A Hollow Threat. brother may I have some oats

A low electronic chime squeaked from my voice box as I climbed past an open cabinet onto the smooth granite counter. Standing right in my path was an empty, tall metal oatmeal canister. It blocked my way forward. My internal servos sputtered, winding into a sharp mechanical whine. With a sudden jerk, I cocked my right arm and drove my silver fist straight into its side. The hollow tin buckled inward with a sharp metallic clatter, spinning across the stone before toppling over against a ceramic mug. Have you seen my face? Static hummed in my jaw as I stared down at the dented cylinder.