Inside a cheap diner, the noise of silverware clatters, then clangs, atop cheap tables laid out in pairs.

I cringe. This maniac hauled me across town for the past twenty minutes at an incredible pace before we finally stopped here. I’m beat. I feel like I’m just about ready to kick the bucket, pass out, throw up, or all three of those at once, yet I can’t do shit about it.

Urgh.

I want to go home… wherever that’ll be today.

The Android is seated across from me. He casually sips on his fresh cup of oil. And, God, how I hope he’ll let me go and that I won’t be found murdered on some empty street corner two hours from now.

“Sir?” The Android straightens up. His turquoise gaze peeks out from beneath his dark bangs made to look human. His eyes reflect our surroundings like glass. Lifeless, I think.

Like him.

He wears a long trench coat and rather formal, chestnut-colored pants, which are held up by his leather suspenders that match his shoes. His dress-shirt is tight as it falls over his broad chest, but he's not fooling anyone. Although he can wear our clothes all he likes, beneath that fabric will always lie metal, not muscle. 

As the Android rearranges the large, dull onyx shield by his side, that glows golden in time with the intricate patterns resembling veins which run across his arms and the rest of his body, I tell myself it’s not true. I’ve just imagined this. It’s the alcohol. It’s always the damned alcohol.

But, no matter how much I want to believe that, it’s obvious this is merely more than me being drunk.

“It appears you are unresponsive and that your attention has been fully occupied by something other than our conversation. Are you ill?” he asks me. “Are the pancakes I ordered for you not to your liking?” His tone screams polite-customer-service.

I hate him already.

“Please, excuse the discomfort I may have caused you. If those Guards had caught you, it would have been very…” He stops himself.

Caught me? I frown. 

So, he’s not on their side then?

Or is this a trick?

“If you would like,” the Android offers me his palm to shake. “I could lend you my place of resting, so that you may have proper accommodations and an apartment to hide in, until the commotion these hooligans are causing dies down.”

“No, thanks.” I avert his gaze. “I doubt I’ll fit into your charging port.”

I rest my chin against my hand and stare out the window, at the sparse amount of pedestrians that pollute the street amidst the early morning light.

It’s not the pancakes that have got me in the worst mood. Even if they’re gross, and made from leftovers the chef found god knows where, I’m still doing my best to scoff them down, because I shouldn’t waste food. “Why don’t you eat them instead?” I say.

He laughs. I hate how genuine it sounds, how close to being human he truly is. Since when can Androids hold conversations so freely like this?

This is insane.

I don’t even want to imagine what else he could do if whoever his creator is gave him that much free will.

He’s so fucking dangerous that it’s giving me a headache.

“You know very well I cannot do that.” The Android pauses for a moment, then two. “Perhaps, you would rather eat something else? I had heard meals containing sweet beverages and sugar were very effective in terms of cheering humans up. Does this fact not apply to you?”

Something snaps within me. My fists hit the table. If this were an ordinary restaurant, I’m sure the waitresses would have already kicked me out, or at least turned around to observe what kind of mayhem I’m stirring up in their establishment. But they don’t. Because every single one of them is a machine. Just like him, and the ones who took my parents away from me.

Murderers.

There is a sudden silence. I want to leave. So badly that my body moves on its own. However, before I can even take the first step back towards my worthless life, the Android’s fingers curl around my wrist once more.

“Sir?” The Android tilts his head like an innocent puppy would. “What is wrong?” His voice is hushed. It’s ironic—as if he could disturb another customer when we’re the only ones here. “Where are you going?”

I don’t know how to tell him that I hate his kind, that I hate him.

“Leave me alone,” I mutter. “I didn’t come out here to get scammed.”

“Scammed?”

“Yeah. You know, the usual. In exchange for whatever service, you’ll ask me to give you some Android parts, food for your creators”—I shiver—“or pieces of my body… Anyway, I’m pretty well acquainted with how things work around here. So, no thanks.”

I shove him away with my free hand. “Let me go, tinman.” Stupid technology.

If only I had the right tools, I could have disabled him.

“I am not pretending,” he mumbles. “I do not want anything in exchange.”

His words cause me to pause. “What’s your deal, then?” I ask him. “You said you had something to talk about, didn’t you? So, out with it! What the hell do you want? You good for nothing, annoying heap of metallic shi—”

“Sir, it appears you are having a bad night.”

“Answer my question!” I don’t know how I’m able to be so brave tonight. Maybe it’s because I would’ve never confronted an Android sober. For once, I guess getting drunk was pretty useful.

The Android finally releases me. I stumble backwards.

“Look,” I say. “I’m still a bit drunk. I need some fresh air.” It’s not completely a lie, and I wonder if his programming catches that, because he doesn’t seem to question it as I march past the exit whose doorbells chime goodbye.

The breeze outside is putrid.

We barely own any cars, but the inhabitants of Exia do, and it gets worse every day. To think I used to look forward to breathing the summer air long ago when I was one of them feels foreign. Now, I can’t wait for winter, because it means they stay inside. They bother us less. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, Christmas time brings us free food. Scraps they dump into our wasteland of an outer-district.

I dig my hand into the back pocket of my jeans in search of a cigarette. 

I light it. The filter tastes terrible. Every bit of it is cheap. But nothing else is certain right now other than me coughing up my lungs in less than three seconds, so in that sense, I guess I do enjoy the brief mirage of stability this crap brings me.

I finish the cigarette, then extinguish its fire beneath my boots, into the cold asphalt below. 

“Excuse me,” a voice says.

I turn around. It’s the Android.

“Great,” I groan. “You again. What do you want this time?”