1.12.25: Roboticize

He brushed his teeth, the routine soothing, but the toothpaste tasted… off. Metallic. Shrugging it off, he reached for his coffee, only to notice the steam didn’t burn his hand. Strange. At work, the clock ticked loudly, its rhythm syncing perfectly with his heartbeat—too perfectly. That night, he cut himself chopping vegetables, but there was no blood, only a glint of metal beneath. Panic gripped him as he peeled back the skin. Wires. Circuits. A memory surfaced: a sterile room, voices calibrating him. His reflection stared back, expressionless. He wasn’t a man. He’d never been. He was just... programming.