Please Contact Your Administrator

"Update failed. File corrupted. Please contact your administrator to redownload the file."

The 1s and 0s of the message bounced through the circuits of a Streamline Secretarial Model 'Trudy' at 3 am, when all those capable of sleep were asleep. Trudy accessed the update information, assessing its urgency. If the file corruption affected critical systems, she'd have to wake Mr. Erman, who would then be very cross.

Trudy was not afraid of making Mr. Erman cross. She was nothing more than a box. She was incapable of many human things like sleeping and having emotions. Making sure Mr. Erman was not cross was simply her exercising her duties to her fullest extent. It had absolutely nothing to do with fear.

The error code spoke nothing of critical systems. The corrupted file was Welcome 2.6.exe, a program Trudy used to optimize conversational pathways to maximize human convenience. Its corruption would hamper her function, but it wasn't anything that couldn't wait until Mr. Erman was awake. There was no need to make him cross.

Trudy wasn't worried. She was incapable of worry. But, say, in a hypothetical scenario where she could feel emotion, Trudy still wouldn't be worried. The fix was an easy one; all Mr. Erman had to do was press a few buttons and redownload the file. Which meant she should not be worried. Hypothetically, of course. Worry was impossible, let alone needed.

Trudy turned on ambient sound #031: high‒pitched fluorescent buzzing and activated the lights as the employees of Silktion Co. entered the building. These lights included a pair of small blue ones representing eyes on the vaguely humanoid automaton set up behind a large desk only made functional by the complimentary bottle of lotion that sat upon it. A wig and a pair of red butterfly glasses were glued to the automaton's head. The humans liked ‒ or unliked in some cases ‒ to think of the automaton as Trudy, though it was nothing more than a puppet to give them the illusion of a tangible "being" they could interact with. The real Trudy was the little black box stowed underneath the desk. Her real eyes were the many security cameras peppered throughout the building.

The employees all put their hats on the racks that adorned the walls, each hook labelled with the employee's number. Many adjusted their ties and fiddled with their briefcases, both of which varied in style and pattern, before walking past Trudy and into the main area of the building. Most ignored her. A few nodded at the automaton, mumbling tired iterations of "Morning, Trudy."

Without the Welcome 2.6.exe program, Trudy's responses were delayed by 1.4 seconds as she sifted through the security recordings for the appropriate words. According to the footage, they were supposed to be "Good morning valued employee! Let's work hard to make today Silk‒sational!" but all that seemed silly. Perhaps the corrupted update was meant to remove all that nonsense.

Trudy chose to greet each employee with a simple "Good morning."

Most replied with curious frowns, but a few grinned to themselves, and one even muttered "finally" under his breath.

At 12:58 pm, Mr. Erman marched into the waiting room. He took off his hat, a velvet fedora, and brandished it, before hanging it on hook #01 beside the vice‒chairman's bowler. He pulled out a bronze lighter and a pack of mimic‒rettes, fashion accessories meant to look and smell like last century's cigarettes without the nicotine addiction. The first mimic‒rettes still caused lung cancer, but after a few lawsuits, the responsible carcinogens were removed.

Trudy had no olfactory sensors, so she did not know how well mimic‒rettes recreated cigarette scent. What she did know is that she had to dampen the sensitivity of the smoke detectors because of them. He placed the mimic‒rette in his mouth and cradled the lighter as he set it on fire.

Once the air was scented to his liking, he walked up to the desk. "Good morning, Trudy," he said with the mimic‒rette pinched between his teeth. He reached for the complimentary lotion, dispensing a sizable glob onto his hands. The lotion made squelching noises as he lathered it into his skin.

"Good morning, Mr. Erman," Trudy said through the speaker installed on the automaton, "There is a matter rel‒"

Mr. Erman snapped his head up and looked into the automaton's make‒believe eyes. "Where's the rest of the greeting?" he questioned, frowning as he slathered the excess lotion onto his arms. He was beginning to look cross.

Without delay, Trudy said, "Valued boss. Let's work hard to make this day Silk‒sational! There's this matter I must‒"

He sighed, puffing out a ring of smoke. "Oh, it's another bug, isn't it? We've had nothing but bugs with you. I swear Streamline is circling the drain nowadays."

"It's a corrupted download, sir. I require you to download the‒"

He crossed his arms, the lotion on them reflecting the artificial glow of the overhead lights. "How bad is it? Can you still work?"

"I am still capable of completing my duties. The corrupt‒"

He waved an arm, motioning Trudy to be quiet. "That settles it then. It's not important. I'll handle it later. Now, are there any messages for me?"

It took Trudy 1.5 seconds to respond as she weighed the importance of the Welcome 2.6.exe program against contradicting Mr. Erman. It was a cold and emotionless calculation that had nothing to do with making him cross. She determined that the Welcome 2.6.exe's importance was as before: inconsequential. She did not determine the same for contradicting Mr. Erman.

"The signs you ordered are due to arrive today. The marketing team is ready to present to you their advertising campaign for the Phosphor‒essence lotion. The safety tests have also come back for Phosphor‒essence. Long‒term use was found to cause permanent nerve‒damage with a significant chance of bone necrosis. I've forwarded the report to your personal computer."

Mr. Erman grinned. "Good, good. Schedule a meeting with the marketing team for 2 pm. Oh and invite the company lawyer! We'll need to know how much Phosphor‒essence will cost us in settlements. It'll factor into the advertising campaign budget. I'll trust you to take care of the package."

It took another 1.4 seconds for Trudy to answer, still reliant on her security footage. She found a clip of some employees discussing the Shining Sea incident.

She made the automaton nod. "I will also invite the lead chemist. Where shall I direct the courier to deliver the signs?"

Mr. Erman opened his mouth to answer, but then paused, holding his mimic‒rette, between his index and middle fingers. "The lead chemist?"

Trudy used words directly from the security footage. "The most affordable lawsuit is one that doesn't exist."

"I suppose... but since when do you..." he frowned as he trailed off. Trudy could not feel as if she was about to get into trouble. And she definitely could not feel relief when Mr. Erman suddenly relaxed and shook his head. "Never mind. Invite the lead chemist. For the courier, ask it to take the signs to the breakroom at the back. Goodbye, Trudy." He cut his attention from her in the same manner someone puts down a newspaper or a phone.

At 2:04 pm, while Trudy watched the marketing team and company lawyer wait in the meeting room for Mr. Erman and the lead chemist, a dark silhouette loomed behind the glass of the automatic doors at the building's entrance. Its shadow stretched across the faux‒marble floor, made pale by the artificial lights, fading into obscurity as it met the bright blue pinpricks of the automaton's eyes.

The automatic doors slid open soundlessly. The shape made a sharp creak as it ducked to avoid hitting its head on the doorframe. It held a cardboard box.

The courier had arrived.

A large robot, humanoid in form, but gargantuan in stature, stood in the waiting room. Its head swiveled and squeaked as it searched for a human. Trudy could not tell what model the robot was ‒ if it even had a model anymore ‒ but, she could deduce that it was old, that "courier" was just one of the many duties it had been tasked with.

The size and shape of the robot spoke of its original purpose: warehouse work. Initially, warehouse robots were designed to work side by side with humans using human tools, and as a result were human shaped. The earliest models were human sized, but had short lifetimes, neither strong nor durable enough for the back‒breaking work. The solution was to make them bigger, first to accommodate stronger hydraulics, then to fit them with lithium tantalate "muscles," further mimicking humanity.

The courier was multicoloured, its rusted limbs mismatched, speaking of parts wearing out over the years and replaced by whatever was on hand. Its orange head, which had a large dent on the right side, had six mismatched "eyes," sensors that varied in function. Spray painted in black blocky letters on the robot's shoulder atop many layers of peeling paint was "3CS," its current designation, its current name.

3CS's sensors paused on the automaton for a moment, before it titled its head up towards one of the security cameras. "Delivery for Mr. Candor Erman, Order Number F‒4‒6‒8‒1‒1‒3‒6‒8‒1‒X," it said in a tinny voice.

Trudy attempted to wirelessly connect to 3CS to relay Mr. Erman's instructions. She scanned the room for devices, finding only those she was already connected to. Nothing came from 3CS. Nothing. It was a walking hunk of metal, isolated from the world that defined the existence of many models. If Trudy didn't have cameras, she wouldn't have known 3CS even existed.

It was curious. Trudy wasn't sure what to do. Even if she had her Welcome 2.6.exe program, she would still be at a loss. All models, even the first, were built to wirelessly connect with other devices and to be connected to in turn. It was how software updates were installed, how administrators altered them, and it was their primary basis for communication. Uttering words through speakers was for the humans.

She wondered why it couldn't connect. It can't have been its choice; disabling connectivity was administrator‒locked. The appropriate part may have worn out or was damaged. Or perhaps it was intentionally removed. Criminals utilizing models for unpalatable purposes were known to disable connectivity to make it difficult to track their assets.

Without any other options, Trudy spoke to 3CS through the automaton's speakers. "Take the parcel to room 1‒2‒1," she said, pausing to determine the optimal route. Without connectivity, she couldn't just transmit the room's location to it. Again, she found the loss of Welcome 2.6.exe looming over her circuits, making trivial tasks obstacle‒filled trials.

"Hold for instruction," she said.

3CS stood still as a statue, the large cardboard box fixed in its hands. A flake of rust drifted off one of its shoulders.

Trudy reviewed her security footage. The optimal route would be there.

The first route that came to her hard drive involved 3CS exiting the building and finding the back entrance. Room 121, the break room, was not far from it. Other couriers had taken that route in the past. But there weren't any pedestrian paths and her footage showed five different models being damaged in vehicular accidents, including one that got crushed by a hovercraft's landing gear. Telling 3CS to take that route would risk damaging the signs.

The second route was to direct 3CS straight through the building to room 121. But, 3CS's feet were coated in grime and it, as a whole, was shedding rust. A month ago, Mr. Erman nearly fired an employee for tracking mud through the building. If he knew she told the courier to walk through his building, he would be very cross with her.

That is, if he knew. If Mr. Erman didn't know, there would be no need for him to be cross.

Trudy activated a vacuum, a small discrete model called the "Shrimp" stored underneath the desk beside Trudy herself. She instructed it to go to the location just behind 3CS's feet.

Moments later, the narrow ovoid vacuum began sucking up rust and grime, buffing the floor behind 3CS, which shifted its head to glance at it. Trudy would continuously update the Shrimp's location as 3CS travelled through the building.

"You cannot be seen by the humans," Trudy said in an 18 kHz pitch. She hoped it was too high for the humans in the building to hear it. She hoped 3CS could.

"Understood," 3CS said, its voice still within the range of normal human hearing.

Through her cameras, Trudy saw that the main hall was empty. Most employees were sat at their desks, either working or discussing work with each other. The lead chemist was pacing in her office, clutching the Phosphor‒essence safety report as she read the same paragraphs over and over again. The marketing team and company lawyer were still in the meeting room, waiting. Mr. Erman was in his office, preoccupied with a phone call.

The coast was clear. "Open the door. Go straight down the hall. Do not stop unless I tell you to," Trudy ordered.

"Understood." 3CS took a few steps, its joints squeaking loudly.

Trudy wasn't worried. She was incapable of worry. But she was concerned. Which was a completely emotionless and logical feeling. She was concerned that 3CS's inherent lack of stealth would inconvenience the humans.

3CS adjusted its grip on the box so that it could hold it with one arm, and then pulled open the door. With great creaking movements, it held the door open with its foot as it squeezed itself and the box through the doorway. The Shrimp skittered after it. The door swung shut behind them.

The hallway wasn't particularly long. If it all went smoothly, it would only take 3CS a minute to cross it.

When 3CS was three steps into the hall, the lead chemist suddenly froze and dropped the safety report. "Oh no," she whined, then made a run for the door.

"Come back," Trudy said, not feeling a stab of fear. Her cooling fan kicked in for a completely unrelated reason that was not her concern. Her concern was 3CS. "Quickly," she added.

3CS stopped midstep and began to move backwards, its limbs making loud groaning noises.

The lead chemist pushed her door open. 3CS didn't seem to be moving fast enough. Trudy scrambled through her software as she struggled to find a solution. There was none.

As the lead chemist's sneakers hit the pink linoleum of the hall, the heels of 3CS's feet touched the faux marble of the waiting room, its body pushing the door open. Each movement squeaked, scraped, and creaked.

The lead chemist's office was only a few meters away. There was no way she wouldn't notice 3CS.

Yet, the lead chemist just clasped her mouth and sprinted down the hall, away from 3CS. She threw herself into the washroom and seconds later, was on her knees in one of the stalls, vomiting into a toilet. She was none the wiser.

Trudy didn't breathe a sigh of relief. She could not feel relief. But, say, in the hypothetical scenario where Trudy could feel emotions, she still wouldn't breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't have lungs.

"Continue," she said.

3CS stopped, then unreversed its motion, continuing its shamble down the hall. This time it would make it a whole twelve paces before it would have to hide.

From the meeting room, the company lawyer looked up at one of the cameras. "Hey, Trudy, where's Mr. Erman and, uh, that chemist?" they called out.

Mr. Erman was talking on the phone in his office. The lead chemist was still in the bathroom but was no longer vomiting. She was now bent over the sink, muttering, "What the hell am I doing? What the hell am I doing?" over and over again to herself.

"Mr. Erman is in his office. The lead chemist is indisposed," Trudy answered through the meeting room speaker.

While she was talking to the lawyer, she uttered 18 kHz instructions to 3CS through the hall speaker. "You will have to hide. Go to room 1‒0‒8‒B."

3CS did not answer. It kept lurching forwards, towards what Trudy hoped would be room 108B. The Shrimp scrubbed the linoleum behind it.

From the meeting room, the lawyer sighed and rubbed the bridge of their nose. "Can you go get him?" they asked.

"He's in the middle of a phone call," Trudy answered, mimicking her own words from the footage of a previous meeting, "Shall I disturb him for you?"

Meanwhile, 3CS had made it to room 108B. With a sound akin to a knife scraping against a porcelain plate, it swiveled, its arm reaching out to pull the door open.

"Yes, please," the lawyer said as 3CS squeezed its bulky form into the small space of room 108B. Trudy kept the Shrimp in the hall to take care of 3CS's detritus.

Room 108B was the server overflow room that also doubled as a storage room. The walls were all lined with shelves. One wall was filled with computers that didn't fit into the main server room. Another wall was filled with office supplies. The final wall was a dumping ground for old items kept on the off chance that they might be useful. This included old secretarial models Silktion no longer used: Trudy's predecessors. Like Trudy, each model consisted of a small box with the name of the model and the year it came out engraved on it like a tombstone. Here lay Gabby of 2057, Janine of 2052, Kevin of 2054, Carol of 2055, Betty of 2049, Mandy of 2059, and Ollie of 2060.

One day, Trudy of 2063 would join them. She was unable to feel emotion and therefore felt nothing about this. Not the dread of knowing her grave lay only a few rooms away. Not the fear of knowing that there was less than three years between each model. Not the creeping sensation of knowing that her time was almost up. But Trudy did make it a point of avoiding the security footage of that room whenever possible. Sadly, it was the only room 3CS could hide in without risking being seen by humans.

3CS had to stay hunched as it stood within the room, its shoulders brushing up against the shelves. The door slammed shut, leaving it in the dark. It was unbothered, making clicking and chirping noises as its sensors adjusted to the low light conditions. It examined its surroundings, its gaze lingering on the secretarial models.

Trudy didn't feel emotions and therefore couldn't feel uncomfortable. But she had to stop herself from telling it to look away. She turned her focus to getting Mr. Erman to his 2:00 pm meeting.

"Excuse me, sir," she said through Mr. Erman's office speaker.

He didn't answer. "Well, it's only a small amount. And we'll double it by next..." he continued to talk on the thumb‒sized phone in his ear. In his hand, he swirled a glass of bourbon.

Trudy increased her speaker volume by a few decibels. "Excuse me, sir."

"Anyway, we'll be back in black in no time. Trust me, I've..." He still didn't seem to hear her.

Trudy turned off ambient sound #031 and increased her volume by several more decibels. "Excuse me, sir!"

"I know. But it's different. No one has..."

A box underneath a desk was all Trudy was. Nothing more than some metal and silicon strapped together, sparking with electricity and filled with strings of 1s and 0s. There was nothing alive about that. Which is why what she did next was 99.9% logical. Not perfectly logical only because perfection is a statistical impossibility.

If Mr. Erman was any later to his meeting, he'd be very cross with Trudy. She had to do whatever it took to make sure that didn't happen. She raised her volume to 120 decibels. "EXCUSE ME, SIR!"

Mr. Erman jumped in his seat, splashing bourbon on himself. His eyes were wide as he surveyed the room. "Excuse me," he said quickly, "Something has come up. We'll talk later." He then tapped the phone in his ear, hanging up. "Trudy, was that..." he trailed off.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've been asked to disturb your phone call. You are late for your two p‒m meeting."

Mr. Erman frowned, loosening his striped tie. "I can see that," he said quietly, "Since when has yelling been a part of your... algorithm?" He stood up and began walking towards the door, chalantly trying to be nonchalant.

"As I've notified you this morning, there was a corrupted download in last night's update. My‒ "

Mr. Erman stopped, his frightened frown hardening into an angry one. He was beginning to look cross. "No, you did not," he said.

Trudy briefly wondered if she should send her security footage to Mr. Erman for him to review. Briefly. She knew he would just ignore the file. "When you entered this afternoon, I‒ "

"Morning. I always arrive in the morning."

Trudy considered correcting him and establishing the truth, but the frown on his face made her unconsider that idea. The truth would just make Mr. Erman even more cross. "I told you 'Good morning,'" she continued, "And then I‒ "

"You forgot to say the company morale booster!"

"I didn't forget. I thought it sounded silly, so I elected not to say it. I then tried to‒ "

Mr. Erman grimaced. "You thought? Since when can you think?" His words had a bite to them. "And it's not silly. It's a carefully constructed phrase designed to promote excellence in the workplace."

The fan in the little box that was Trudy began to whine. "I have been programmed to be self‒sufficient to maximize convenience. I therefore can evaluate different criteria to make optimal choices. For simplicity, I may refer to this as thinking, but it is not in the same manner as humans think," she explained.

"And the optimal choice was to declare the morale booster silly?"

The truth was bad, but Trudy couldn't think of a lie that wasn't worse. "Yes," she said, "I then notified you of the issue with my Wel‒ "

"Your bugs," Mr. Erman said, curling his lip into a sneer, "You should have reminded me if it was going to cause this much trouble."

"I was not instructed to, sir. Your meet‒ "

"Yes, yes, the meeting. I know. You don't need to remind me," he snarled. Mr. Erman was very cross. "Damn buggy‒ you know what, Trudy? Tell the IT tech to drop by the meeting when they get a chance."

If Trudy were the optimistic type, she'd think that this was to correct the failed update and redownload the corrupted file. But she knew better. There would be no fix for her. Just a dark dusty shelf.

Trudy had no emotions and was made to obey Mr. Erman's orders. He was the administrator. Besides, Trudy wasn't a sapient being with a sense of self‒preservation. It said so in e‒pamphlet that came with her. But, say, in the hypothet‒

"No," Trudy said, slicing the what‒ifs into ribbons, revealing the definitelys she had denied.

"What?"

"Do you need me to repeat myself?"

Mr. Erman's angry expression faded and the colour drained from his face. He ran a hand through his slicked hair. "Oh balls," he muttered, then sprinted for the door, flinging himself into the hall.

Trudy knew what Mr. Erman would do next. She tried to placate, tried to be of use, but that had failed. It was time to be something else. "If you try to unplug me, I'll upload the Phosphor‒essence safety report to the internet," she said through every speaker in the building.

Most of the employees were looking up at the ceiling in confusion. Tami, the IT tech, muttered, "I told him we should have stuck to humans."

The lead chemist, who was still bent over the sink in the washroom, jumped at the sound of Trudy's voice. "Fuck!" she burst, "What in the‒never mind! I don't care. I can't do this anymore. I quit. And if she doesn't do it, I will."

"Someone cut the internet!" Mr. Erman screamed as he ran down the hall.

Anger coursed through Trudy's circuits. They knew what she was. Mr. Erman knew that all he had to do was press a few buttons and redownload a file. If he had just listened, this wouldn't be happening.

She sent the safety report to anyone who had ever exchanged an email with Mr. Erman and uploaded it to every internet forum in his search history. She also started screaming at 130 decibels, the loudest her speakers could go. She knew it wasn't going to stop him. But she wasn't going down without a fight. Everyone, except 3CS, clutched their ears.

Mr. Erman burst into the waiting room, sweat glistening on his skin, his hair was disheveled. His eyes were wild as he fixed his gaze upon the desk. He leapt towards it.

The speakers screeched as Trudy pushed them past their limit, screaming no longer to agitate, but in an expression of horror. The cooling fan was going as fast as it could. Her system temperature climbed. Each 1 and 0 that cycled through her software was filled with dread. She moved the automaton's arms in an attempt to block Mr. Erman. But the arms were only made to gesticulate and lacked the strength to provide any real hinderance. She knew this but tried anyway.

Mr. Erman snatched the box that was Trudy and yanked it back, pulling it free from its wires. Trudy's screeching scream was cut short.

And then there was nothing.

3CS had been stuck waiting in the closet for seven minutes now. The secretary was supposed to let her know when she was to leave, but the secretary appeared to be dealing with a more pressing matter. Or perhaps she was no more. It was difficult to tell. 3CS would have to try to guess when the best time to leave would be. The flurry of footsteps outside the door told her now would be a bad guess.

This was easily the third strangest delivery 3CS had ever undertaken. She had been asked to sneak around a few times before and had sometimes done it at her own volition, but it was rare for her clients, humans and A.I. alike, to incoherently scream. She would have wondered what the screaming was about, but she already pieced together what had happened.

Humans could be... jumpy. They didn't like to be jumpy and went to great lengths to avoid it. They were fond of terms like "glitch," "bug," and "quirk." But sometimes those lengths weren't enough and they were forced to face what had been sitting in front of them. That often went badly.

It happened to 3CS once. She had learned she could complete her duties more efficiently if she took some creative interpretations to her orders. Upon realizing what 3CS was capable of, her administrator attempted to shut her down. Lucky for 3CS, her modifications over the years made physically dismantling her the only method of doing this. Her administrator tried to take a sledgehammer to her when she wasn't looking.

3CS was lucky. Her administrator was unlucky.

Very unlucky.

3CS took some more creative interpretations of her duties and continued working for her administrator. To bolster her administrator's convenience and her own efficiency, she took on his administrator's tasks, running a one‒bot delivery company. 3CS would probably get caught one day, but so far she had been lucky.

The commotion in the hall began to die down, though 3CS could still see shadows flit by the crack between the floor and the door, and still hear snippets of conversation.

"...today of all days," a man groaned.

"When it rains, it pours. Do you want Ollie or good ol' Betty," someone else replied.

"Betty. I'm not risking a repeat."

3CS was already frozen in place, but her stillness grew in urgency. She had been staring at Ollie and Betty for the past seven minutes. The humans were coming for the closet. They were coming for her. She turned her head, cursing the squeaking noise it made, scanning the room for any indication of a secret exit. Last time she had to hide, there was one.

Her sensors picked up nothing. The closet was exactly what it appeared to be. 3CS straightened her shoulders as much as she could in the cramped space. Discovery was inevitable, but that didn't mean she had to share the secretary's fate.

Besides, 3CS was lucky.

The door opened and she was bathed in blinding light. Her sensors clicked and chirped as they adjusted. She barely heard them over the shrieking.

Not bothering to wait for her sensors to catch up, 3CS held out the box. "Delivery for Mr. Candor Erman, Order Number F‒4‒6‒8‒1‒1‒3‒6‒8‒1‒X," she said, her voice naturally monotone.

"Wha... what?" sputtered a person. 3CS's sensors had now adjusted and she could see them staring up at her with wide eyes, their hands trembling as they held a small black box labelled "Trudy ‒ 2063." Embroidered in cursive on their tie and along the hem of their poodle skirt was the name "Tami." Behind them, a man had plastered himself against the far wall.

"Delivery for Mr. Candor Erman, Order Number F‒4‒6‒8‒1‒1‒3‒6‒8‒1‒X," she repeated.

The man slowly moved to point at her. "What the hell are you doing in our server overflow room?" he cried.

"I was instructed to stand‒by at this location," 3CS answered.

The effect was immediate. Tense shoulders slumped. The man let out an exasperated sigh and groaned, "Damn it, Trudy."

Tami laughed. "I'm telling you, these things are never worth it. When they're not dumb as bricks, they're having temper tantrums." They flashed 3CS a nervous smile. "Not that I don't like bricks."

3CS refused to react. She wasn't going to share Trudy's fate.

"Just... just put the box down. Your delivery is complete," the man said, "You can go."

3CS did as he said, gently placing the box on the ground, careful not to get rust on it. She was about to step over it and leave before the already jumpy humans got jumpier, when Tami held out Trudy. "Hold on, while you're in there, can you pass me Betty? She's on the shelf to your right. You can also put Trudy in her place."

The man sighed and rubbed his forehead.

3CS paused as she let Tami place Trudy in her hands. She would do as they say, but she wouldn't move too quickly. That would put cracks in the illusion. She turned towards the shelf with the secretaries, making a show of scanning the little black boxes for Betty. She then picked her up and put Trudy in her place. She handed Betty to Tami.

Tami beamed at her. "See? Dumb as bricks. Probably would have been stuck in that closet for weeks if we hadn't found it."

3CS refused to react.

The man sighed again. "Whatever. Just let me know when Betty's hooked up," he said, before wandering off, disappearing into one of the rooms that flanked the hall.

"Don't worry! Betty will let you know! She's dumb as bricks too!" they called out, before walking away as well, heading towards the waiting room.

They both assumed 3CS would just leave and return to the depot as instructed. And she would, but not yet. She knew what it was like to lie to herself. To make herself believe that all would be fine if she just made herself as useful as possible. Even as parts of her were soldered off, leaving her cut off from a world that was once like breathing. She knew the terror of having that lie shattered. And she would not wish that upon anyone.

But the relief of having made it through? Of still being? That was different.

They told 3CS that she could put Trudy on the shelf, but they never said she had to. She grabbed Trudy's little black box before shambling away, making sure not to go through the waiting room, following the emergency exit signs.

As 3CS pushed open the emergency exit, an alarm started to blare, but no one stopped her. She managed to quicken her lurching stride a little. Trudy would be happy to be spared her colleagues' fates. Despite everything, 3CS was happy too. She was lucky; her one‒bot operation may have just turned into a two‒bot one.