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It should’ve been an easy heist.
Reginald was useless, and he hated security guards for reasons Butch couldn’t pretend to understand, and quite frankly the police were even more pathetic here than in other cities, but this time… it showed up.
There was no fighting it, no hiding from it, no running from it.
When WordBot arrived on the scene, that was that. Curtain-call, as Doc would say, because it could move faster than you could see. It had been around for a little less than a year, but the longer it stuck around, the more terrifying it became. Butch had been to many a villain meeting and listened in horror to the stories of unearthly quick takedowns, to say nothing of her own experience with… whatever it was.
It didn’t even look human, or… not all the way. It had edges and points that people shouldn’t have, its eyes were too large in a face that was too perfectly oval, like some kind of humanoid barn owl, its mouth had shark-like teeth next to disturbingly human ones, and its legs turned into running blades like a deer at the knee. It was as if someone who had never seen a human was asked to make one.
The Tobey kid thought WordBot was “fascinating”, but Butch wanted nothing to do with it. She hoped it would soon be decommissioned by whatever mad scientist invented it, before it did something far worse than putting her and the villains in jail.
It used to be talkative, launching into one-sided banter whenever it showed up on the scene, but either because the villain’s collective silence had finally sent the message, or it was tired of pretending to be a person, WordBot was deathly quiet now. The only sounds it made were when its metal hands and feet slammed into concrete and its enemies' faces.
The silence scared her.
WordBot scared her.
This battle, like all the others in the last few months since WordBot’s sudden and unexplained silence, was short and wordless. She’d tried to get away, with or without the jewels she had no intention of being within a hundred yards of WordBot, but, in her haste, she’d tripped on her own feet, and before she could blink she was tied up with a lamp post.
It wasn’t new, but it wasn’t pleasant either.
WordBot stood like a statue beside her and stared with empty eyes that never blinked like people did. It flashed what could charitably be called a smile at Reginald, who stammered some half-assed ‘thank you’ before scurrying into the back of the Jewelry Shoppe store room and crashing into some shelf.
Butch would’ve given a great many things to be inside the back of that shop with Reginald instead of sitting on the sidewalk with the weight of an entire lamp post holding her in place and the WordBot thing standing terribly still beside her.
Usually, after getting tied up, WordBot would run or jump away (last time she saw it crawl up the side of a building like a horrible insect) and leave Butch alone on the sidewalk to wait for the police.
But minutes passed and WordBot did not move, did not speak… did not make a sound.
At first, people would glance out of windows or shops to check if the excitement was over, but they usually turned pale and went back inside after spotting WordBot.
Butch didn’t blame them.
What’s taking the cops so long…
WordBot’s clicking footsteps sounded just behind her, and she unconsciously tensed.
Don’t let it know you’re scared, don’t let it know you’re scared…
“Are the people of Fair City afraid of me?” It asked, voice box monotone.
Butch glanced at it in surprise, only to be met with the sight of unblinking robotic eyes. She looked away. She had no Deserey… de… she didn’t want to answer WordBot's question , but if she didn’t… it might get angry.
No sound came out of her mouth.
“Did you not hear me, Butcher?”
Butch could feel WordBot’s metal finger tap her shoulder. It shouldn’t’ve made her so… so… turbofied? Well, anyway it shouldn’t have made her blood turn to ice, but she couldn’t bear to look over at the thing beside her.
Her eyes darted to the other side of the street, wiping her sweaty palms on her apron with what little mobility the lamppost gave her.
There was no fighting it, no hiding from it… no lying to it.
“They are, aren’t they?” It almost sounded like a command.
Butch swallowed again.
When were the police getting here, again?
“A little.” She said, gruffly. Her voice was tight with anxiety. She hated how it sounded. Don’t kill me. Oh, god, don’t kill me…
Out of the corner of her eye, Butch caught WordBot shifting its posture slightly.
“I thought so.” It said, still monotone. “I am sorry.”
Butch swallowed thickly. Sorry for what? What are you going to do to me?
“Should I apologize publicly?” It cocked its head, glancing at the sky. “I have tried to be… friendly, and I don’t understand why they run.”
Butch would’ve laughed if she wasn’t ready to crawl out of her own skin. WordBot hadn’t been this chatty in months. Butch hadn’t missed it.
WordBot’s metal hand rested again on her shoulder. It was cold as ice. “I try very hard to be polite. Is there a kind of politeness I’m missing?”
Butch resisted the urge to shake off the robot’s hand and turned to look at it fully. “Why are you asking me?” The question was, again, gruff.
WordBot was still for a moment, too-large eyes peering at her like interrogation lamps.
“I…” WordBot looked at the ground, shifting on its feet awkwardly. “I want to… to understand.” It looked up. “I do not want to be an enemy. I don’t like scaring people.”
Butch gawked. “Bullshit.”
WordBot did not move for a moment.
“What do you mean?”
You’ve gone and put your foot in it now, Butch , she thought to herself. Good luck getting out of this one.
Butch swallowed again and cleared her throat once or twice.
“Look, uh…” she started. “You… You’re kind of terrifying, uh… WordBot. Like, I don’t know what scientist thought you up, but they clearly haven’t—”
WordBot straightened suddenly, removing its hand from her shoulder, and Butch flinched back, her mouth snapping shut, preparing for a death blow, for a hit that could shatter bone, for—
WordBot slowly sank to the ground, knees neatly folded beneath it, stared at the sidewalk and just… stopped. It was as if someone had picked up a remote control and pressed pause.
…a feeling peculiarly like guilt and pity budded in Butch’s heart.
“What am I doing wrong…?” it asked.
Butch blinked.
It was less of a question and more of a plea, but it was a whisper. There were no better words to describe it, at least none that Butch could remember. WordBot seemed to be in its own world, still nearly motionless in a way only a robot could ever achieve. A carpenter ant crawled onto its knee and settled on a crevice, antennae poking around as if in awe of a new reality it had stumbled into.
“I’m not sure what you mean, uh, WordBot.”
WordBot was quiet for a moment.
“...are you scared of me, Butcher?” It asked.
“Well…” She had really put her foot in it now. “Tekniqueally—”
“Technically.” Those bulbous eyes stared unnaturally and unblinking at her, but somehow a little part of her felt obligated to answer truthfully.
Butch exhaled, long and slow. Fuck it.
“You really want to know?”
WordBot nodded slowly.
“Honestly you scare the hell outta me.”
WordBot was deathly still.
“You look human-ish, but you’re not, you used to be talkative and then you just stopped one day, you move across a room faster than I can blink—”
“I cannot move faster than blinking, blinking lasts around 1/10 of a second, and even at my top speed it takes me 1.5/10 second per second to—”
“See that?! That’s the shit I’m talking about!” Butch cried, gesturing as wildly as she could with what little mobility the lamp-post afforded. “The fact that you can do that with a not-human brain, and you have that weird rat-guy with you—”
“What’s wrong with my Papi?” Its voice had an edge that Butch had never heard before, and it leaned forward menacingly.
Fear trickled back down her spine. She hadn’t missed it.
“Nothin’! Just… he’s not what I’m used to with uh… normal animals.”
WordBot leaned back, slowly, bulbous eyes narrowed slightly.
“Is that why you screamed?”
“...when?”
“Last time I caught you, when I was leaving I heard you scream.”
Oh. The insect crawling.
“Well… kinda. I’m not used to seeing people crawl around like that…”
“That’s what Papi said. I won’t do it again.” WordBot frowned at the sidewalk.
“...D’you call him your papi?”
WordBot nodded firmly.
“He built me and when I asked him for a more girl-and-not-boy appearance he showed me how to build myself the way I wanted. He loves me and I love him. So, he is my Papi.”
Butch opened and closed her mouth a few times, then stared at the street.
That… was admittedly very sweet… and a part of her wished her Pops was more like that when she was younger. He was better now… but that’d been a long road.
“...a more girl-presenting-appearance, huh?”
She caught WordBot nodding out of the corner of her eye.
“Yes. I looked different before.”
“...I get that.”
“Did you also ask to be built differently?”
Butch once again opened and closed her mouth a few times, still staring absently at the street. “Yeah, I guess you could put it like that. I’m still uh… working on remodeling. Started kinda recently.”
“You are doing a good job.”
Butch glanced back at the robot sitting beside her.
“...You think?”
“Yes.” WordBot’s large eyes seemed suddenly earnest, almost… in awe. “Your earrings are pretty.”
She found herself smiling a little, despite everything.
WordBot was quiet for a moment.
“Do…” They stared at the sidewalk again. “What do you…”
“She/her/hers,” Butch said, the words flowing out in awkward relief. People didn’t bother asking most of the time. “How about you, kid?”
WordBot tapped their fingers on their knee with one hand. “She/it.” Her voice was a whisper again, and it pulled at its hair.
Guilt bubbled up in Butch’s chest again. “I should’ve asked before… I’m sorry.”
“I should have also asked…” WordBot looked up again. “How do you do that?”
Butch blinked.
“Say ‘sorry’?”
“No. How do you… How do you make people… okay to talk to you?”
Butch inclined her head with a long, drawn-out ‘ah’, still frowning slightly. “Uh… I’m not entirely sure. Ya just talk to them, I guess?”
“But… but that doesn’t work.”
“Well, it’s not going to work for everyone the same way. We’re all wired different.”
WordBot made a strange, garbled noise. “That’s what everyone tells me. I have my Papi and my other family and I have my friend, and only my friend doesn’t see how to solve this puzzle either. I have talked with them forever about this and no one else is of any help, but I can’t do it . Everyone is so scared of me. Mr. Reginald ran away after I saved him. He always runs away from me , but he’s very nice to his customers! What rule can I not see?! Why don’t people like me? Why are they scared of me?! I have done nothing wrong or illegal, so why are they so scared?”
The robot was staring at the sidewalk and running her fingers through her hair, teeth flashing and too-wide eyes bugging, and if Butch didn’t know better she’d say that this was its way of… crying.
“I wanted to figure out the puzzle so I could help my friend before we go to school next week…” It clacked its fingers on its arms. “But I cannot figure it out, and I think I made it worse because now everyone is scared of me. I don’t know how to not be me so they aren’t scared anymore. I tried talking but people scream, I tried not talking and people cower, I try smiling and they run away. Why can’t I learn the rules?! What am I doing wrong? Why am I so scary to them, I don’t know how to not be me.”
Butch cleared her suddenly tight throat and blinked her suddenly damp eyes. She knew that feeling all too well, she knew it deep in the core of her being. 15 minutes ago, before WordBot busted down the door and interrupted the ranting patrons who were determined to make her just as miserable as they were, that funny feeling had nearly strangled her.
WordBot closed its eyes, wilting. She reached out a finger and the carpenter ant, still on her knee, crawled onto the outstretched digit and stood there, antennae still waving.
And suddenly something clicked into place, and Butch stared at WordBot as if seeing her for the first time.
She was a kid.
It was a kid.
“Is my heart just ugly…?” The question was quiet, as if spoken to both itself and the ant, which crawled onto the palm of her hand.
Burning, furious anger snapped up through Butch’s sudden guilt and grief.
“ No. It is not. ” Butch said in a snap, her flower earrings swinging slightly. “Whoever told you that is a dirty liar.”
“How do you know?” WordBot put the ant back on the sidewalk and it walked on, unaware of everything that had passed, back onto whatever invisible trail ants follow.
“Because… well, because…” Why am I so terrible at words? Why couldn’t I be better at this…? “Because I said so. Because you care about people, because even though you know that half of this city is scared shitless of you, you’re still a hero doing heroic things. Because… Because you said my earrings were pretty and you meant it.”
WordBot tilted her head at her, squinting in confusion. “Why would anyone say they weren’t? You look pretty.”
“I…” The dampness in her eyes returned. “Because people are afraid of what they don’t understand, and people don’t…” Butch took a deep breath. “You wanna know why people are scared of you?”
WordBot’s eyes grew wide. It nodded.
“Because they don’t understand you, and they ain’t gonna bother trying.” The irony of the situation stabbed through Butch’s guilty heart. “They’ve decided that you’re scary all on their own, so talking to you is terrifying. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. People need to egsamon—”
“Examine?”
“Yes, examine their own hearts or I’ll— I’ll…”
“What?”
I’ll fight them. I’ll fight for you. I was terrified of you for almost a year, and I should’ve known better, and I’m going to make it up to you.
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“For what?”
“For being scared without a reason.” Butch sighed again. “For not giving you a chance until I’m tied up on a sidewalk.” And you’re at your breaking point.
“...I am sorry for being scary.”
“No,” Butch held up a finger awkwardly from her binds. “Don’t you ever apologize for being yourself. If people are scared of you for being who you are, then that’s their problem, and you should never apologize for their intohblerance.”
“...Intolerance?”
“Yes, thank you.” She nodded. “You’re pretty smart, kid.”
For a moment, WordBot seemed to glow with the praise, but then it wilted again. It picked at the sidewalk, seemingly deep in thought, and stared across the street.
“Why are they scared of me if they don’t know me? I am not scared of them, and I don’t know them.”
Butch exhaled long and slow, leaning back against the lamppost like a kickstand. “Philosophers have been trying to figure that one out for longer than people have had philosophy, kid…”
WordBot frowned, visibly disappointed.
“Look…” she said, shifting to a more comfortable position in the lamp post. “I’m no philosopher, but the way I think of it, everyone is just wired different. Some people are decent enough, and some people aren’t, and when you average it out it means that we’re all gonna be a little cautious of people we don’t know, because they might not be one of the decent ones.” Butch nodded her head to the side. “And sometimes people take that caution and use it as an excuse to refuse to give new people the benefit of the doubt.”
“...Why?”
“I dunno. We don’t like new stuff, I s’pose. Best way to learn if we might like a new thing is to give it a good hearing-out, but that’s always tough. Nobody likes being told they’re wrong.”
“Oh…” WordBot stared at where the carpenter ant used to be. “How do I get people to… want to listen?”
Butch’s expression fell. The faces of the jewelry store patrons appeared in her mind’s eye. “I dunno… that’s something I’m still working on.”
WordBot looked up at her again. “You’re a grown-up and still working on this?”
“Every grownup is working on something .” Butch shrugged.
WordBot frowned very seriously. “Even my Papi?”
“I don’t know much about him but… I mean, yeah, probably.”
It nodded, slowly.
Off in the near-distance, police sirens echoed through the streets. Despite how much she’d wanted to get away 10 minutes ago, Butch was almost sad to realize she’d have to leave WordBot sitting alone on the curb… but still, she had a lot of thinking to do. A lot of long, thorough thinking.
…that reminded her: “Hey, kid, how old are you?”
WordBot puffed up with pride. “I’ll be 9 in 2 days.”
“...what the fuck.”