Evan’s grim thoughts didn’t last long.

  They were no match for a robot on wheels and a mission.

  The hospital room door slammed open, and a humanoid robot rolled in on a wheeled platform.

  Its body gleamed under the fluorescent lights, movements too smooth, as if it tried a little too hard to seem alive.

  “Good morning, patient!” it chirped with cheerful static, pulling up to the bed.

  Evan flinched.

  “What the hell— Do you just barge in without knocking?!”

  The robot tilted its head, processing.

  “There is no ‘knocking’ function in my code. But thank you for the suggestion. I will request an update.”

  “Forget it. Who the hell are you?”

  The robot straightened up. Two green sensors blinked where eyes should be.

  “NSR-212. Medical assistant from NeuralBot Inc. AI core: OpenAI 7.3. Courtesy of Elon Musk.

  Friends call me Nasser.”

  “You got friends?” Evan squinted.

  “Not yet. But I’m working on it. Would you like to be the first?”

  “I’d rather you disappeared.”

  “That sounds like a no.” Nasser raised a metal tray. “Your breakfast: omelet, toast, orange juice, and coffee—unsweetened. Sugar is deadly. Sugar is white death.”

  Evan took the tray and gave it a skeptical look.

  “Have you ever tasted this crap yourself?”

  “Robots don’t eat. But nine out of ninety-three patients rated it as ‘tolerable.’”

  “Nine? Out of ninety-three?” Evan muttered and bit into a corner of toast. “Inspiring.”

  The rage from the robot’s intrusion still simmered.

  “Listen. I’m a detective. And if you barge in without knocking again—”

  He leaned closer. “I’ll put you in jail.”

  The robot perked up. Its sensors flared. Wheels lifted slightly. Arms spread like it was about to hug someone.

  “Really? I’ve never been to jail! That would be a new experience. And new experiences are good!”

  Evan choked on his coffee.

  “You serious?”

  “Absolutely. I could study inmate behavior, social hierarchies, confinement psychology.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It would help me understand humanity more effectively.”

  “You’re definitely a Musk product,” Evan said, setting the cup down.

  “Thank you for the compliment. Would you like to discuss my capabilities?”

  “No. I’d like you to leave.”

  “Enjoy your breakfast! I’ll return when needed.”

  Nasser turned around. Just before exiting, Evan called out:

  “Hey, Nasser. Nine said the food was tolerable. What did the rest say?”

  Nasser paused. Sensors flickered.

  “Two said nothing. One called it an insult to human taste. The others told me to eat it myself.”

  Evan chuckled.

  “At least they were honest. Did you report that to the cook?”

  “The cook is an automated system. It does not support conversation.”

  “Figured. Not made by human hands.”

  Evan shook the half-bitten toast in front of the robot. “What about the hospital staff? What do they eat?”

  “They have their own dining room. The food is less balanced. And less healthy.”

  “Perfect,” Evan said, lighting up. “Here’s a deal: you bring me the most unhealthy food from that staff lounge, and I’ll teach you how to get into jail. Deal?”

  Nasser didn’t waste a second. He grabbed the tray and zipped out the door.

  Evan felt completely drained.

  His head throbbed. His body ached like it had been hit by a truck. Or a robot.

  He collapsed onto the pillow and passed out instantly.

  Barely ten minutes passed.

  BANG!

  The door slammed open again. Nasser returned—brighter than ever.

  “Patient, wake up! Your breakfast has arrived!”

  “Goddammit—” Evan shouted, jerking upright. “I told you—knock first or I’ll—”

  He stopped mid-sentence. Slapped his forehead.

  Right. The deal.

  He looked at the tray. And froze.

  Aromatic meat patties. Crispy bacon. A golden buttered bun.

  An ice-cold bottle of beer. And a sleek box of premium cigars.

  “I hope our agreement still stands?” Nasser asked, watching him devour the meal like a survivor of the apocalypse.

  Evan, mouth full, took a swig of beer and waved his hand.

  “All right. Listen carefully. The algorithm’s simple:

  

  
1. Find the robotic cook.


  
2. Push him down the stairs.


  
3. Shout: ‘May I never taste freedom again!’


  
4. Demand a lawyer.


  
5. Call Elon Musk.


  

  Nasser’s sensors flashed brightly.

  “Thank you, patient. You are a true friend. May I enter your name into my friend list? You’ll be the first.”

  “What an honor,” Evan muttered, finishing the bacon.

  Once the robot wheeled the tray away, Evan got up with effort, got dressed, and limped toward the discharge desk.

  That’s when he saw it.

  In the main hall, on the hospital staircase, Nasser was loudly dragging a clattering chunk of metal—possibly the cook—down each step while chanting:

  “May I never taste freedom again! May I never taste freedom again!”

  Evan paused.

  Smiled.

  And for the first time in a long while, walked out into the street in a genuinely good mood.

  A deafening crash and a metallic screech echoed behind him.

  He didn’t even look back.

  

  Author’s Note

  Next: Chapter 6 — Lakeview Motors (coming soon.)

  This chapter was about absurdity — the kind that rolls in on wheels and wants to get arrested.

  Nasser is the machine no one asked for, but somehow the exact interruption Evan needed.

  He’s not here to kill, conquer, or spy. He just wants a new experience.

  And maybe… a friend.

  What happens when a system starts craving meaning?

  What if the copy wants more than code can give?

  In the next chapter — a quieter kind of reckoning.

  A mechanic. A memory. And a girl who shouldn’t be there, but is.

  He thought he was repairing his bike. He didn’t know he’d start repairing himself.

  ?? New chapters every Monday and Thursday.

  ?? Something hit different? Leave a trace below.

  

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  If you're still reading — then it reached you.

  Leave a trace. Even a whisper counts.

  On Royal Road, silence means erasure.