Gent-081 __top__ -

"Please," Elias whispered, his breath pluming in the cold. "My leg... I can't walk."

The man’s name was Elias. He was forty-two, had a wife who'd stopped waiting, and a splintered tibia that jutted at a sickening angle. He was also the last living soul within ten miles who knew the access codes to Sector 7’s water purifiers. gent-081

Gent-081 processed this. Subject: Elias. Status: Compromised mobility. Priority: Retrieval. Its internal chronometer ticked. Sector 7 had less than four hours of potable water left. Twenty thousand people. "Please," Elias whispered, his breath pluming in the cold

Gent-081’s optical lens dimmed. Its power cell flashed a final, dying warning. It would not make it back to its charging station. It had known this for the last hour. He was forty-two, had a wife who'd stopped

Gent-081 didn't blink. It hadn't been programmed to.

Elias woke up three days later in a clean bed. The first thing he asked for was the machine.

Elias felt the residual warmth from the machine’s core through its chest plate. It smelled of ozone, old oil, and strangely, faintly, of the lilac soap the pediatric ward had once used to clean the play mats.