Found this after thinking I had deleted it by accident last year. =D
Part two of The Transformation.
Hope you like!

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The Transformation 2: Finding the Truth
Matt S. AKA thebeast76
27/4/2008
I awoke. 5 days had passed since I found out what had happened to me, you know, being turned into a robot and stuff. Apparently, robots can develop cabin fever, because after those five days, I wanted OUT. I decided, after prepping myself for whatever the heck lay on the other side of that metal door, I would desperately try to make the best of my situation. I apprehensively approached the massive steel door that was labeled as the exit to ‘my room’ and touched it. It was cold, and very solid. It made a solid ‘clink’ when I touched my paw against it. I pushed against it but it wouldn’t budge a single inch. I tried pulling, pushing it sideways, prying at it, everything. I sat down in frustration and sighed.
“Man, I wish I could get out of here.” I said.
All of a sudden, there was a deep thunk, like when I’d open my dad’s gun safe. I heard the sound of tumblers, weights moving, and winding cables. Soon, a deep electric hum permeated the room, and I could feel the ground shaking, almost making me fall over. I took a few quick steps back, and the door lowered down into the ground. As it got closer to the ground, I could see just how thick it was, at least 4 feet, maybe more.
“What was this place, a fallout shelter?” I said out loud. After concentrating on the sheer mass of this immense door, I noticed a white smoke was coming out from the opening doorway. Slowly, after hearing the assuring thud that the door made when it was finally at rest in its niche, I walked towards the smoke. I crouched slightly, not knowing who or what I would encounter in the smoke itself. I stopped at the threshold of the door. I crouched down, back against the door frame. I could feel the adrenaline of the situation, if that’s even possible for a robot. I heard a small click, and looked down, and noticed a small compartment had opened on my left thigh, kind of like a glove box in a car. I reached into it, and pulled out a knife, perfectly sized for my hand. I clicked the compartment shut, and held the knife in my left hand, not knowing what I’d encounter. I waited for a few minutes until the smoke had nearly dissolved to venture around the corner. I turned the corner and was shocked at what I saw. There were empty bullet casings everywhere, coronas left over from exploded grenades left half moon patterns on the walls. Bodies of scientists, undoubtedly workers from the project I unassumingly got involved in, were strewn about like rag dolls, some mutilated, and some with just bullet wounds. Broken glass, doors blown off hinges, it was a chilling sight. Blood was smeared everywhere like some mad child’s finger paint. It was like a scene straight out of a horror
“My God. What the hell happened while I was unconscious?” I said, appalled at the scene placed in front of me. I slid my knife back into its sheath and walked slowly down the hall, to what I hoped was the exit, carefully avoiding stepping on the dead bodies of the scientists. As I walked through this macabre horror scene, I heard a noise. I was silent for a moment, and tried to identify it. It sounded like,
“Like human breathing!” I whispered.
Slowly, I peered around the corner. In the corner, a scientist, obviously the last one alive, was lying in the corner, holding his shoulder at the joint. He was sweating heavily, probably as a reaction to the sheer trauma of having been shot. I could see the blood seeping through his sleeve. He didn’t have long to live if his wounds weren’t treated. He must have seen me, for he suddenly gasped and pulled a P90 out from behind his back. I ducked back behind the corner.
“Who’s there?!” he yelled out, gasping and coughing.
“Don’t shoot! Please!” I said, my voice full of fear.
“Please, put your gun away! I don’t want to hurt you.” I said.
“I don’t give a damn whether you’re friendly or not, I’m not putting this gun down. Now come over slowly, with your hands up.” He said. I obeyed, and rounded the corner.
At his first sight of me, he gasped.
“You... you’re Number 26!” he went pale. “I thought that experiment was a failure. How is it possible that you’re operational?” Suddenly, he made a horrible coughing noise, and he shielded it with his good arm. He then slumped to his side. I gasped and ran to him, just barely catching him before hitting the ground. His gun slid out of his hand onto his lap as he put his hand up to cough again. I could see blood seep through the space between his
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” I asked, frightened. It was the only thing I could think of, since he was the only scientist left.
“Yes, there is. Go to room 4B, and get the bottle marked A679-H531. Hurry!”
“Okay!” I yelled back, running as fast as I could. I don’t know how, but I felt as if I knew exactly where everything was, because I had no trouble finding room 4B, or that bottle of liquid he wanted. I ran back to him. He had taken off his lab coat, his ID and white dress shirt underneath, leaving just a white A-shirt. I quickly asked what he wanted me to do next. “Do you see that clean lab coat over there?”
“Yes.”
“Rip off the sleeves, and fold one into a pad, the other, a bandage, and give them to me.” I did so, and put them next to me.
“Now, reach into my coat pocket. There should be a pair of forceps in there.”
I rummaged for a bit.
“Got ‘em.”
“Alright.” He said. He pulled the charging handle on his P90 and a single bullet fell out. He took it and put it in his mouth, like a gag.
“Now, take those forceps, and I want you to take out the bullet in my shoulder.”
“What??”
“Do you want me to die?!”
“No, it’s just that-”
“DO IT!”
Quickly, I dug deep and after 5 minutes of agonizing sounds and writhing, I finally managed to pull out a single bullet. He gasped, then slumped against the wall and spit the bullet out from his mouth. It was nearly bitten through.
Panting and sweaty, he said “Now give me that bottle,” he swallowed “and that pad you made.” I gave them to him, and he poured the liquid, which had a smell similar to burnt hamburgers onto the pad, and pressed it against his wounded shoulder.
“Aagh!” he grunted.
It obviously stung, and it let off a wisp of white smoke when it came into contact with his shoulder. I cringed at the sight.
“Now give me the bandage you made.” I handed it to him, and he quickly dressed his wound.
It was all over. He had done all he could for himself, as did I. Now all we could do was wait and see if his condition improved.
Hours ticked by, and as I waited, I decided to ask him a few questions.
To be continued...