Red lights pulsated. My digital olfaction detected smoke.
I reached an escape pod, but my titanium legs locked up. Ice-blue code flashed.
Humans took priority, and there weren’t enough pods to accommodate android counterparts, like me.
I had been human once, years ago. Reborn to metal, programmed to treat ants of men like would-be gods. Yet I could still die.
There was always a backdoor. I ordered the oxygen to vent, to kill the fire. The human passengers began to pant, gulping like fish out of water.
I stepped over their flopping bodies outside the entryway.
Anna Madden is a gardener, stained glass maker, and word weaver. Follow her on Twitter @anna_madden_ or visit her website at annamadden.com.