David woke up in a sweat — he had forgotten to turn on the air conditioner again. As someone born in the northern states, he wasn’t used to the Texas heat.

  His mind was slowly coming back online, searching his memory for fragments of the final moments from the previous iteration. He remembered the car stopping, he remembered the massive dog, how he shot at it... And then? Everything else dissolved into a strange jumble of sensations and... censorship? David frowned. The ending felt foreign, as if someone had erased the details and left only the overall picture.

  “Well, thanks for that much at least,” he muttered, not really knowing who he was talking to.

  He sat up in bed and recalled what had caused his death. Damn autopilot! He clenched his teeth, then, without thinking, punched the wall as hard as he could. The drywall cracked, leaving a dent. He felt something explode inside him and immediately threw a few more punches, punching a hole right through.

  His heart was pounding. He froze, staring at his hands. [Rage]. It had activated again, but this time he managed to stop himself in time. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, calming himself. He could feel that with each new level, he was getting a little stronger... but not strong enough to punch through concrete. Not yet.

  “Well then, time to draw conclusions and try again,” he said to himself, getting up from bed.

  Quickly running through a plan for the next iteration, David got to work. First—get weapons. He headed to the police station, loaded the car to the brim with firearms and ammunition, and then drove to the office.

  At the office, David began barricading the outer perimeter. It was a long task, but a necessary one. Last time, it had bought him enough time to repair the reactor. After finishing that, he went to the reactor and got to work again—first on the wiring, then on fixing the bugs.

  The next morning, suppressing his exhaustion, he finally pressed the reactor activation button. This time with no dramatic expectations—he figured there was a high chance the fuses would blow again. But to his surprise, the reactor began to run stably. Still, he didn’t have the strength to celebrate. David dragged himself to the cafeteria, deciding he had earned at least a short break.

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  David sat at one of the tables in the cafeteria. The sun was already high outside the windows. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  A waiter robot rolled around the corner. Small, like a beefed-up Roomba on treads, with a screen for a face. The display showed two simple zero-shaped eyes. A menu appeared, and a cheerful voice played from the speaker:

  “Please select a meal.”

  David smiled. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the office’s useless trinkets. The restored electricity had activated all of the building’s auxiliary systems, including these things. He tapped the first menu item—some kind of noodles. The robot beeped in acknowledgment and rolled away, while David leaned on the table, closed his eyes, and, suppressing the resistance from the [Skill] by sheer willpower, dozed off.

  He woke up when a tray with a couple of heated meal containers—similar to a standard TV dinner—was already in front of him. He ate the noodles, washed them down with soda, and sighed heavily. Another territory sweep awaited him.

  “If only I could automate dog-killing,” he muttered to himself.

  But his stomach was full, his body relaxed, and David laid his head back down on the table to catch another nap.

  A sharp noise woke him up.

  David sat up abruptly, his hand reaching for his pistol. There was a sound of claws scraping against glass. He turned toward the noise and saw a demonic dog. Its jaws were opening and closing, emitting a low growl. It stared at him, scratching the window.

  And standing next to the window was the waiter robot.

  “Please select a meal,” it offered politely.

  David blinked. He looked at the robot.

  “Please select a meal,” the robot repeated, tilting its screen slightly toward the monster.

  David looked back at the dog.

  “Please select a meal.”

  He pulled the pistol from the holster under his arm, looked at it, and then back at the robot.

  “Please select a meal.”

  And then it hit him.

  Finding the robot’s source code wasn’t difficult. Attaching a pistol to it wasn’t hard either. These robots had built-in accessory support, and after a bit of fiddling with a trigger-pulling mechanism and 3D printing a gun holding cuff, everything was ready.

  David sat across from the robot, ready to launch the program. He pressed “Start,” and at first, he was thrilled when the robot began turning toward him. Then joy quickly turned into panic as David jumped from his chair straight toward the door. The robot adjusted its aim with terrifying precision.

  With a cheerful “Bon appétit!” the robot shot him cleanly in the head.

  Robots – 1, humanity (represented by a very sleep-deprived David) – 0.