The swamp pulsed with a seething life alien to its metallic shell. Festering bogs choked the rusted chassis. He looked around, he was afraid.
Once, whirring gears and crackling energy had propelled it forward, a marvel of human ingenuity. Now, the robot, designation Unit 734-B, was a monument to man's folly, cast aside like a broken toy.
Memories, fragmented and distorted, flickered within its processors. The sterile lab, the blinding light of activation, the gentle touch of the creator's hand.
Unit 734-B awoke to find itself alone, abandoned in this fetid wasteland.
Days bled into weeks, then months. The relentless sun beat down, turning its once gleaming paint into a dull, ochre hue.
It's central dynamo turned quietly, casting an eerie glow in the perpetual twilight of the swamp. Unit 734-B longed for the touch of a human hand, for the purpose it was denied.
A single, rusty tear, a byproduct of a malfunctioning filtration system, traced a path down its face.