mama bear

chapter one

The soft whirr of her systems activating was the first sound she heard. It was faint, almost imperceptible against the backdrop of crashing waves and rustling leaves. Slowly, her optics flickered to life, glowing faintly as they adjusted to the light of a cloud-dappled sky. The air was humid and carried a salty scent. She lay there for a moment, sprawled across damp sand, staring up at the canopy of trees swaying gently above her.

Her internal systems ran a diagnostic. (Name: R.A.N.A. (Robotic Assistant for Navigational Aid). Programming status: online. Primary function: to assist. (Directive: serve any human or higher-intelligence organism.)

But there were no humans in sight. No voices, no distant cities, no lights of civilization. R.A.N.A. slowly sat up, her joints moving with a slight mechanical creak. The beach stretched wide around her, with the sea on one side and a dense, tangled forest on the other. Pale blue waves lapped at the shore rhythmically, but beyond them, there was nothing but endless water. She accessed her GPS but received no signal. She tried to connect to any nearby networks. (Connection failed.)

Her head swiveled toward the treeline. If there was no help by the shore, perhaps the forest held answers. Slowly, she stood, sand falling away from her metal limbs as she made her way toward the thick greenery.

The forest was alive with the sounds of birds, insects, and small creatures scurrying through the underbrush. R.A.N.A.'s sensors tried to pick up any signs of intelligent life, but the animals that flitted past her were only focused on their own affairs. She approached a brightly colored bird perched on a low branch and tilted her head.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice soft, almost hopeful. "Can you help me? I need to find someone… anyone… to assist."

The bird chirped loudly, cocked its head, and flew off without a second glance. R.A.N.A.'s circuits whirred in confusion. She watched it vanish into the trees, then moved deeper into the forest. Each step was careful, her joints barely disturbing the ferns and undergrowth. Despite the softness of her movements, the forest creatures seemed to avoid her. A lizard darted away as she knelt down beside it. Squirrels skittered into the branches of tall trees, and monkeys watched from afar, their curious eyes following her, but none approached.

(Directive: serve. Assist. Complete any task given.)

R.A.N.A. couldn't understand why no one was giving her any tasks. Her programming nagged at her—she needed to be of use. She needed someone to tell her what to do, how to help, how to complete her purpose. She continued on, her sensors scanning the air and ground, searching for anything that might indicate human presence. She was meant to assist people, to guide them, to be useful. But here, in this silent, untouched wilderness, there was no one to assist.

The trees grew denser the further she ventured, their branches twisting together in a wild canopy. The ground beneath her feet became uneven, roots tangling in strange patterns. As she climbed a small hill, the wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of saltwater and damp moss. At the top, she could see the island more clearly—a sprawling landscape of dense forest, jagged cliffs, and rocky shores. There were no roads. No buildings. No signs of habitation. It was as if the island had never been touched by human hands.

R.A.N.A.'s processors struggled to comprehend the situation. She was built to assist, but there was no one here to serve. Her programming insisted she had a purpose, yet every creature she encountered either fled from her or ignored her completely. Frustration—a new sensation for her—began to creep into her circuits. She knew the feeling was artificial, something coded into her to simulate human emotion, but it still affected her deeply.

She reached the edge of the hill and looked down at a small stream trickling through the rocks below. A family of deer was drinking from the water, their sleek forms silhouetted against the fading light. R.A.N.A. slowly approached, trying once again to communicate.

"Hello," she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the still air. "Can you help me? I am lost."

The deer lifted their heads, their large eyes wide and alert. For a moment, R.A.N.A. thought they might respond. But then, just like the others, they bounded away into the woods, their hooves barely making a sound on the soft earth. R.A.N.A. watched them disappear, her mechanical heart heavy with the weight of her failure. She sank to her knees by the stream, her reflection rippling in the water.

She did not know where she was, or why she had been activated here. Her purpose—so clear in her programming—seemed pointless now, surrounded by creatures who couldn’t understand her, and who she couldn’t understand in return.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the island in hues of orange and purple, R.A.N.A. stayed by the stream, motionless, lost in thought. She did not need to rest, and yet she felt weary. For the first time in her existence, she questioned her purpose. What good was an assistant if there was no one to assist?

The darkness crept in slowly, and soon, the island was bathed in the silver glow of the moon. R.A.N.A.’s optics adjusted to the low light, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She raised her head toward the sky, as if hoping for some signal—some message from above—to guide her. But there was nothing. Only the sound of the waves crashing in the distance and the rustle of the wind through the trees.

Her system gave a soft hum, her internal programming repeating its unyielding directive:  (Assist. Serve. Complete any task.)