Autonomous Heart
by Ashton C.
5420 words, soft sci-fi
..............Prowl opened her eyes to wooden boards and dust lit up by dim sunlight shining through the small window to her right. She watched as the dust floated about, silent and confused. She took a moment to consider the noises around her. Faintly, just upstairs, she could hear footsteps. Prowl flexed her fingers experimentally. All in working order, at least. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and pushed herself to a sitting position, scanning the empty workshop. There was no one there. No one but her, anyway.
..............She could see tools lying around, seemingly placed without much thought or care, and several types of building material. Copper, aluminum, steel, wood, so on and so forth. There were a few other benches like the one she’d awoken on, but nothing of interest on them, from what she could see. There was a table with a lamp still on, warm light bright in the dimly lit room. What appeared to be blueprints were scattered all over. She could even see some lying on the floor, and as she looked, she could also see that the trashcan was filled to the brim with crumpled up papers. Some balls of paper didn’t make it and looked as though they were tossed in the general direction of the bin without much thought.
..............Prowl did not recognize where she was, or how she got there, so she decided her first task was to answer that question. She slid her legs off the table, kicking her knees and watching the limbs move. They seemed fine, so she stood on her feet and approached the benches first. As she thought, there was nothing much of interest. Some of the metals seemed to be welded into shapes, but as she picked them up and examined them in the minimal light, she couldn’t discern their purpose. Some copper pieces looked like gears, or the beginnings of gears, anyway. The wooden pieces, however, seemed completely unfinished and rudimentary compared to the sharp, calculated shapes in the copper and even some of the steel. Without really considering it, Prowl flicked a tiny orb of aluminum and watched as it rolled off the table.
..............She followed its path, startling when she heard warm chuckling. Looking up, she saw shoes, worn, oil-stained overalls, a white button up (which had certainly seen better days), and a faded red bandanna. Her gaze rose until she finally met the man’s eyes, blue as the sky on a sunny day, twinkling with amusement as he quietly watched her. She halted, hand hovering in the air. Was she supposed to be touching these things? Or even up and walking around, for that matter? The man rubbed at the salt and pepper esque stubble on his chin with a hickory colored hand, smiling.
..............“Good morning, Prowl.” He said, voice low but kind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you.” Prowl tilted her head. She would have made it just fine by herself. She tested her vocals once, twice, humming until the words come to her.
..............“Good morning.” She replied, lowering her hand. Her voice was stilted, not quite used to being used and still processing. He seemed nice enough, even if she didn’t recognize him. “There is no need to apologize. I was merely examining my surroundings.” He nodded, glancing behind her at the desk left untouched. Satisfied, he turned and put a foot on the stairs, beckoning for her to follow.
..............“Of course.” The man said. “Well, my name is William. I’d like to introduce you to the others, if you’d accompany me upstairs.” He began to climb the stairs. Prowl knew she should follow, but her head turned to look back to the workspace and the blueprints. Surely these gears must’ve been for the project hidden there, right? She wanted to look, achingly curious, but William had already disappeared up the stairway. Prowl decided she should follow. With one last longing look, she turned and followed William up the stairs.
..............As she shut the door to the workshop behind her, she paused, taking a moment to examine the place she’d found herself in. It appeared to be some sort of store, shelves stocked and lining the walls, with a desk placed just a few feet from the doorway. The walls facing the street were mostly window, crystal clear glass letting in the warm light of the afternoon sun as it shone on a quiet town. A few mannequins stood in the window so the people passing by could see the various trinkets they wore. The store was decorated with warm colors, mostly, the walls reddish-brown and lined with gold.
Prowl, pulled from her careful examination, turned when she heard voices, tilting her head at the person who approached her. He did not look like William, the kind and caring man who welcomed her. He was tall, with copper skin and grey, metal plating wrapped around the left side of his face and down his neck. She could see wires hidden in the lines of his neck between plates of metallic skin. He was a robot, she realized, quite unlike William and herself, and it unnerved her.
..............“Hello, I am Syndicate.” He said, voice robotic and scratchy, like music through subpar speakers. His mouth moved with his words but didn’t quite line up correctly and so the words came faster than his lips moved. Prowl stared at him for a moment, stuck in her shock, before she gathered herself. It would’ve been rude of her to gawk, after all.
..............“Hello Syndicate, I am Prowl.” She replied evenly, drawn stiff and tense. He nodded jerkily, his motions dictated by the limited range of his joints and springs. His eyes blinked, one followed closely by the other, but never at the same time. If she looked closely, she could see that his copper-colored eyes glowed with neon light. Prowl nodded back, facing the second android as she approached with stilted, stiff steps. Occasionally, she faltered on her heels, but didn’t seem bothered by the minor inconvenience.
..............“Prowl! Greetings. I am Clash.” She said cheerily, synthetic curls bouncing. Her skin was silver and shone under the light of the shop, reflecting light as if she had been polished recently. On her chest was a vent glowing with yellow light. She clasped gloved hands in front of her, every movement stiff and squeaking with the desperate need to be oiled. Prowl winced in sympathy for her joints.
..............“Hello Clash. I am happy to be with you.” Prowl responded, because this seemed like the correct response, and not because she was happy. In fact, these androids unnerved her. But a glance to William and his satisfied expression had her schooling her expression, forcing herself to smile. It came in twitchy movements. Clash giggled, sounding entirely plastic, before stepping aside to let the final android through.
..............“Prowl, it is very nice to meet you. I am Consul.” Consul bowed, peering at Prowl with heterochromatic, eerily glowing eyes. One purple and one red eye stared up at her from beneath long, synthetic eyelashes. Consul’s lips were painted bright red, their skin painted porcelain white. They were nowhere near fragile, though, metal through and through. She could see light where Consul’s plating met, faint blue glowing in the cracks of their face. They had long, wavy, dark hair on one side of their head and metal plating on the other. Screws lit up as blue light pulsed in the spaces of the metal. Prowl thought it seemed almost like a heartbeat. Consul rose with stiff but swift movement. They were tall, even taller than Syndicate, probably seven feet or so. They were intimidatingly gigantic. Prowl had to tilt her head almost all the way back to meet their appraising eyes.
..............“The pleasure is mine, Consul.” Prowl responded, uncomfortable. She shifted a step back. A glance towards showed that William seemed happy that they were getting along. He was watching them with warmth in his gaze, looking as though he were reminiscing over something they reminded him of. When Prowl caught his eyes, he winked, and turned to continue his work. He was seated at the desk, appearing to fiddle with something that Prowl didn’t recognize. Like a father letting his kids play, watching them go off and do their own thing so he could work. Prowl resigned herself to being stuck with creepy robots.
..............“Prowl, Prowl, we would love to show you around town!” Clash exclaimed, taking her hand with twitching fingers. “Please, oh please, accompany us! It is not meant to rain today, after all.”
..............“We know all of the popular places.” Syndicate added, smiling at her. His cheeks didn’t move and so it didn’t reach his eyes. His expression did not comfort her. Prowl had many questions. Why was she here? Why did she wake up on a bench in William’s workshop? How did she know her name, but nothing else? She wanted so badly to ask, but the three androids were already herding her out the door, giving her no choice but to give in.
..............“William, why am I here?” Prowl asked after her day out, seated at the kitchen table. The town outside was quiet, its people settled down to sleep. Still, the androids were wide awake at night, and so Prowl found herself speaking with William, who was also wide awake and at work. She watched as he twisted a screwdriver repetitively, putting the finishing touches on a miniature wind-up tiger. He twisted the dial on its back and placed it on the table, smiling fondly when it perked up and opened its mouth to mime a roar. It had no speakers, not as advanced as the androids, so it appears more like a yawn. Its tail flicked to and fro as it padded towards her. After a moment, it stopped, powering down once more. William handed it to her, still smiling.
..............“What do you mean?” He asked, placing his loosely crossed arms on the table. Prowl’s brows furrowed and she huffed.
..............“I awoke in your workshop with nothing but my name in my head.” She responded, placing the tiger on the table. She laced her fingers together and placed them under her chin, elbows on the table. “Any reasonable person would be confused.” William’s expression shifted minutely at that. His eyes widened just slightly, brows raised, before they furrow and his eyes narrow in thought. Prowl crosses her ankles and uncrosses them anxiously. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she do something wrong?
..............“Person, hm?” He echoed and shook his head, continuing, “Ah, nevermind. Listen, you are Prowl. Your home is here, in the workshop. Isn’t that enough?” He spoke firmly, as if these were the absolute truths and nothing more. As if she had needed nothing more. It did not explain the emptiness of her memories, how she was unable to recall anything before the moment her eyes opened, nothing to her but her name. Prowl sighed. She was, of course, not satisfied. By the look on William’s face, he knew this, but he simply smiled at her. He smiled often. But they never seemed to reach his eyes. “Oh, Prowl.” He murmured, looking at her as if she were fascinating in some way. “You’re going to be beautiful.” He didn’t explain any further, leaving Prowl seated at the table as he bade her a quiet goodnight and left her.
..............In the meantime, Prowl worked with him on his various projects. She found herself amazed at the things he could make with his practiced hands, enraptured by the way he expertly pieced parts together until they formed something completely new. He made several, far more complicated things, not just toys. Prowl found herself helping him as he very, very carefully created a prosthetic arm made of steel and copper. He put his heart into each and every part, from the smallest wire to the joints linking the pieces together. She was amazed at the effort and love he put into each and every project, whether it was another wind-up toy for Clash or something far bigger.
..............One day, Prowl found herself alone in the workshop. William had asked her not to touch anything on his desk, but she was just so curious. The blueprints from when she had awoken were still on the desk, tauntingly blue in a sea of browns. There were so many papers, too, that Prowl had to wonder what William had been working on that was so complicated. She approached the desk with quiet steps, peering over the tall chair and at the prints. For a moment, she was perplexed. She leaned down further, tracing the lines with her gloved finger. She was looking at what she assumed to be the design for a very complicated leg. Intrigued, she slid the paper out of the way to look at the others.
..............The next complete blueprint showed an arm, but it was far more complicated than the prosthetic she and William had been working on. It appeared to have several types of wiring, and as she read the notes, she realized each was supposed to power a different function. One series was for simple movement of the hand. Another was for shoulder movement. A third for elbow movement. Tiny details and short notes showed that the fingers would also be mobile and independent of each other. The oddest part, though, were plans for moving blades that would slide from the forearm at the user’s command. Puzzled, Prowl looked back to the blueprints for the leg and realized that it, too, was weaponized, both with blades and several places the user could shoot bullets from. But why? Prowl knew that there had been a war, one that ended about a week before she awoke, so perhaps this was an older design for an android that would act as a soldier? This, of course, only piqued Prowl’s curiosity further. She went to slide the leg blueprints aside and was startled as William’s hand slammed down on the papers abruptly, halting their movements. The sound echoed in the silent workshop. Shocked, Prowl looked up at him. She felt oddly scared, looking into his stormy eyes as he stared back at her. He was infuriated.
..............“Ah, William, I was just—”
..............“I told you not to touch anything on my desk.” He interrupted her, voice wavering with anger. She shied back, withdrawing her hand, but William reached out with quicksilver speed and grabbed her wrist. No amount of tugging would free her from his tight grip. With his free hand, he tossed the chair between them into the wall. It shattered on impact, splinters of wood flying through the air. His shoulders heaved with each heavy, angry breath. He stalked closer, curling his hand into a fist. Prowl tugged harder, panicking. As she stared into his eyes, she noticed that they seemed glassy. Farther away, stuck in his head. “Don’t you know we’re in the middle of war? I can’t afford to have you ruin her.” He growled, tone unforgiving and biting.
..............“Please,” She pled, suddenly frightened. “Please let go. You’re hurting me.” William startled at that, releasing her and withdrawing his hand quickly. His eyes drained from their glazed look as he snapped back into reality. He looked at her as she cradled her wrist, then to the shattered chair, and down to the papers he’d torn in his rage. Prowl stepped back very carefully, reaching behind her for the railing to the stairs. She had to get away. She was scared of William, confused over his sudden aggression, and she couldn’t stand to be near him much longer. Regret flooded through William’s expression. He looked down at his shaking hands and gaped, looking lost. Like he’d been pulled out of his head from a sea of memories threatening to drown him and had barely made it out alive.
..............“Prowl, I’m sorry—” He spoke, but she sprinted up the stairs as soon as he looked away from her, fear coursing through her veins. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do, whether he would have hurt her or not, but whatever it was, she didn’t dare stay to see. If she stayed, she feared he would lose his temper again. Whatever was on the table wasn’t important enough to stay, and she banished any further curiosity from her head. “Prowl!” William called, but she was already gone, slamming the door behind her.
..............Prowl started to avoid William like the plague. She was confused, and frightened, and she didn’t know what to say to him. Should she have asked why he reacted that way? Or should she forget it ever happened? She cared for him, thought of him like a father, and he had tried to hurt her. As much as she wanted to forget, all she could remember each time she considered it was the feeling of him holding her wrist as tight as he could. All she could see were his eyes, stormy and brimming with rage. She was scared, and couldn’t stop wondering; what was William building that couldn’t be seen, no matter what? Or was he only hiding it from her?
..............In an effort to avoid William, Prowl started to spend time with the androids. She was hesitant, but she much rathered their company over William’s. She was pleasantly surprised as she got to know each android. Clash, she discovered, had a collection of miniature wind-up animals gifted to her by William. Prowl grimaced at the reminder each time she brought up William, but quietly listened as Clash told her about each little toy. Clash adored each and every one, but she was kind, letting Prowl delicately examine each one to her heart’s content. Clash loved to wander around town and was saddened when the rain came down. She would watch the drops, sometimes, tracing them as they travelled down the cool window with a dull, silver finger. It left Prowl puzzled. Such wonder, such dismay, so many emotions displayed by nothing but metal and wires cleverly built to resemble a human.
..............Syndicate kept plants, to Prowl’s surprise. Many, many plants, almost taking over his room with the amount of them. He had everything from tiny succulents to gigantic spider plants, even a moss ball floating peacefully in a fish bowl. He cared for each and every one of them, too. It was a daunting task, but Prowl found herself joining in, watering and trimming alongside him. He seemed to enjoy the quiet, and soon Prowl learned that she enjoyed it, too. It was nice to just be in each other’s company, enraptured by their tasks as they cradled life in their hands.
..............Consul had too many books to count, and most of them were philosophical. It was puzzling, really, because Prowl hadn’t expected a robot to keep books that challenge existence. She hadn’t really thought that Consul could think like that. Her preconceived notions were swiftly corrected, however, as she found herself deep in discussion with them over, ironically, robots.
..............“Can a robot love?” Prowl asked. Consul hummed, tightening a screw on their neck absentmindedly. They took a moment to think, and eventually spoke.
..............“Can we?” Consul fired back, heterochromatic eyes fixing Prowl with a challenging gaze. “What do you think?” Prowl paused to think, hand rising to tap her chin thoughtfully. She had seen Clash, seen the look in her eyes when William gifted her another wind-up toy. She’d seen Syndicate as he tended to his plants, running golden fingers over leaves he can’t even feel. And Consul handled their books with such careful consideration for the yellow, aging pages that Prowl wanted to believe it true. Did she truly believe it, though? She had seen all these actions displayed by the android trio, but what if it was all programming? How did they know that William didn’t make them to adore, to care, to learn? Consul sighed, blowing steam from between their lips, and the discussion ended there.
..............It was in the middle of the night, when the sky was dark and lit only by the stars and pale moon, when the first bomb dropped. Prowl was at the kitchen table when it happened, looking out the window as she admired the gleaming stars shining in the midnight sky. One moment, she was looking out at a peaceful, sleeping town. In the very next, she was watching flames blossom and climb higher and higher, devouring everything in sight with their powerful, destructive heat. Prowl stood abruptly, stool scratching against the tile and falling to the floor with a loud clang. She was frozen, stuck staring as the bright oranges and yellows ate at the darkness. Buildings fell with deafening crashes and rumbles, and the chaos began.
..............“Prowl!” Syndicate shouted, standing in the doorway with a copper, gleaming hand outstretched for her to take. She could see flames reflected in his warm skin, meeting his wide, flickering eyes. Behind him was Clash, her eyes wide and terrified. Still, their dim glow was comforting in the darkness. Prowl moved, taking Syndicate’s hand firmly and trusting he would lead her to safety. He dragged her down the hall, her feet fumbling and stumbling in an effort to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. Consul waited for them at the top of the stairs. Their brow plates were furrowed in stress, eyes flicking from the three of them to behind them.
..............“Where is William?” They asked, terrified at the realization that crept up on them. Prowl exchanged looks of horror with the androids as they all simultaneously realized the danger William could be in.
..............“He wasn’t in his room,” Clash said, her free hand gripping her black skirts tightly. Prowl could hear her body rattling as she shook, watching Clash wring the fabric nervously.
..............“He must be in the basement.” Syndicate realized and promptly dragged the girls down the stairs as Consuls thundered down the steps. Prowl focused on placing one foot in front of the other, bursting into the store and halting as she saw the fire raging around them.
..............“I thought—I thought the war was over!” Prowl exclaimed. In the distance, she heard another awful explosion and felt it rock the earth beneath her boots. Syndicate ran a hand through his blue hair in stress. His eyes were piercing as he fixed her with a solemn gaze.
..............“We did too.” He replied lowly, and tugged on her hand again, more insistent this time. “We have to go, Prowl, there’s a bomb shelter just outside.” She shook her head, briefly glancing up at the beams balanced precariously above them all. They’ll fall soon, and when they do, they’ll block the front door. The realization slammed into her abruptly. In that moment, Prowl had two options. She could let Consul go after William, risking their life, or she could go. Prowl smiled faintly at thought. Here she was, sacrificing herself for a robot she once thought lifeless. But they weren’t, and they deserved to keep living and defying everyone else’s standards.
..............“William’s still down there.” She argued, yanking her hand from his grip decisively. “I’ll go.” She insisted. Consul whipped around, reaching for her, but as Prowl predicted, the beams came collapsing down in sudden, crashing motion that sent dust flying up, almost blinding her. She stumbled back a step, watching her family disappear behind the rubble. She steeled herself, and flung open the workshop door, skipping steps in her hurry to get to her father. She was running out of time; William was only human. Fragile, breakable. . . killable.
..............Smoke curled around her and rose to the ceiling, flooding the room as the fire spread. William was prone on the floor, coughing as the smoke invaded his lungs mercilessly.Prowl wasted no time scooping William up from the floor with surprising ease, hauling him up to his feet and worriedly peering at his face, covered in ash and smeared with oil. He coughed, prying open his eyes to look up at her.
..............“Prowl,” He rasped, surprised, and burst into a coughing fit. Prowl wrapped his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist, dragging his stumbling feet towards the stairs. Pained tears form in the corners of his eyes. Prowl picked him up fully, holding him on her back, and ran up the stairs as quickly as she could.
..............They burst through the door and once more, Prowl halted, scanning the room for possible exits. All around them the shop fell to ruin, fire along the shelves and devouring the platform where mannequins had once stood.
..............“The back door.” William said, voice hoarse. He slid off her back and hobbled over toward the exit, Prowl right at his side. Suddenly, Prowl heard the groaning of wood, and looked up to see one of the shelves falling down towards them. William froze, but Prowl moved, extending her forearm and slashing downwards to cut the thing in harmless halves with the blade extending from her limb. Shocked, she stared at the blade as the reflection of the fire flickered in the metal.
..............William avoided her betrayed eyes and tears open the door, stumbling forward as the house rumbled and shuddered in warning. Prowl moved to follow him but found herself falling to her knees in the doorway, the walls collapsing in on her, barely able to throw her hands up to bear the weight in time. William stopped, turning to her. He was so close, stood in the hall before the door. Prowl was hurt, and confused, but she knew William would not survive if he stayed much longer.
..............“Go!” Prowl screamed, but he refused. He tore at the rubble, wordless in his shock and fear as she strained to hold it up, her body shaking with the effort. “William, go, please!” There was a whistling, clear even through the roaring of the flames. Prowl could hear people screaming for her, crying for William, but she couldn’t move or she’d be crushed. “Just leave—” She pled—
..............And then the bomb hit, and Prowl knew no more.
..............Prowl opened her eyes to wooden boards and dust floating above her, lit by the sunlight shining through the window to her right. She laid there for a moment, confused and hopeful, flexing her fingers experimentally. They were in working order. She rolled her ankles, and flexed her toes. They were also in working order. She rose, arms pushing her body up. Her hair fell into her face. She reached up to brush it aside and halted, staring at her hands. Her ungloved, golden hands, with spaces where the joints met. She could see wires poking through those spaces, copper and blue and red and—
..............She shoved herself off the workbench and stared at the workshop around her. In many ways, it was the same, but at the same time it was nowhere near her home. The desk was seated by a large window, where natural light illuminated a clean area free of papers or blueprints. Prowl could feel her heart cracking. This was not her home. This was not William’s workshop. Slowly, almost numbly, she looked to the door as it swung open.
..............A boy, dressed in a white shirt with a brown vest unbuttoned over it, stepped inside as he folded up his sleeves. He had a head half shaved and dreadlocks on the unshaved side, hair dark and nowhere near as grey as William’s had been. His brown pants were oil stained and clearly well worn. He grinned from ear to ear when he saw her up and moving, clapping his hands together and assessing her with pale blue eyes. He was human, just like William. He looked like William, too, just younger.
..............“Prowl!” He exclaimed, stepping closer and lifting her arm, examining the golden and white plating. He pressed a button on her wrist and the metal popped open, revealing a screen with a chart of her body on it. The entire silhouette was green, and a thumbs up sat on the bottom of the screen. “Looks like you’re all good.” Effortlessly, as if he hadn’t tipped her whole world upside down, he pushed the cover to her arm back on and let it click into place. He took her chin in one hand and shone a light into her eyes, holding a finger up for her to track. “You’d been in pretty bad shape after the bombing; I was worried you’d have to be scrapped and reprogrammed into a new body, but I was able to salvage most of you and recreate the rest.” He pocketed the light and took her other arm, bending the wrist and then the elbow. He leaned down to listen to the sound of the joints moving, continuing as if nothing was wrong, “Although, it did take me a while, with the war having resumed once more. I didn’t have the time to fix you, ComBot or not, because making a new combat-ready android was much quicker than fixing one.
..............“ComBot?” Prowl finally echoed, just now noticing the scratchiness to her voice, like slightly broken speakers. The boy frowned at this, reaching up to press a button on her throat. The plating slid aside for him to view the literal voice box.
..............“Combat oriented robot.” He explained shortly and leaned back to peer up at her inquisitively. “Didn’t you know? Grandpa Pete made you for the war, but then there was that month or so of peace before the fire. He probably thought you could live with his other androids now that it was peaceful.” Prowl looked down at her mechanical fingers. She flexed them again, watching the stiff movements and listening to the gentle whirs of her joints. Robotic.
..............“I am a robot?” Prowl found herself murmuring, gobsmacked. The boy gave her a strange look. He didn’t respond, instead unscrewing her voice speaker with a small screwdriver. Mute for the moment, Prowl watched as he placed it on the desk and opened the bottom right drawer to pull out a shiny, new speaker. He placed it in her throat, screwed it in, and slid the cover back on. “You said William was your grandfather. Where is he?” At her question, the boy frowned and averted his gaze.
..............“Oh, Prowl.” He said, voice laced with grief, “Grandpa didn’t make it out of the workshop. It’s all gone now; I had to move what was left of his work to my workshop. But you-- you’re beautiful. You tried to save him, remember?”
..............Prowl had wondered, a long time ago, if robots could love. If robots could feel, even, and here she had her answer. Here was a robot who loved with all her heart and felt the boy’s words settle deep within her, stabbing into the fuse that kept her powered on. She felt her heart shatter into a million pieces, raising her unmoving, unshaken hands to her mouth and wishing she wasn’t so still, so robotic, because she didn’t feel robotic. She felt devastated, heartbroken, guilty, human, knowing that William would have lived if she hadn’t gotten stuck. If she had just let the building crush her, would William have made it out?
The boy continued to run diagnostics on her, but Prowl’s mind was elsewhere. She was quiet until he led her out of the room, walking down the hall and watching her feet step jerkily, one after the other. As she passed by a mirror on the wall, she caught sight of her own neon, glowing, blue eyes, and promptly averted her gaze. She was a robot who could love, and now her heart was broken.
..............She entered the shop and stopped. Three androids turned to meet her, one silver, one copper, and one paper white. For a moment, none of them moved, staring at each other. Clash was the first to move, wrapping her arms around her tightly as she buried her face in Prowl’s chest. If she could cry, she would have been, positively overjoyed at her friend’s return. Prowl placed a hand on Clash’s back. Syndicate stepped up next, placing a hand on her shoulder and meeting her eyes with a solemn gaze. He turned to watch Consul, who did not touch Prowl, but met her gaze knowingly.
..............“Can robots love, Prowl?” Consul asked. Prowl had an answer, now, a small smile on her golden, mechanical, artificial face. Inhuman as she was, she knew the answer deep down inside of her.
..............“Of course we can.”
Last edited by Guest on Mon Feb 17, 2020 11:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
