He had woken up, after a long sleep.

The bed he made was extremely uncomfortable at first, but he had to get accustomed to it after going to sleep on it so many times, especially when the only alternative was to lie down on the hard ground. A bed frame would've been better than this.

It seemed to be the start of a typical day.. under the circumstances, of course. The storm had ended, and the rain was over as well. The ambience was rather warm. The man got up from his bed, grabbed his knife, pushed his shelter's door, and snuck out for the nearest lake. Despite improving since his arrival in a world entirely strange to him, he would still take an impractically long time to arrive there from his shelter, and it would sometimes leave him worrying about it, if only because of paranoia.

He began to sprint across the forest, hopping over tree trunks and rocks. From tree to tree, he followed those whose trunks he carved shapes into.

Once he made it there, he began to rinse as quickly as possible, and kept looking around him. He was completely alone, which ment that a surprise attack from an animal, or a machine, was never out of the question.. only to get surprised by.. neither.

His eyes widened in a double take, as he stared at something unusual, even after he'd seen his fair share of killer tin cans straight out of a 1950s B-movie.

It looked… almost like a decaying human corpse, and yet it certainly wasn't.

A metallic human-like object lay amidst the monotonic bushes. He couldn't help but try to reason with himself as to what he was looking at.

What is this? Is this some sort of scenario where everybody's turned into a dead robot copy of themselves?

He hesitatingly stepped closer to inspect it, and found a disproportionately large blade attached to its back. The weapon was ornated with various symbols and letters that were alien to him. It looked fine as a work of art, yet its handle was so short one could question whether there would be any sane reason to use it.

"This thing's edges are blunter than a butter knife!" he muttered to himself, quietly enough to avoid gathering unwanted attention, yet barely loud enough to hear his own voice and keep himself sane.

He grabbed the metal body's hand with his own and it felt cold to the touch. Unexpectedly for him, as he lifted it, despite its heavy weight, it seemed as if the entire arm attached to it had joints.

"An artificial human?"

Footsteps made a sound in the distance. He didn't have time to think rationally anymore, and panic took control of him. He gripped his knife tightly and began to run away from where the sounds seemed to come from. Everything became but a fading blur as he ran for his life, hoping nobody would take notice of him.

All he could think of for the next couple of hours or so, in between marathons across rock, dirt and puddles in the forest wasteland, was whether he was being tracked down, and whether somebody had read the contents of his notebook. Things are gonna go to shit if somebody finds out I was here!

After a moment, his fears got the better of him, and he prepared to turn around and head to his mostly-secluded shelter, to grab his pen and notebook.. right when he heard a startling deep, hulking voice.

It was unintelligible. It seemed to be a coherent language, but it was completely impossible for him to understand. It sounded vaguely Asian, but he could not distinguish a word of what it was saying. He did, however, deduce from the tone that it was somewhat aggressive.

He jumped instantly, and let out a high-pitched scream "AAAHH!" right on the spot, and closed his eyes, anticipating the instant of his quick death at a machine's hands. This lasted for quite some time, until he looked around, to see where it was coming from.

It turned out.. to be another machine, but even worse. Bigger, bulkier, and scarier. This is going to keep getting worse, won't it..

He frowned, looking up in horror. The machine was at least twice his size, and definitely many more times better armored than he was in his unchanged clothes from home.

He tiptoed back, holding up his knife when he saw the machine leaping at him with an axe. The first blow was targeted at his head, but he dodged it by the skin of his teeth, rolling on the floor. His knife was, however, hit, and sent flying in pieces. "GOD!" he screamed, looking at his muddied up clothes. He tried to get back up and continue to run for another couple of hours, as exasperated as he was, but that did not last for long, as he felt a strong pull on his leg. He turned to look at it; it was another machine.

Jesus Christ, I must be really fucking incompetent at life. Why the hell are they trying to kill me anyway?

He looked back at the oversized, intimidating metal bully, and was surprised, yet relieved to see that it had quit trying to attack him, then he remembered that he was still being dragged to who knows where, by a tin can like countless others he's had to disable in one way or another and tried to struggle, only in vain. As he let out a deep sigh of despair, he found himself amidst a large gathering of machines..

What the hell is this? Why would they need houses?

The man began to notice that he was being dragged into a rundown village of sorts, with rudimentary shelters and houses surrounding him, made of various bits of wood, metal, plants, and rock.

Some of them, had chimneys that were emitting thick clouds of smoke, which supposedly caused the unusually bitter smell in the air

There were machines, in large numbers, however they were.. strange. Some of them wore hats, others wore outfits, and none of them directly tried to attack him, as they seemed to whisper among themselves and stopping whatever they were doing to look at him. He could not make out anything they were saying, let alone understand the incoherent streams of sounds, and simply hoped for the best.

Well, maybe they want to be friends with me, and they have no social skills? This doesn't sound bad. Not bad. Not bad at-

He turned his head up from its lying position, to find that he was being dragged towards a wide open area with.. gallows.

All the machines gathered around and seemed to stare emptily at him with red eyes, yet they did not move an inch.

Shit! I must be getting the death sentence for murder against sentient tin cans!

"Uhh.. wait! Stop this! I don't want to die! I'm a free American man! I had no idea I was committing murder! I didn't know this was occupied territory!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, against the eerie silence. The machine that was dragging him through the floor turned to look at him for an instant, and his expression almost changed to one of relief, right when it turned back towards the gallows and continued its trajectory, without its grip on his leg loosening, even slightly. He whispered "You have to stop! I was merely defending myself!" in a fit of despair, to no avail. Finally, it was time as they reached their destination. A few more machines came to hang him, and they raised the rope up and high. The man held on with all of his strength for dear life while choking. It was then, his entire life flashed before his eyes, while his legs were shaking intensely. He began to accept the inevitable, and closed his eyes.

Guess I had it comin' after what happened before all of this.

Then he was dropped alive.

The man hit his head against the ground, and grunted in mind-numbing pain.

Someone, or something, had spoken in that machine language.

He could make the sound of a machine stepping closer to him. A mechanical whining was growing increasingly louder to his ears. Finally, a rather small figure popped into the corner of his vision. It was a machine with.. glasses?

"Uh.. am I being spared here?"

He quickly began to frown and stare blankly into its eyes as they flashed, and a strange series of beeps emanated from it, instead of a robotic voice like he was used to.