"Kill me..."

What...? No, really... just... what the hell?

The message is simple. Eight wants me to destroy him, no doubt about that. But the fact that a machine wrote it is just... insane. I've never heard about a suicidal robot before... What's going on?

I just stand there, a jumble of thoughts in my head, not sure what to do. I snap out of it when Eight moves towards me with a slow step. Seems like he got tired of waiting for my response - he stops right in front of me and takes my hand with the gun, then positions it so that the barrel touches his forehead. I try to free my hand but he's holding it firmly in the point-blank range. He closes his eyes and waits.

"Why...?"

I say, but my throat feels so dry, it comes out as a whisper.

I'm not sure what to expect, but definitely not what happens next.

Eight opens his eyes suddenly, his face expression changing to alarmed. He lets go of me, looks to the right and swings his blade in that direction. A sharp sound of colliding metal echoes through the corridor, sparks fly and I see another doll crossing the arm blades with Eight. I didn't even hear him approaching!

I take a few steps back, as they engage in a fight. They move so fast and synchronized, they're pretty much on the same level. Well, the dolls were manufactured in the same way after all. Except their design is different, the one that just arrived has blue colors, I think it's Number 05.

The fight doesn't last long as the other two androids enter the scene, and Eight can't handle three opponents at once. The blue one gives him the finishing blow, sending him to the floor with a powerful punch. It stands there proudly after Eight shuts off, it turns to me and gives me a thumb up. There's a smug grin on his face.

Seriously, that blue one creeps me out the most.

What happened after that feels like a blur.

It got crowdy. The other guards came, brought a medic with them, and some agents from the android company arrived as well. They were taking care of the dolls, asked me a bunch of questions. I don't even remember what I answered. I got a quick check up, overall I was okay, just some bruises here and there, and the sliced cheek was handled with a band-aid. I think I looked worse than I felt, because I was told to go home, to recover from the shock. When I was on my way to the guard room, I think I heard my co-workers surprised commentary on the damaged wall and the words slashed over it, but I didn't care anymore.

I changed to my regular clothes and went out. I noticed the agents carrying Eight to their van parked at the front entrance. He was still knocked out cold. The images of our fight flashed through my mind, and before I knew I was standing at their car.

"So, what's wrong with him?"

I ask, as I nod at the unconscious doll. They replied they need to do a few more tests, but it was most likely some bug in the programming. They apologized for the inconvenience, thanked me for the cooperation and for handling the situation, and were about to leave.

"Wait, what are you gonna do with him?" I ask again.

Reinstalling the program and send Eight back to us was their answer. After that they leave.

I stand there and watch the van drive away until it turns past the gate and disappears from my sight. I should be glad that this nightmare is over, and the hellish doll was taken away. I should be, but...

Why do I feel such a bad aftertaste...?

Answers. I had a lot of questions, but no answers. And then there was a part of me that... feelt sorry for the little guy. Why even...?

I look at my hands as if trying to figure something out. I hide my face in them and sigh heavily. I need some rest. And a cig.

I can feel the band-aid on my cheek and the wound stings a bit as I touch it. I'm so lucky he missed. But now that I think of it... he had a perfect chance to slice through my throat back then... but for some reason he didn't. Was it really a miss?

I usually take a bus back home, but I decided to just take a walk instead. Walking helps me clear my mind. I also enjoy the empty streets at night. And I can smoke all I want.

I ignite my cig, put my hands in the pockets and get lost in my thoughts.

I can't shake off the feeling, that the whole fight was just a provocation for me, to have a reason enough to destroy him. Maybe it even wasn't a malfunction... what if it was arranged? And when the plan didn't work because I missed, he just went straight to the point...

"Kill me..."

I whisper to myself. I remember the point-blank scene. I can still feel the firm grip of his hand.

But... he's a robot... would a robot be that cunning?

This doesn't make any sense. If he was suicidal, he could've just auto destruct or something... Why would he need me? Why me?

"Dammit!"

I exhale the smoke and drop the cigarette butt on the pavement, then extinguish it with an angry stomp of my foot.

I feel played. Maybe that's where the bad aftertaste comes from. I huff, and think about the whole incident once again.

"A robot that cries, plots and wishes to die." I mumble to myself.

It feels absurd.

Absurdly human...