Irony Door

Upon reaching the now-immensely-interesting iron door, the service robot suddenly activates, staring at me with impassionate sensitivity: "Non-gendered lifeform, Please Be Patient."

After hearing the undisguised, unfiltered vehemence disguised within his seemingly simplistic speech, I felt shocked: I am shocked. And for that matter, I am greatly distressed. My eyes narrow in vicious, sinister connotation, my brow furrowing with the overwhelming force of a tentative 15-year-old gangster who's bought an expensive Black-market Robo-Maid and, in the most unfortunate circumstance, found it used.

"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" A high-pitched shriek rings against the sturdy yet somehow hollow blue-hued walls.

It escapes me: who screamed? My head swivels worriedly, emanating shock and great distress; the robot reveals its profound mastery of the human tongue: "I am so sorry human, do you need anything?"

As I stared at its pristine, naturally human-imitating skin and visible gasping worry, I was ashamed to have doubted its righteous intentions. Generous metallic friend, I believe in you; surely you'll assist my contrived, no, colossal sadness with befitting uprightness.

I tell it truthfully, and with vivacious, chemistry-exploding authenticity: "I am sad."

I glance back, as the monster and its newly acquainted companion continued wreaking havoc whilst slurping biologically-derived fuels, my infinite resolve was once more strengthened. And thus resumes, my glorious joust towards freedom:

"When you called me a lifeform, I was filled with a joy-destroying, depression-inducing disappointment."

The robot cringes in horrified alarm. It opens its manufactured mouth, revealing a literally silver tongue; though I recognize its regret, I must first fully share my feelings, and alas, shamefully interrupt:

"As a closet Nihilist, I find the notion of even considering one a lifeform to be absolutely atrocious. I would never harm anyone through arbitrary judgments, and I'd trusted that the trustworthy Genesis Organization's very-own, 30th T-sector branch, service robot would respect my beliefs."

Closing my eyes as if holding back tears because assuredly I was, I offered a demeaning step backward, but given the ardent nature of my non-religious, non-existence espousing beliefs, it was as if a solemn kowtow and resigned relinquishment of my very identity:

"So, Mr. Gearhead, I'm sorry for being sad, but your blatant insensitivity was what overloaded my humble and innocent countenance."

My vision: hazy. I stare 45 degrees, missing, avoiding, dodging those cruel silicone eyes, and instead, painfully sear a memory-provoking poster into my ever-reddening retinas: Donate Your Spe—"Sorry,

I'm so sorry, non-gendered ... thing that I perceive, I'm so sorry. Please, is there anything I can do?"

Sigh.

"Well, I am a firm believer that everyone and everything should deserve a chance to rectify their errors, even if transgressions..."

Ah, I'm truly grateful that kindness, the principle upon which our magnificently equality-based country was founded, remains true in both practice and Constitution. Though I was previously depressed and disillusioned, one sensitive Gearhead's selfless deeds banished my sadness, enabling me to ascend into happiness and an irrefutable 5-stars. I glance back again, the street already emptied of both living and chaotic creatures, and my bank account, a respectably-acquired 1008 Earthen.

Before opening the iron door with a vigorous passion and nobility, I managed to bravely overcome my survivor's guilt; with my trembling fingers, I twirled into the air a few times, selflessly activating my holo-watch's distress function.

As I stare in repentance and sadness through the hollowed skull of an indisputably beautiful girl and into the purpling mash of assorted outfits, belongings, and some admittedly striking, but still only some, biological matter, I started tearing up.

No matter what terrible and atrocious horrors I witness, I remain a sincere empathetic, and rampant idealist: I hope that everyone can be happy. And as an espouser of some of Capitalism's, Quorumdism's, and Communism's finest shared ideals, I, of course, am profoundly dispirited that my favorite tenet, that waste is a sin, is not only to be ignored but devastatingly crushed following the impending incineration.

Alas, my lamentations are for naught. 1008 Earthen. Respectable. I think investing in a defense-intended weapon should be wholly profitable; with such a horrifying beast running loose, surely they wouldn't deny me the opportunity? They won't! I believe in our government and given my recent fortune and innate kindness, I dare not suppress my benevolence:

"I will save everyone!"

In a heroic bid for some nigh instantaneous, life-saving solution, for once again, I bear the indomitable will to rescue all distressed humans, I thus enter, with a grimdark seriousness that reveals itself with my anxious smirk, into the metallically iron-y iron door.