To everyone in the room, she seemed like just a normal girl wearing Vans, bluejeans, and a red hoodie.

Only she heard the whirring servos, the soft click of gears, the hum of electronics. Only she knew who she really was.

“Come on,” said the boy with the gun. “Five high, six die. Earn it.”

He handed her the gun. Her frail, all-too-human finger curled around the trigger.

This wasn’t happening to her. This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t her.

“I’m a robot, I’m a robot, I’m a robot,” she repeated to herself as she pointed the gun and fired.