I stare down at Gilbert’s hand, and discover with horror that it is in fact, not Gilbert’s hand.

The fingers I had been gently caressing belong to the torso of a headless Android, whose body is coated in filth. Its nails are torn and have turned a dark, rusty copper due to the decay that has pierced a horde of tiny holes into its metal, from which poke out the legs of insects that buzz that is from inside its body.

I open my mouth to scream, but Gilbert presses his palm to my lips. “Please, Sir, you must remain calm.”

Of course, when I tell him to let go, and to help me, all of my responses are muffled by his hand. Biting his skin won't work, either. I'd just break my teeth. Curse him...

Thankfully, Gilbert does decide to come to my rescue though. He reaches for the rotting Android and squeezes its wrist with a force I did not know he possessed.

The Android's wrist is ripped from its arm with a disconcerting screech. As my own wrist is finally relieved of its grasp, I step away from bronze fingers that continue to move across the floor. It doesn't seem like the hand has a particular trajectory in mind, and when it crawls beneath a faraway cupboard, I am grateful I don't have to stare at the sight of its insides, which was filled with a colony of obsidian wings that crisped as they brushed against one another.

After a good minute, Gilbert finally moves again. “Clear,” he declares, without giving me a moment for second thoughts as he advances further into the room, and I hold on to him once more.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” I cry. “I was just attacked!” The floorboards creak. A peculiar odor that could be compared to drying paint invades my senses. I try not to sneeze.

“I am sure this fellow Android meant you no harm. His holding onto you was likely an old reflex, nothing more.”

I cringe. “Sure, sounds legit…” I take a look around the exhibit. “Anyway… this is the one?”

“Yes,” he says. “This is the room with the first Androids ever made.” And then, “Do you mind letting go for a moment?”

I freeze. That wasn’t in our plan. “Uh, why?”

Gilbert holds out his arm. A compartment in the crook of his elbow pops open. The sound of gears turning click across the room. When the noise stops, Gilbert has a fully formed briefcase at his disposal. “Here.” He presses the briefcase into the palm of my hand.

I hold myself back from asking more questions than necessary, even if, right now, I have many running through my mind. Too many.

“It would be a great help if you could hold onto this in my stead,” he tells me. “That way, I would not have to bend down to put the fellow Android’s pieces inside; I could still survey the room, in order to protect you.”

“Sure… just,” I scratch the back of my head. “Don’t take too long? Each extra second spent inside this place really is risking it.” I should know, I’ve been in many heists.

“Not a problem.” Gilbert nods. “It should not take me more than a few minutes to dismantle this one.” He turns back to the shelf that’s standing before him. I assume he’d use his night vision—like he’d been doing up until now—but apparently, he just loves proving me wrong. He opens his mouth, and out of his throat comes the equivalent of a flashlight’s glow.

Again, I have to bite down against those questions of mine. And when my eyes accidentally find the sight of a case full of Android parts, labelled as one of the originals used when making the first Androids who popped up on the market thirty years ago, I stand there gaping, without saying a word. Yeah… I sigh. Kid-Me would have loved this.

“Isn’t this weird for you?” I ask Gilbert.

He pauses for a moment, then shuts his mouth and turns to face me again. “I suppose…” Gilbert’s hand lingers against a sole, grey foot that has been propped up next to an eyeball. “It is a tad strange, if I stop to consider what I am doing, yes.”

I cross my arms. “And it doesn’t upset you?”

“Why would it?”

“I mean…” I kick at the dust lying by my feet. “They're technically your ancestors, aren’t they? So, I thought that, well, maybe...”

Gilbert doesn't seem to catch on. He only stares at me with a gaze full of incomprehension brimming with bewilderment, as tiny formulas and numbers continue to crawl across his glassy pupils.

“Forget it.” I wave his question away and take another step back. “It doesn’t matter that much, I guess… I'll just let you do your thing.”

My Android companion seems to accept the answer pretty easily, for he soon goes back to his initial task—dismantling and scanning, in complete and utter silence.

It’s kind of peculiar to see light coming out of his mouth again; somehow, I find myself getting used to this sight as the minutes go on. And growing impatient, too. Very impatient. “You want a hand?” I blurt.

“Hand?” Gilbert frowns. He motions at his brief-case. “I have already collected many hands.”

Oh, my god. Somebody help me. “I meant, do you want some help?”

“Ah! No, thank you,” Gilbert tells me with a another shake of his head and a happy hum. “You have already done quite enough. I would not want you to overexert yourself.”

I frown. “You know, I’m not that fragile. I’ve had my fair share of fights before.” I point to the lighter, pink crescent scar beneath my left eye. “This didn’t come out of nowhere,” I say. “I might not be in mint condition right now, but I’m no stranger to pain.”

“I never said you were.” He makes his way over to the next model and stops in front of shattered, glass pieces that once protected the now-exposed Android in its display. “But it is my job to make sure you stay out of harm’s way,” Gilbert adds.

“Gilbert, I’ve had half my back cut open and kept the marks to prove it. Seriously, a fever isn’t going to put me out of service. Stop worrying.” Though, yeah, I admit it would have been nice to have one of those creams with regenerative properties—whose names I can’t remember for the life of me—for my nose. But we’re not in Exia, so I just have to deal with it.

Gilbert laughs.

I cringe. “My suffering’s funny to you?”

“Not really.” He smiles; it is fond, and a tad too endearing for my taste. “You speak as if you are a machine. Out of service… I have”—Gilbert chuckles again—“rarely heard a human use the term to describe themselves.”

“Yeah, well…” I look away and huff. “Old habits die hard.”

“Hm?”

Nope—Ian, tonight isn’t the night you admit to the world that you wanted to be an Android once you were older, when you were just a wee lad. “Just focus on your work, Gilbert,” I say.

Geez. I kneel, then stare at the checkered floor now peppered in the gentle, cyan light that emanates from Gilbert’s throat. For a top-tier Android, he sure is easily distracted.

My eyes widen. Wait, hold on. I stare at the ground in horror, until my attention wanders to Gilbert’s figure once more. As expected, he's still lost in his work, but… something’s wrong.

Easily distracted? My blood goes cold. Goosebumps rise across my arms.

He shouldn’t even have the capacity to be distracted.

What the hell is up with this Android?