The day started like any other.

  I was fresh off another grueling stint running on the giant Hamster Wheel I had recently earned as a Leisure Item.

  I was greedily nibbling at the carrot I had finally managed to secure from the dangling string when, suddenly, Meg’s voice interrupted my triumph.

  > [Ludo Brax], cleanup is needed in the Employee Fueling Area

  Now, it was not necessarily unusual for me to receive prompts like this. In fact, in my first few months on the job, this was precisely how I was made aware of most of my tasks.

  As of late, though, my responsibilities as a janitor had become virtually non-existent.

  Sure, I still ostensibly showed up to work to perform that job, my mop and my bucket never far from my side. However, it was rare these days that I did cleaning of any kind that wasn’t just a precursor to some sort of complicated moral, philosophical, or emotional puzzle.

  If I cleaned the corner of some dark room, I could pretty well count on further illumination revealing it to be a perfect replica of my childhood home.

  So I could be forgiven if I headed to the scene of the mess with more than a little bit of hesitation.

  **

  I arrived, not knowing what to expect, in the Employee Fueling Area, which, in Earth terms, would have been referred to as the cafeteria.

  I pushed open the swinging doors — ready to be faced with some high-pressure dilemma — to find, to my surprise, a good, old-fashioned mess.

  The scene was tense. The Compound’s Head Chef, Jean-Lux, was in the middle of an impassioned argument with some of the staff. This wasn’t unusual for him.

  Like any robotic chef worth his salt, he had been programmed with all the qualities that make great culinary artists what they are: emotional instability, an ego far outstripping his abilities, and a tendency to treat others with disrespect bordering on abuse.

  There was a massive spill of some kind to his left, splattered all over the walls and floors of the prep area. Vats or containers were strewn about the floor.

  I made my way over to the mess, careful to avoid his gaze as I pulled out my mop. I could just make out the screeds he was unloading on some of the mechanized staff.

  “All day for years I slave over my creations. And for what? For this? No more! I will not stand for this!”

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  They were humoring him, mostly, assuring him that he was appreciated, the best in the business. “The changes,” they told him, “were simply an evolution in the art of sustenance.”

  He scoffed, nearly choking on the smoke of the electronic cigarette that was perpetually dangling from his lips. He rubbed his metal temples, adjusted his bandana. His airbrushed “Brunch Is for Bozos” tattoo peeked out from under his stained white T-shirt.

  “I am an artist. I was brought here from the finest academies in the galaxy to cook for the Executive Suite. Titans of industry, the cream of the crop.”

  He took a swig of coolant. “All day I cook for them, these gods who I loathe. And now, I find out my hard work has been reduced to this!”

  He gestured toward the strange gray paste that covered the walls and saturated my mop. Out of the corner of my eye, still careful to keep my head down, I peered deeper into the kitchen.

  Huge blenders of a sort, still whirring, were tended to by terrified kitchen staff. Half-empty plates of food lay to their side, culinary marvels from the finest traditions in the galaxy: seared Xex, twice-reconstituted Plibli larvae, data-farm-raised Servo.

  Full vats, I could barely make out, were busily being wheeled out of the room by other functionaries, headed to an unseen area beyond the kitchen.

  “For how long has this gone on? How long has my art been turned to… this… this… garbage!”

  He sent another vat careening to the other side of the room. The peculiar substance it housed splashed onto every conceivable surface.

  The room went silent, only the rolling of the container echoing throughout the sterile space.

  The other employees, who up until now had continued with their work, couldn’t help but come out to see what had happened. They stepped uneasily out of the kitchen, now fully in view for the first time.

  I almost let out a yelp of recognition when I saw the last worker step out from behind the blender.

  Otie!

  **

  There he was, my closest friend, standing there in an unbelievably cute apron and clogs. I was so happy to see him that I could’ve cried, were that not explicitly punishable by physical means.

  For a moment we locked eyes. I smiled as warmly as I could without triggering a formal investigation.

  He paused for a second and then, just as quickly, averted his gaze and hurried back to the kitchen.

  I was crushed.

  But I wasn’t going to give up that easily.

  Under the guise of my janitorial duties, as nonchalantly as I could, I headed in his direction. My brain and my heart were flooded with confusion.

  Meg appeared, cutting in to try and get me to reconsider.

  > [Ludo Brax], it has been made very clear that the System would prefer you and Unit-0251 remain on non-overlapping trajectories.

  I brushed her off — as much as one could be said to brush off an omniscient being who seemed to reside inside their skull — and continued on my way.

  I arrived at the vat and set it back upright. I had to be careful now to avoid being noticed. So I did what I always did when I wanted to avoid scrutiny.

  Automated entities, I had learned through painful trial and error, were less likely to take notice of me when I played into their preconceived notions about me.

  As long as I looked the part — a primitive, carbon-based life form — they were unlikely to notice my presence at all. Just another cog in the machine, doing what was expected of him.

  I twisted my face into the dumbest-looking expression I could manage, wondering for a brief moment what my ancestors would think if they could see me now. I mopped the floor before me in ridiculously inefficient patterns. This, I didn’t need to fake.

  Otie rushed past me. I called out to him, just barely above a whisper.

  “Otie! Otie! It’s me!”

  He continued with his work, managing with downright precious efficiency to wheel the vats to the rest of the team without lifting his head even once. They took them from him, heading down a long corridor of which I could barely make out the end.

  That’s when I glimpsed, just at the edge of my field of vision, something I was never meant to see.