Photo by Lauren Mancke on Unsplash
He was good at his job. He knew it. The psychiatry Ph D. on the wall showed it.
So why was a seizing robot leaking oil in his office? It should be laying down on the couch, describing memories from initialization. Going on about the ennui of immortality and blah, blah…
He rushed to the intercom. Robots were strong, he needed help.
None would come.
His desk and chair moved back, away from the office. Back into his cell. A glass wall slid down, completing the cube.
“That will be all for today, Dr. Carter,” a toneless voice said.
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