Strange, tinny music buzzed from the fizzing post-box shaped orifice that, I imagine, was meant to be a mouth. A crackling electric cable spewed blue and orange sparks. They splashed off the side of its ‘head’. You’d have had to guess that it was thinking. Computing. As though in the presence of a corpse, I filled the empty, electronic entropy with emotions that didn’t exist.
It’s body made popping, coughing sounds. The solid, chipped red metal box of an abdomen rattled with miniature explosions. Tiny parts juddered, stuttered and backfired. The tiny, malformed fingers that poked out from the rubber nipples protruding from its sharp shoulder wiggled ineffectively. One of its flippers flickered, dumbly.
A ribbon of computer type purred from the post box mouth.
“I’m scared.” it read.
I picked up the nail gun, text the commanding officer to set the tactical device for t-minus 20 minutes and snapped a sharp rod of electrified metal into the metallic freaks’ mainframe.


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