The machine is malfunctioning. That much is obvious, from the way it's stumbling and stuttering. When it finally collapses, sparks and spasms the only signs of life, it's a long time before anyone pays attention. The woman who does, her orange fur smudged with grease, gets little response from her curious prodding. Hefting the android with strength that belies her soft curves, she takes it to shelter.
Splayed out on her workshop, the machine is still and silent under her examination. Even the twitches have faded, though her tools tell her that it still lives. Its design is unfamiliar, but that's far from unusual, even for one as skilled as she, so she plugs her computers into the brain. "Well, that can't be helping." she comments, examining the self-image file. "This body is completely wrong, we're going to need a complete rebuild." So she goes to work. The initial deconstruction is brutal, as it must be. Humanoid limbs severed and discarded, then the interfaces dismantled into fans of sparking wires. The face, the skull, flensed and broken to leave only soft wires and the thin shell of a core processor. The rebuild begins with the torso, the outer shell of fake skin and sculpted muscle peeled off, the ribs snapped, new ones welded around a larger power plant, barrel-chested and strong. The spine is gently twisted, stretched and flexed into a lateral configuration, and reinforced for an extension. The outer layer is entirely new. Smooth plastic plates around the joints and the vents between those reshaped ribs, scaled rubber coating the belly, while the back is soft, brightly-coloured faux fur to match the plastic. The limb anchors are replaced entirely, each wire and cable carefully soldered into industrial servos. The shoulders are huge, expanded to support the forelegs of a new beast, and the hips are widened into a solid base. Two more pairs, hydraulic wing anchors above the shoulders, nearly matching them for size, and much smaller leg-anchors below. The limbs themselves are works of art. Though each was a mismatched spare from the engineer's stockpiles, she machines them into perfect symmetry of function. The colours, however, don't match, despite her careful choice of the shells and sheaths, instead a harmonic riot of brilliant hue will carry the machine onward. Mighty driving legs, at front and back, with a wingspan of bright plastic and glowing jets to lift them from the ground. And in the middle, dextrous limbs to match any human's, though as draconic and clawed as their fellows. Finally, the reinforced spine gains a new segment, a thick tail blended carefully into the structure of the body, that furred mane continuing down its back to a tuft at the end. The head is made from scratch, a cast-metal skull and jaw to carry it, with artificial muscle built atop it to give the face expression and motion. Eyes that glow with artificial fire, a stretched-out muzzle with rows of sharpened teeth. The false mane lengthened, a nose of scale and fur perfect for petting. The horns glitter metallicly, one of the few places the alloys are exposed, and only a difference of angle between handhold and vicious weapon. The well-shielded brain is increasingly active, responding to its body with diagnostics and stirring in electronic dreams. Every passing process and readout is displayed across the engineer's screens, and she checks them all. Every detail should be perfect, her pride will permit nothing less. There's other details, lesser in scale but not in importance, once the structure is done. The voicebox she chooses is flexible, but with her additions, is capable of great power, this machine needs both soft song and booming shouts. Arc projectors in the mouth, retractable saddle-anchors and handles on the back. Beneath the tail, a metamorphic organ, capable of soft ingress or hard egress, as its owner desires, and enticingly alien in either form. Ear structures, dusted with the softest fur, ready to twitch in expression and curiousity.
When the work is done, the final seam sealed, the long slow reboot begins. Over hours of her vigil, the machine shifts and stirs. Limbs move one-by-one, stretching and twisting. Garbled sound from the voicebox slowly resolves into test patterns. There are sparks, but that's the arc projector, not malfunction. Finally, the rolling eyes focus, and true, full awareness returns. The machine groans, and slowly, carefully, stands. Full language isn't working yet, but the diagnostic readouts show their own thanks across her screens. As they step forwards, however, they freeze. A limb spasms, electricity cascading through the motor control systems of the neural net, untouched by the rebuild. "Easy." she soothes them. "There's plenty still to do, but now I'm working with you."
