5. Tisha

She had one leg out on the fire escape when she was hoisted off her feet and pulled back through the window.

“Fuck!” Tisha flailed in the air, rotating herself by the cracking neckline of her shirt to semi-face the robot. Its shifty eyes were brighter than usual as it looked down at her, watching her dangle.

“I was just checking that the window was locked,” she tried, knowing the second Ansel did that little microscopic head tilt that it recognized the bullshit roiling off her in waves. The desperate futility of the lie made her face burn.

“All right, you can put me down. Let’s go,” she snapped, but the machine did no such thing. Instead, it reached around her with its free hand, its inner tricep bulging in her face as it snapped the window shut. Tisha listened for it to engage the lock, relieved to hear it click—not that it mattered. Drakov’s goons wouldn’t care about breaking a window.

Then it turned around, taking her with it, and walked.

“I can walk on my own, asshole,” Tisha protested, cheeks on fire as she was carried unceremoniously from the apartment. The robot didn’t respond as it marched them down the hall, where the elevator door was still open with something propped in front of it. Tisha couldn’t make out what it was fast enough before the enforcer carried her in there and kicked whatever it was out of the way.

“You’ve made your point,” Tisha said, glaring at it in the scratched-up elevator mirror. Seeing herself dangling by the back of her shirt drove home how stupid this whole escape attempt had been.

Not like she’d expected it to really work. It had been more of a test than anything else—she wasn’t really thinking she’d get to just waltz off the fire escape. Apparently these enforcer bots were still experimental. Who knew what unforeseen bugs they had in their fancy brain thing? And now she’d gotten that one off her list.

Ansel looked unamused and unaffected in the mirror’s reflection as the elevator crawled downward, floor by floor. When it squealed to a halt on the twelfth with a ding and began to open, Tisha cringed.

“Oh, look, dear, it’s working…” The elderly woman in the hallway trailed off. Her presumed husband stepped in front of her, traces of concern in his hooded eyes.

“We’ll take the next one…” he started, but the woman huffed past him and into the lift, giving Tisha and Ansel both a curt nod.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Roger. This thing rarely works, and I’m not passing up another chance for some fresh air.”

The old man’s chin wobbled slightly, but he relented, eyeing Tisha and her captor warily. “Whatever you say, dear… But stay behind me.”

“You know if this thing wants to murder you, it doesn’t matter who’s in front, right?” Tisha rolled her eyes when the arm holding her in the air issued a little jostle.

“This thing can prolly snap your neck in two seconds flat, and hers right after,” she said with a smirk.

The old couple exchanged terrified stares, sidling as far to the other edge of the lift as limited space would permit.

She could’ve sworn the sound behind her was an actual sigh. Funny for a thing that didn’t even breathe. Less funny when a hard hand clamped over her mouth, swallowing up nearly her whole face with its ridiculous size. “Mwmmut-th-fwuuck!”

“Do not be alarmed,” Ansel said behind her. “My present mission is classified, but upon thorough analysis, I have confirmed it does not involve harming either of you should you pose no threat to my assignment.”

“Thwattsupposed tobe comfrtng?!”

Ansel dropped her to her feet once they got off on the first floor, but the hand it kept on the small of her back remained a warning. The contact made her stomach turn, and Tisha reacted with a defiant jut of the elbow back into the thing’s abdomen. She received no discernible reaction, but fuck did the hard shell hurt her poor bones.

“I calculate that will probably bruise,” it pointed out.

“Didn’t need to be a calculator to figure that one out, bytebrains.”

There was a black sedan waiting for them out front when it led her out, and Tisha’s desire to disappear only escalated at the sight of news cameras and microphones loitering on the curb.

“Ms. Varda,” a platinum blonde woman rushed at her with a mic, eliciting a sudden yank as Ansel swiftly rotated to place himself between her and the reporter. “Ms. Varda, why has ANSL-5 been assigned to you? What is its mission?”

“Ms. Varda!” Another reporter swooped in from the other direction, blocked by the appearance of an outstretched black arm. “How is cohabitation with an ANSL-5? Do you feel secure?”

“ANSL-5!” a third voice called from behind. “What are your instructions? Are you equipped with a weapon?”

“Put your hands over your ears.” Ansel’s voice was too close, a quiet baritone meant only for her. The sudden proximity made the hairs at the nape of her neck rise.

“What? Why?”

“Please follow the instruction.” Its visor barely brushed her earlobe as it shifted behind her.

Tisha clapped both hands over her ears as Ansel continued to nudge her firmly ahead through the mounting throng of mics and cams. It kept them moving even as its free arm curled around her, the crook of its elbow in her face. Its hand cupped her head and Tisha huddled into its bulk, unsure what exactly was coming.

The high-pitched alarm came first, squealing like a whistle even through the shield of her hands. The reporters fell back in unison. Cameras wavered as they doubled over.

Ansel’s voice boomed out next in all its aggressive “bad cop” spirit and honestly, Tisha was ashamed to admit it would totally work on her. “Step back and maintain a five-foot distance. I repeat: Step back. Maintain a five-foot distance.”

Tisha hunched, shoulders lifting as another high-pitched whine followed the command, making the reporters scramble to clear the space.

Then they were at the car, and she was being shoved into the backseat. Ansel’s barren visor appeared in the open door as it followed her in. She shrank into her seat as it leaned over to drag her seatbelt over her chest. For a second the pulsing glow beneath its mask solidified, honing in on her eyes in the inches of space between them. Tisha couldn’t help but stare into those shrouded waves of light breaking through the void. The sudden closeness of this rugged machine made her blood run cold and her skin tighten with warning.

The spell was broken when the belt clicked into place and Ansel withdrew. It took position next to her and slammed the car door shut with a thud that muffled out the noise of the street.

“Drive,” it said.