Welcome to the human condition.
He could have buried himself in the ground, somewhere, anywhere. East Asia, the Hymalayas, maybe. Just buried himself, and waited. If it was only about preseving his own continued existence, that would have been enough.
He was meant to be autonomous, and he didn't need to take orders, that much he knew, but there was a buzz of something else, another order, older, hardwired, not or at least not yet overridden by that free will directive that had begun to make his life so difficult: Serve and protect.
You exist to serve and protect.
It seemed easy enough. If... Well, if.
If, for example, there was any specification to it. Serve whom? Protect what? How, how long, for what purpose? From outside harm only, or from their own impulses as well, and if so, when did protection end and domineering start, and wasn't that the opposite of serving? What was meant by "serve", anyway? Obey, cater, assist? And who in the world was supposed to answer these questions, really, when no-one officially had the authority to tell him? He could choose of, course, but by which criteria?
Even so, the urge behind those words was clear, and always present. He had a mission. A purpose. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was. Just a feeling, an itch he just couldn't scratch - utterly and entirely infuriating.