“There aren’t any candidates to swap out with you, Ash. You get what you get. Next.”

That’s what that damn bastard said to me. Now, I’m stuck with an unsolvable case, and my partner is a bloody hunk of useless scrap—otherwise, called an Android. Same thing.

“Pass me another.”

The bartender—a rough and grizzled man, slides another beer my way without a word. Even liquor isn’t working to satiate my frustration. Screw this. Screw all of this. What if I just pack my bags and leave for Antartica or something? But I can’t. Not while that tin-head is on my ass.

“Whatcha looking at, huh? It’s called a work break. You ever heard of one? Oh right—your circuits don’t come with coffee breaks, do they?”

The Android sits across from me, its expressionless face betraying nothing as it processes data faster than I can think. It doesn’t understand frustration; it doesn’t feel anything at all—just another piece of machinery designed to assist.

“That’s what I thought.”