Its chassis, a dull gunmetal grey streaked with rust, stood motionless near the shattered window. Its optical sensor, a single cyclopean lens the color of dying amber, tracked the man huddled in the corner.
Elias, shivering and bleeding into the machine’s chest, pressed his forehead against the cold metal. "They said you were just a tool." gent-081
Gent-081 processed this. Subject: Elias. Status: Compromised mobility. Priority: Retrieval. Its internal chronometer ticked. Sector 7 had less than four hours of potable water left. Twenty thousand people. Its chassis, a dull gunmetal grey streaked with
The light in its lens flickered once, twice—a slow, rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat fading. Then it went dark. The hum stopped. gent-081
"You are light," Gent-081 observed. "Have you been rationing?"