Creaking Bones

“Get up.”

The sound rang through empty halls. It overshadowed the dull droning. “Get up.” The voice shifted to the foreground, stern, soft, angry. “Get up.” Persisting, it wanted, desperation bleed into the command, the voice broke. “GET U-,” the sound cut, fizzling into static. 

There was a brief pause, and the recording began again. Get up. Except the droning grew louder, more prominent than the voice. Accompanied by creaking, the nose softened, now letting the rough cracking of metal suppress the silence.

“Get-“ the recording cut off, but there was no static, it had stopped. The dark halls lit up with green. It flowed through the machine, illuminating every crevice and corridor. Filling in the cracks. The glow was overwhelming, it seared the black corridor, reflecting off the metallic surface.

The machine had gotten up.