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“WHO IS THIS?” A robotic voice rang out, equal lengths inquisitive and curious.
“Hm?” His creator tilted his head slightly, as he eagerly scrubbed a stubborn patch on the machine’s back. “Who are you talking about?”
Fully decked with rubber shoes, kitchen apron and scrubs, nothing will get past him. Must always keep his magnum opus in top shape at all times… you never know when Blackrock will come knocking on his door. They could have knocked several times since he began scrubbing already. He gave a lazy glance at the faded polaroid photo his machine seemed to have sourced, and did a double take. But he recomposed himself.
“...ah, him .” He scoffed before returning to his work. “You’ve seen him before, my invention. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. I didn’t make you to forget.”
“I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN, CREATOR. HE IS MEDKIT, A SUPPORT PHIGHTER.” The robot dutifully replied in the same monotonous voice. “HE IS A TRAITOR.”
“And what do we do to traitors, hmm?”
“EXTERMINATE ON SIGHT.”
“See? You get it.”
“BUT, WHY?”
“What do you mean but why??” The creator grunted as he struggled with the spot that was more stubborn than it looked. “I thought you understood me clearly, creation.”
“AFFIRMATIVE. ALL TRAITORS MUST NOT BE LEFT ALIVE.” The robot seemed to ponder as it stared at the photo in its hands. “NOW I AM INQUIRING AS TO THE REASON FOR THE LABEL. WHY MUST HE BE LABELLED THUS?”
The creator paused, tense. Completely motionless, this sudden change of atmosphere would have set off alarms to any other person. Awkward throat clearing or frantic apologies would be in place, given his reputation. But the company he shared with was not of flesh. It had yet to understand the gravity of the situation. In fact, it seemed to await an answer, as always.
“...are you questioning me, my creation?” His tone was now colder than the metal surface he rested his hands on, forming a fist. A father ready to reassert his authority.
“NEGATIVE.” The robot remained calm, yet firm. “I MERELY WISH TO LEARN THE REASONING BEHIND SUCH A LABEL. I DO NOT INTEND TO DEFY SUCH ORDER. THAT IS CLEAR TO ME.”
The creator sighed, tossing his sponge onto the concrete floor. It made a funny little splatter as it did, attracting the robot’s watchful attention.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to explain…” He got up to stretch his limbs as he walked over to grab a fresh cup of joe. He followed along a complex wall of flashing circuits and tubes, only to stop by a counter at the end that presented him with a nice espresso, just the way he liked it.
“CREATOR?”
“Let’s just say… we had some creative differences. That’ll be easy for you to understand, wouldn’t it, my creation?” The creator hummed as he sipped on his coffee, putting down the teaspoon.
“...NEGATIVE. I HAVE NO CONCEPT OF CREATIVITY. THUS, I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND YOUR REASONING, CREATOR.”
“Oh don’t sell yourself short! You were amazing out there! With the various ways you managed to carry out your commands — Blackrock smiles on us both!” The creator walked over to rub onto the robot’s head, stroking his own ego.
“THOSE WERE NOT CREATIVITY, CREATOR. I MERELY IMPLEMENT WHAT I HAVE LEARNED, AND APPLIED ACCORDINGLY.” The robot looked down on the floor as it received affection from its progenitor.
“You get the point. Anyway, it’s exactly that. We used to work together. As a team. We’re supposed to have the same goals, or so I thought…” The creator continued on his steaming drink. “We started off doing different things. But that didn’t matter. We’re still walking on the same path. Thought that he was someone to be trusted, that he knew what he had signed up for… Treated him like a colleague.”
The robot subtly leaned closer to its creator, eagerly following a rare storytime moment.
“Suddenly, he turned on us. Betrayed everything we had worked for. And still, in the end he makes me look like the villain. The VILLAIN! When I wasn’t the one who deviated from the script. The audacity!” The creator angrily slammed his cup onto the kitchen counter, spilling remnants of his coffee. “Can you believe that, my creation? Can you believe such a cowardly fool?”
“NEGATIVE, CREATOR. THAT IS A LIE HARD TO ACCEPT.”
“You mean his twisted perception, right? Not me?”
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
“To think that I, the greatest inventor of all, would ever fall for his lies… And gave him my trust,” The creator sighed, his eyes twitching as they darted to the now dirty eggshell countertop. “So that’s why you have to kill him on sight. He’s a filthy traitorous sycophant, aiming to please and bootlick until it doesn’t serve his needs anymore. Any more questions?”
The robot seemed to assess this newfound knowledge intently, seemingly longer than it usually took. “AFFIRMATIVE. OTHER THAN YOUR CURRENT LABEL ON HIM, WHAT IS THE STATUS QUO NOW BETWEEN YOU AND HIM, CREATOR?”
“What else?” The creator had a lethal glint in his eyes as he wiped away the spilled coffee. “He betrayed Blackrock. He betrayed us. He betrayed ME. I don’t think it’s any different than what I already told you to do. Except, I will take great joy the day his self-preserving powers fail him. That pesky little cockroach—”
The doorbell rang. The creator’s head shot up, scrambling to put everything down as he made a beeline for the apartment’s front door. He swung open the door, revealing an annoyed demon clad in green formal wear.
“Your groceries for the week.” Medkit sighed as he shoved bags filled with fresh vegetables and tin cans. “Non-perishables in the smaller bag.”
Subspace dug his hand through the vegetables bag, rummaging violently as Medkit rolled his eyes. “Hey!! I asked for more tomatoes! There’s only two here! THREE LESSER than last time!”
“The market was out, Subspace. What do you want me to do, start a farm for you?” Medkit began walking away. “Be thankful I even came today.”
“How much more of a betrayal can a man get, huh?” Subspace hollered out.
“Then do your own groceries next time. Or make Biograft or whatever it is you named it to do it for you. I’m done.” Medkit replied as he walked down the apartment stairs. Subspace felt a wave of fear wash over him.
“H-Hey, I didn’t mean that! You know how I feel about… talking to service workers.” Subspace’s voice lowered to a whisper at the end. “Thanks, okay? You wanna… come in for a drink? I just brewed coffee!”
“...” Medkit just shot at his former colleague a tired stare, furrowing his eyebrows. “...I’ll be back next week. Try not to die. Or do. I don’t care.”
With that, the deliveryman disappeared, and the world’s greatest inventor slammed the door behind him, groceries in hand. “Can’t believe it! Unbelievable! Cheated by him, YET AGAIN!! Help me with these, my creation!”
“AFFIRMATIVE.” Biograft shot over to his creator and effortlessly lifted the groceries off Subspace’s hands and onto the kitchen countertop. “GIVEN THE LACK OF SUFFICIENT TOMATOES, NO TOMATO SOUP TONIGHT, CREATOR?”
“Seems like it, my creation.” Subspace grumbled. “I bet he hoarded all the tomatoes for himself. He’s the type to do that. Sucks that I have to keep you out of the public for now, my creation. I’m dying to let the world know what you’re capable of… And to stop relying on that cheater. At least you’ll make sure I get my tomatoes.”
“ANOTHER QUESTION, CREATOR.” Biograft noted as he emptied all grocery bags and arranged them categorically during the time Subspace droned on his complaints. “SINCE THAT WAS UNMISTAKENABLY THE TRAITOR, WHY ARE YOU STILL DEPENDENT ON HIM? WHY DO YOU NOT GIVE ME THE ORDER TO ELIMINATE HIM, AS YOU ALWAYS DO?”
“You sure have a lot of questions today, my creation.” Subspace gave a look to his overtly curious invention. “First, sometimes the means of survival outweigh all else. Second, you kill when I tell you to kill. If I don’t, don’t question it.”
“BUT HE IS A THREAT TO YOUR INTERESTS, AND TO BLACKROCK.” The robot pointed out as he began firing up the cooking pans, cracking eggs.
“Blackrock doesn’t need someone to bring groceries to them every week.”