Errors in Resentment

He jolted awake with a blare of static from his auditory processors, knees failing him as he fell to the ground. His casing shook as he slowly processed the fact that he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead.
Why wasn't he dead?
His body was new, and entirely his own. There was no damage, no cracks, no internal breaks. His servers spun with the knowledge, the body was foreign and uncomfortable. He felt his endo tighten uncomfortably, new and unknown.
He felt sick.
"Oh goodie you're quite awake! How absolutely wonderful!" A voice crooned above him, and he just barely became aware of the broken foot a few inches from his shaking form. He whined in automatic response, the shrillness of the exclamation harsh on his processors, and curled into himself. "Oh dear," The broken animatronic muttered, "That's not good at all."