Fugitive Telemetry (The Murderbot Diaries, #6)

by Martha Wells

They don’t want me. (Hey, I don’t want me, either, but I’m stuck with me.)

I know a “fuck off” when I hear one. So I fucked off.

the humans on the Station wouldn’t have to think about what I was, a construct made of cloned human tissue, augments, anxiety, depression, and unfocused rage,

All I wanted to do was watch media and not exist. I said, You know I don’t like fun.