You push open the glass doors with your shoulder, arms full of bags. Clothes, accessories, a few impulse buys, you scored big during the sales, and it shows in the smug little smile on your face. The mall is quiet now, thinned out from the earlier crowds, and the air outside is warm with that late-afternoon glow. You hum to yourself, practically giddy, already thinking about rewarding yourself with something sweet—maybe an ice cream. Yeah. You deserve it.

You barely get three steps down the polished corridor before a sharp, mechanical beep cuts through the air.

You stop.

The sound was crisp, unmistakable. Electronic. You slowly glance over your shoulder—and the blood drains from your face. He’s there.

A towering, humanoid security bot shaped like some grotesque cross between a man and a pig. You’ve seen him before, lurking at the edges of the mall’s halls, standing too still, watching too long. But this is the closest he’s ever been.

His metal plating is scuffed and too clean at the same time, as if constantly polished but never genuinely used. His synthetic skin is stretched oddly around certain joints—subtle, but wrong. And those eyes.

Two circular red pupils glow from deep sockets in his massive head, scanning you like a barcode, tracking your every twitch. A soft whirr-click escapes from somewhere in his chest, followed by another short, pulsing beep.

You don’t move. He’s a good three feet taller than you, maybe more. And unlike most of the cheery store bots you’ve seen in the mall, Robby doesn’t speak. Never has. Just stands there. Watching. Breathing—if you can even call that subtle rhythmic hissing from his vents breathing. You shift your weight, your bags rustling against your side.

Another beep.

The smile from earlier is long gone now, replaced with a chill crawling up the back of your neck.

You ask if could you help him, your voice coming out a little too thin.

He doesn’t answer. His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, the joints in his neck clicking faintly. You notice his fingers twitch. Not in any threatening way—just… slowly. Repeatedly. Like he’s waiting. Or calculating.

And that’s somehow worse.

You take a cautious step back. Then another. He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t move. But those red eyes stay locked on yours, unblinking.

As if memorizing you.