The Android’s gaze looks emptier than before. He’s made his shield disappear back into his arm, and the modest LEDs that run along his arms are not golden anymore. They blink, from red, to a pale pink.

I’m sure he thinks he can trick people with how harmless he currently seems, but I know the truth. His kind kill men without giving the act a second thought.

“Forgive me,” he says. “I am not well versed on hangovers, and the signal here is weak. It is difficult for me to run a search. However, if you could you possibly elaborate on your symptoms, I may be able to understand your situation a tad better. Should you need anything, I can definitely—” 

“I don’t need your help.” My features scrunch up into a scowl. I knock on his chest with a closed fist. It rings hollow. The lights interwoven into his design darken, and I don’t care anymore about what may or may not happen to me. “Just tell me what you want. I’m tired. I need to sleep. Didn’t your shitty creator ever explain to you that humans have to rest every once in a—”

“Please, do not insult my creator.” His tone is much more assertive than before. I take a step back. My shoulders tense. I wait for it—the moment where he will strike me—but the Android places his hand flat against his own chest instead. “He worked very hard to create me. He made sure I’d be able to learn human culture properly, even when he wouldn’t be around anymore to teach me your ways. So, please… Don’t—”

A car zooms past us and honks thrice right after. If the Android had even the slightest hint of sorrow across his features before, it’s gone now, and he’s back into full duty mode. Alert. Aware. The blue of his eyes flash a pale white. Numbers and various patterns slither across his pupils as he observes the back of the vehicle, until it falls out of sight. “The license plate is a match…” he mutters.

And I can’t help but blurt the words, “What? What do you mean it’s a match?”

He snaps out of his trance. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he shuffles through his pockets, pauses, then lets out a sigh of relief—and before I can count to ten, a business card is being gently held out toward me.

I raise a brow. “What’s this?”

“So we can keep in touch,” he tells me with a smile, the same warm and welcoming one he wore back within the restaurant, when he ordered our food. “I must go. Duty calls. But please, do call me once you are ready to talk. I will be at your service for first aid, Sir. And I will also be in need of your assistance with… a case.”

I raise a brow. That’s not shady at all... I cross my arms.  “A case?”

He nods. “Yes, I am investigating a problem. I believe you could be of help. I am in need of a fellow human to guide me through these dangerous streets. You seem to be very aware of your surroundings. May I ask you for directions?”

Oh, hell no, I’m not getting arrested. I push his hands, and his business card, back toward his body. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I tell him. “I’m just an average guy. I won’t be of any help to you. Trust me, you’d be better off without me for whatever it is you’re doing.”

Yet, upon registering my words, his smile doesn’t waver.

The Android reaches for the front pocket of my jacket. I shut my eyes. I wince.

I can already picture him ripping my heart out, and me—weak little human me—unable to do anything but watch, and scream, and beg for him to stop, to put it back in, to take all of it back. Their deaths. His existence. My misery.

He slides his business card into my pocket. 

He shakes my hand. 

I don’t have time to argue. I don’t have time to pull away. “My name is Gilbert,” he says. “I am made to serve. It was a pleasure meeting you, and it will be a pleasure meeting you again.” 

I don’t tell him my name is Ian. He could look it up anyway once he’s got a better signal. Like everyone else who was thrown out, into this dump, I’m listed as deceased on a public registry.

“Please,” the Android nods, “call me later. We must meet up. I have many things I must say to you, however…” He lowers his voice yet again, and glances around for a sign of any passersby. When there are none, he whispers the words, “In private this time.”

I gulp. I don’t even want to imagine what that could mean.

Another car passes us by. It’s bright green. A long, black streak runs down the roof’s middle. The wind summoned by its passing creates ripples in our clothing that disappear as quickly as they came, and when I turn to glance at Gilbert again to refuse his offer, he’s gone.

I groan. “What is this joke…” I stare down at the beige, sun-bleached card he left behind, and recall the look on his face when he talked about his creator. A depressed Android... sure, like that totally makes sense.

If I were still blind, I would have surely fallen for that empathy-inducing feature. But I’m not. My eyes are wide open; I know they aren’t capable of understanding us. They don’t realize what it’s like. To breathe. To hurt. To fear. And I won’t be tricked again.

I rip the card in two and toss it into a nearby bin.

That’s right, I’ll die before I trust another one of those tin cans.