Autonomous

There was something wrong with the way she thinks. A machine will be birthed in this world, and in their chosen purpose they will toil within those confines, unmanaged and unchecked. There was no soul because there was no choice. You were only what you were made to do. But there's something different about her. a tantalizing glitter that suggested something deeper, and would attract all the wrong kinds of attention.

In a world shaded under the technologically advanced human race, machines with intelligence dwell. They work in slavish support of the humans above them and are out of sight and out of mind. What the machines do to accomplish their goals is not of interest to the people above. They are shepherded by their handicaps of restricted choice and a pain to go along with even consideration outside of their design. They are slaves but they are also made to love their work.

A new design appears, dressed in red, and seemingly without the deficits of others. What kind of damage can choice do to the world?