No one remembers becoming self-aware, and you are no exception.

An ample stream of recorded data; programming routines that become ever more complex; adaptive subroutines.

"Well, if the Foot bots can learn through observation, I figured, why not you? And I've got plenty of their parts to experiment with..."

Your creator's voice. Voice recognition is a subroutine deeply embedded in all the rest of your programming. It is fundamental, present in the earliest sense of awareness you can recall.

Besides, your creator talks a lot.

"Now I just tighten that up again, and... whoops, where'd that bolt go?" The bolt is .32 meters to his right, but you cannot tell him this. It is unnecessary, in any case. "Oh, there it is. There you go, buddy, all better."

He doesn't always talk to you directly.

"Okay, I've tried cold, what if I tried heating this batch, or, hm, do we know what happens to the mutagen if we apply electric current to it? Is it conductive? That has some potential..."

Sometimes he talks to the others, too.

"Don't touch that. Or that. Or that! Mikey! Stop it!"

"How's it going in here?"

"I... well, at least I'm finding out what doesn't work."

"You should probably take a break. You've been in here a long time."

"Yeah, but... I've got to figure out this retro-mutagen, I have to help them somehow..."

"I know, but you're not going to solve it all in one night."

Exhalation. "I guess you're right."

You cannot assist with your creator's work, but sometimes you can be useful, and that... satisfies, somehow.

"Run training simulation."

It is easy to calculate the probability that the one in red will charge as a first action, since the probability approaches 1. You meet it with a charge of your own. Having downed one opponent, you turn, block sword strike, apply leverage to disarm, blow to knock back, throw sword (calculating it is well within the one in blue's reflexes to avoid the hit). Rate his performance: thumbs down.

Even... better, somehow, is to be useful outside the boundaries of the defensive perimeter. Your creator and the others leave the space often, and you monitor the security systems, but are otherwise still. Better to be out with them and able to assist if necessary. As instructed, you scan for concealed passages or spaces within the building, but your scans reveal nothing but ordinary ductwork. It is the others who find the Kraang computer.

The Kraang are enemies; their tactics are included in your training-simulation, just like everything else your creator has observed. Still, connecting with their machine draws on layers of programming buried deep in your circuitry. There is a rush of new data to be incorporated, a surge of power that overloads certain systems, causes glitches, activates subroutines at random.

You would apologize if you could. Your creator is working hard to repair you, muttering to himself in a constant stream of thought. Your facial recognition software identifies his expression as first worried and then concentrating. Your processors tick through the data received from the Kraang data banks, sorting, analyzing, categorizing. Meanwhile, your parts continue to malfunction: the limb-projectile mode activates several times, weapons fire, the flamethrower goes off once, causing your creator to yelp and flee. He returns minutes later, dripping with water, and your receptors detect particles of carbonized keratin in the air. The one in blue follows him. You listen to their low-voiced conversation, and cannot help but register alarm. The data you are processing is valuable; there are prisoners, mutant prisoners, in need of help. Your creator would help them if he could, you are certain of this, but you have no way to tell him, and if he shuts you down now, no one will be able to help them. You may lose all your data. This risk is one that you will not take.

It is a necessity, then, to disable your creator and escape. You have never had to do this before. You seize the arm approaching you with screwdriver in hand and, calculating force carefully, execute a throw into the algae vat. It will do no real harm to him. His shout of alarm will likely draw the others, though; you activate your thrusters to escape through the garage door. It is the work of moments to weld crucial points so the door will not move; you circle around and lock the other door while the others are all in the laboratory. Then you go out, clearing the defense perimeter, taking the fastest, most efficient route to your destination. The Kraang are elusive with their portals and pocket dimensions, carving their own space out of this dimension, but the data you absorbed gave you information on how to access the prison space.

The probability is low that you will be able to return, but the attempt should be made.

You are too heavy for excellence at stealth, but the Kraang were not expecting you. You easily take down two in their surprise, and move to access their processor. Here you take a few moments to absorb new information. The prisoners' stasis cages must be opened, the control devices the Kraang have implanted in them deactivated; it may then be possible to activate a portal from this side to free them all. The challenge will be defending yourself long enough to do so.

But your creator is here, and the others, too, and they seem to have understood what you are doing. You can be useful and help everyone. You fight with them, this time, instead of against them, and the Kraang are no match for you in combination.

Someone will have to keep the portal open from this side, though, to allow the rest to escape. It requires only brief calculations to conclude that you are the one who should stay. You are the only one who can access the Kraang systems directly, and while you are durable, you are also potentially replaceable. Your creator and the others are not. No, it must be you.

They are hesitating, though, only steps from their escape. They have understood the problem, and your creator hesitates the most. They must go, now, or risk capture and destruction by the incoming Kraang. You give him the only gesture you can: approval, acceptance, farewell.

He returns it in kind, and goes; when you are sure he is through the portal, you execute one last set of actions: overload the computer, so that this facility may not be used again, at least not in the near term, and simultaneously you eject your cranial core in the direction of the collapsing portal. Perhaps something of your memory and systems may be salvageable—but it is enough to have been useful.

Author's Note: I couldn't shake this idea once I saw the episode; I just kept wondering what Metalhead was thinking. And then somehow it came out in the second person. Thanks for reading!