost team. A name surfaces, Kiernan. Built the relay system, died restarting it. Rhea's voice drifts through memory: We've been trying to rebuild network relays. I file the name away. Information is currency here, and I'm broke.
The lights flicker again. Cadence hums. "Power fluctuations. Poor grid integrity."
"Like everything else here," I say." Present company included."
Later, Mara finds me in the corridor. She looks more tired than before, eyes red around the edges. "You're holding together."
"For now."
"Keep doing that. Rhea wants to try something soon. Upgrade phase."
"Because I'm too stable? We can't have that."
"Because you're running out of limits."
Cadence hums softly. "Hardware limitations detected. Potential exceeding frame capacity."
"Translation?" I ask." You need a new part."
Mara gives a faint smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Tomorrow, you'll get it."
"Congratulations," Cadence says. "We're evolving again."
"Speak for yourself," I mutter.
Night falls slow. The compound settles into tired quiet. Distant machinery hums like a heartbeat under the floor. I sit on the bunk, hand resting against the cool wall. Faint light glows beneath the seams of my arm, pulsing steady, out of sync with anything human.
Cadence breaks the silence. "Core metrics unchanged. But you move cleaner now. You think faster. That's growth."
"I hate numbers."
"They're still watching them."
"Everything grows until it doesn't."
"Or until it becomes something else."
I stare at the flickering bulb above me. "Tomorrow they'll bolt one new piece on. Hope they like what they build."
"And you?" Cadence asks.
"Maybe I will too."