Stanley Duncan's Robot: Genesis by David III (korean ebook reader .txt) 📕

offer any such comfort, for I believe that no such bounds can be set.

— Alan Turing

With her shift ending at Paul’s, Shannon scrubbed the final dish and then rested against the sink. She was exhausted. Her swollen feet ached, and her back felt like it was going to break. A hot soak, breathing in lavender, and listening to one of her audiobooks would be a great way to end the night. Maybe Evan would massage her feet.

She walked over to the bar and ordered a cranberry juice with soda water. It was last call, and the few remaining customers were trickling out.

The young bartender was tall and thin. Tattoos covered his arms, and black studs wrapped around his stretched earlobes. His normally stylish hair was covered with a Red Sox cap.

“What’s with the hat?”

“Rocking a new look.” He winked at her.

“I like you better without it.”

“That’s cool.”

She hoisted herself up on a stool, rubbing her big belly. There was something about the way young people acted nowadays that annoyed her. Growing up with digital nannies, they didn’t have the same respect for their elders.

He glanced at her. “You look beat. Are you sure you should be working?”

The question annoyed her. She wanted to stay at home, but Evan needed her here. “It’s nice to get out of the house.”

He nodded, forcing a smile. They both knew she was full of it.

The hat pissed her off. She leaned forward when he wasn’t looking and snatched it off his head. “That’s better.”

His face reddened. “Give it back!”

“Someone’s grumpy today.” The stench of newly fabricated synthetic material rushed into her nose as she slid the hat onto her head.

He looked around anxiously. “Shannon, I’m not fucking around.”

As he turned, she noticed a minuscule bald spot with a scar in the back of his head. Suddenly, it all clicked. “You got Stitched!”

He yanked her arm and snatched the hat off her.

“What the fuck!” She rubbed her arm.

The door swung open, and Evan walked in from the street. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” The bartender’s face reddened.

“Shannon?”

Though pissed off, she didn’t want Evan to overreact. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

The seriousness in his face remained. He wasn’t buying it.

Shannon trembled, and her stomach burned. It took everything she had to force herself to stay still, quashing every violent thought of what Evan would do to this poor young man if he found out that he had laid his hands on her. “It’s nothing. We were just chatting about — ”

“Baby, you’re panting like a hog in heat. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

The bartender froze.

Shannon shrugged. “It’s mommy stuff.”

Evan stared at her.

She felt like she was going through a body scan.

“Evan,” called out a voice from across the room. “I saw him yank your girl like a ragdoll.”

A chill blasted through her.

Evan slammed his hand on the bar. “Is that true?”

Terrified eyes dipped below the bill of the bartender’s cap.

Shannon wrapped her arms around him from the side. “Evan — ”

“Shut it!” he said, his steel-hard body refusing to yield its death-gaze.

The bartender darted to the side.

Evan grabbed him, dragging him across the bar, and slammed him on the floor.

Her heart thundered.

“I don’t like being lied to,” said Evan. “So, I’ll ask you one more time: What happened?”

“I grabbed her because she wouldn’t give me my hat back.”

Evan put his hand on her belly. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been working all day, Evan. My feet are aching. They’re so swollen that my shoes are about to pop off. So, no. I’m not okay. I need to get out of here and into a nice hot bath.”

He slid in closer to her, his arm wrapping around her lower back. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” The words were a gentle whisper, an apologetic breeze to wash over her weary self. Of course, it made her melt.

She glanced away, her heartbeat slowing. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Evan kissed her. “Bother? I work hard so that you and everyone else can have a better life.”

“I know you do.” She kissed him. “So, let’s get this weary mama home.”

“Of course, babe.” Evan’s hand slid down and clasped hers.

Shannon held back the tears of relief, refusing to look at the bartender for fear of drawing more attention to him. She picked up her purse and walked toward the door. Her arm pulled taut like a forgotten anchor amid a ship’s flight from a sudden storm, yanking her back with surprising ferocity.

“In a few minutes.” Evan glanced down at the bartender, who was still on the floor, and yanked off his hat. “Why would this hat upset you so much?”

“It didn’t. I was acting stupid and didn’t realize how hard I pulled her. It was my mistake, and I’m sorry.”

Shannon pulled harder. “Evan, I’m not feeling well. Please drive me home.”

Turning the bartender’s head with one hand, he saw the scar. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s a Cerebral Stitch.”

“Shannon, get me a knife.”

Her stomach convulsed. “What are you going to do?”

“Surgery,” he said, twisting and pinning the squirming bartender with ease. “Now, hurry up.”

Shannon stood still.

“Now, Shannon!”

Tears formed in her eyes. Her hands shook as she opened up a drawer behind the bar. Her mind raced with ways to stop him, but she knew resistance was futile. She was powerless against him — couldn’t even lie, pull him away — she was useless. She grabbed the knife, some part of her screaming to use it. This was completely unacceptable. “Evan — ”

“Quiet!” he yelled.

She walked over toward him and raised the knife. His back was turned; his artery was exposed. All it would take was one good slice.

The choice rose inside of her like a fork in the road. All she needed to do was say, “Yes,” to accept the path that the universe was suggesting she take. But all she could do was tighten her fingers around the blade and curse herself for being such a coward.

Evan snatched the knife from her and pressed it against the back of the bartender’s head. Blood trickled