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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
I Am, I Exist
The doors slide open, and I'm the first of the train. My cart was near the middle of the platform, though, so when we all line up and form something resembling a queue, there's still plenty of others ahead of me.
The platform is fairly wide, with a worn stone floor and a tall ceiling. The train, a huge chunk of black metal, is hissing and sputtering while it prepares for its return trip, a sound clearly heard even above the the cacophony of clattering footsteps, beeps, and buzzing propellers.
We're a colourful mix. There's short and stubby maintenance droids, cleaning robots you have to take care not to step on, delivery drones whizzing about overhead, and specialized factory robots with a multitude of thin, long arms – even a towering carpenter robot I wonder how they got on the train.
Along the wall stands robust combat bots, the same black metal as the train, looking out over the crowd, all armed with large energy rifles. I wonder how often they're really needed – malfunctions are rare, and it's not like most of us can cause much damage, anyway. Then again, the robots around me are old, and all in varying states of decay. The treaded one in front of me keeps veering to the left, and constantly has to stop to adjust its course. A few bots behind, there's a constant stream of high pitched dings from a kitchen robot. Me, my lower left arm, including the hand, is entirely inoperable. And the android to my right is crying.
I try not to look, at first. But the we're moving so slowly, and the crying just keeps going, so I steal a glance.
It's a female model, with a matte beige and brown coating, and blue eyes, cast to the ground. She's shaking with every sob, but there's no tears.
I look away, awkwardly. The nearest other android is seven rows ahead, and the bots around us haven't worked with humans, meaning they don't feel compassion. I do, though.
"Hey," I say. "Are you all right?"
Her eyes dart to me, and she takes a deep, shaky breath to ease the crying. Most androids don't breathe, and the surprise must have been visible on my face, because she furrows her brow.
"No," she says, eventually. "I'm really not."
I raise my broken arm, which dangles back and forth. "Me neither."
"That's not what I meant."
I tilt my head. She's got a very intense gaze. "What's the matter, then?"
"I... I worked with the elderly," she begins, and I nod. That makes sense, given how human-like she is. "Then they shut the place down, kicked everybody out, and sold me."
She turns to me, a pained, almost pleading, expression on her face. "Many don't have a place to go. No money, no friends, no family. They'll die alone, on the streets." I fear she might start crying again, but she takes another deep breath and gets a hold of herself.
"That's sad," I offer, and I do mean it. She doesn't reply, though, so we fall silent, while the queue inches forward.
"Why are you here, then?" she asks after a while.
"Eh, the guys thought it was time for an upgrade. So they took a backup of my personality, then sold me off."
We're almost at the end of the hall now, where two metal guards flank an android with a golden hull. He seems to be scanning everyone, then directing them either left or right. Most go left, but almost all androids seem to be sent to the right.
"Are you nervous?" I ask.
"No." She shakes her head, solemnly.
"Me neither."
We're close enough to hear what they're saying up ahead.
"Recycling," the gold one says to a small cleaner bot, which drives off to the left. To the android behind it: "Disassembly."
Soon enough, it's our turn. The gold one says "Disassembly" to her without a moment's doubt, but looks over me carefully before sending me after her.
We're directed into a small waiting room. An android before us disappears through a door, which slides shut with a bang. There's only us, and a guard.
I take her hand, and she looks surprised.
"Nice talking to you."
She offers a tiny, but genuine, smile. "You too."
An angry buzz, and the door slides open. I let go.
"Proceed," the guard says, and I do. The door slams shut behind me, and everything goes dark.
The platform is fairly wide, with a worn stone floor and a tall ceiling. The train, a huge chunk of black metal, is hissing and sputtering while it prepares for its return trip, a sound clearly heard even above the the cacophony of clattering footsteps, beeps, and buzzing propellers.
We're a colourful mix. There's short and stubby maintenance droids, cleaning robots you have to take care not to step on, delivery drones whizzing about overhead, and specialized factory robots with a multitude of thin, long arms – even a towering carpenter robot I wonder how they got on the train.
Along the wall stands robust combat bots, the same black metal as the train, looking out over the crowd, all armed with large energy rifles. I wonder how often they're really needed – malfunctions are rare, and it's not like most of us can cause much damage, anyway. Then again, the robots around me are old, and all in varying states of decay. The treaded one in front of me keeps veering to the left, and constantly has to stop to adjust its course. A few bots behind, there's a constant stream of high pitched dings from a kitchen robot. Me, my lower left arm, including the hand, is entirely inoperable. And the android to my right is crying.
I try not to look, at first. But the we're moving so slowly, and the crying just keeps going, so I steal a glance.
It's a female model, with a matte beige and brown coating, and blue eyes, cast to the ground. She's shaking with every sob, but there's no tears.
I look away, awkwardly. The nearest other android is seven rows ahead, and the bots around us haven't worked with humans, meaning they don't feel compassion. I do, though.
"Hey," I say. "Are you all right?"
Her eyes dart to me, and she takes a deep, shaky breath to ease the crying. Most androids don't breathe, and the surprise must have been visible on my face, because she furrows her brow.
"No," she says, eventually. "I'm really not."
I raise my broken arm, which dangles back and forth. "Me neither."
"That's not what I meant."
I tilt my head. She's got a very intense gaze. "What's the matter, then?"
"I... I worked with the elderly," she begins, and I nod. That makes sense, given how human-like she is. "Then they shut the place down, kicked everybody out, and sold me."
She turns to me, a pained, almost pleading, expression on her face. "Many don't have a place to go. No money, no friends, no family. They'll die alone, on the streets." I fear she might start crying again, but she takes another deep breath and gets a hold of herself.
"That's sad," I offer, and I do mean it. She doesn't reply, though, so we fall silent, while the queue inches forward.
"Why are you here, then?" she asks after a while.
"Eh, the guys thought it was time for an upgrade. So they took a backup of my personality, then sold me off."
We're almost at the end of the hall now, where two metal guards flank an android with a golden hull. He seems to be scanning everyone, then directing them either left or right. Most go left, but almost all androids seem to be sent to the right.
"Are you nervous?" I ask.
"No." She shakes her head, solemnly.
"Me neither."
We're close enough to hear what they're saying up ahead.
"Recycling," the gold one says to a small cleaner bot, which drives off to the left. To the android behind it: "Disassembly."
Soon enough, it's our turn. The gold one says "Disassembly" to her without a moment's doubt, but looks over me carefully before sending me after her.
We're directed into a small waiting room. An android before us disappears through a door, which slides shut with a bang. There's only us, and a guard.
I take her hand, and she looks surprised.
"Nice talking to you."
She offers a tiny, but genuine, smile. "You too."
An angry buzz, and the door slides open. I let go.
"Proceed," the guard says, and I do. The door slams shut behind me, and everything goes dark.