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A/N. Thanks for all the follows and favourites! I realise I have not been saying much as the writer but I want y’all to know I love each and every one of you. Reviews always appreciated! Also I apologise if I get locations severely wrong. I hope Google Maps is accurate enough.

There was a whole lot going on in Makina's head. On his display, there were little boxes filled with crucial information he had neglected ever since his escape from Gray. Current internal temperature, battery percentage, a small map to the corner, time, location, radar, and basic information about his model. There would always be a reminder of his serial number, just hovering near the corner on his heads-up display.

A constant reminder that he was nothing but a killing machine. But beyond that, was another little box that stated his current emotion in case it was new and he couldn’t name it. Medibot had installed it for him to keep track of things.

Besides that, there were little red dots on his map which he had enlarged. He’d set those little markers to remind himself of where he was going, since the map had no words or anything.

He and Dave walked along a street, accompanied by few cars that hurried off to their destinations, no one paying attention to the oddities except for the occasional glance or mutter of disapproval.

Dave’s head remained bowed, eyes sifting through a map on his phone. “The airport’s awfully fair, Mac. Maybe we should…” He raised his head and hurried to the side of the road, frantically waving his hand.

“What are you-“ A too-bright yellow taxi pulled up on the curb, driven by what seemed like an old man with a kind smile on his face.

Pulling the door open, Dave and Makina slid into the cab. Very slowly, almost like he couldn’t, the old driver turned around. “Where’d you lads like to go today?” He asked. His voice was creaky in a way that unsettled both passengers. There was almost a feeling like acid bubbling within Makina - something that told him something was off. Gut feeling, he remembered someone telling him once. But he didn’t have a gut at all.

“The airport please,” Dave said. He sank back into his seat, still a little tense, as Makina noticed. Dave wasn’t comfortable around this driver either and everyone in the car knew about it.

The old man drove in silence for the first five minutes, before his creaky voice pierced uncomfortable silence. “So… you boys ever heard of the grey east?"

The two passengers shared a look. “Grey… east?”

The driver laughed. “Oh… lads these days don’t even know what’s happening around them.” He launched into a long ramble about how the youths didn’t know a thing and were practically useless, all the way until they were near the airport.

“…those robots killed a lot of people. And guess what? The army didn’t do a thing. They just ran off and let the Master storm the area."

“Wait, the Master?” It occurred to Makina that the old man probably wasn’t a man at all. “Who is that?"

The old man went awfully silent. With an almost mechanical movement, he slowly turned his head to glance at his passengers. “It’s your stop,” he growled.

Makina’s fingers went cold. This wasn’t a man at all, it was a-

“It’s your stop,” He repeated again. Makina stayed still for a second more, giving the man a quick scan before nudging Dave out and following him.

Dave frowned, catching the small nod Makina gave. The two of them stood still, the yellow taxi not moving, until the street went clear of people.

In a frenzied second, the car sped up and tried to swerve off, Makina pulling out the pistol and firing through the back window. Glass shattered, and immediately the car screeched and stopped.

In the driver’s seat, the old man jerked and sparked, before the disguise fizzled away and revealed a Spybot. Behind him, Dave whistled. “You guys get all the good technology."

“If this is the Spybot… then the body is somewhere. Spybots have to kill someone to get the DNA to disguise as them,” The Sniperbot muttered. He scrambled to the boot and smashed it open, sighing in dismay at the sight of the old man poorly stuffed into the boot. “Great.”

People were starting to come back to the street, wandering around the car and peering inside. Chatter and worried calls began to rise, and while everyone was distracted, the two scurried away.

The airport was hardly anything fancy or interesting. Upon entering, they were greeted with a plain old building that just had the necessities - blocky pillars, and signs. To the left was departure, and to the right was arrivals. To head towards departure made sense - someone there had to know where a twitchy robot with a helmet went.

Just outside the departure hall were a row of counters with airlines over them. Indistinguishable to Makina, he rushed to the first counter, where the lady froze for a second before slowly reaching for the phone. He lunged forward, grabbing her hand. “Do not call the police,” he warned. “I just need to know if you’ve seen a robot who’s shorter than me and has a helmet."

The lady’s lips trembled a little before wildly shaking her head. Frustrated, Makina pulled out his pistol. “Dave. Ask around.” Before he let go of the woman, he gripped her hand tighter. “Do not call the police.”

The same thing happened until one personal finally managed to say something. “H-h-he took Air France f-flight 673… to Charles de G-Gaulle airport in… Paris."

Dave quickly typed down everything on his phone. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Makina rummaging through things. He sincerely hoped no one managed to sneak a call to the police. “What’s the arrival time?"

“It-it’s expected to arrive at… 10.44AM, central European time."

Quickly reviewing the information on his phone, he nodded. “Thanks. I’ll just… get my friend out now."

Outside, there were sirens wailing already, red and blue light flashing through the glassy doors and the police crouching behind the open doors of their cars, firearms pointed at the door. One of them gave a little gesture with his hand, and six heavily armoured men rushed into the building with their rifles close.

Dave was jogging out of the departure hall, which was eerily empty, when he caught a glimpse of the SWAT team searching the place. Knowing that was a bad thing despite his mostly innocent self, he turned and fled, shoving Makina out of the hallway.

“What is your problem?” Making hissed. Dave quickly put a finger to his lips.

“The SWAT team is roaming around. Someone called the cops while we were asking for information.” Well, when I was asking for information. You were ready to throw something. His mouth clicked shut before he could add in that last thought.

Makina would have pursed his lips if he could - or if he had lips to begin with. “Alright. What does this SWAT team do?” In his time around a bunch of people who were strongly inclined to fighting and possibly the military, he had never heard of this ‘SWAT’. Were they of that much concern.

Dave was constantly checking behind him like a Sniper looking for Spies while he tried to find how to explain the SWAT team in a simple and understandable way. “They’re basically a group of people who are really good at killing things. And I don’t think getting killed is something on either of our plates."

The Sniperbot nodded. He wanted to say how they were just trained to fight, while he was programmed to do it. Ever since the day he was made, his purpose was to kill. Some SWAT team or whatever shouldn’t have been a problem. But yet, he was smart enough not to underestimate humans. Dave had proven to be smarter than expected already.

Looking down at the single pistol on him, he quickly ran through a map of the place he’d scanned on the way to their current position. “Okay. I don’t know if you’re familiar with a thing we call ‘flank routes’ but they’re basically an alternative path we can take to flank the enemy. If this map is accurate, then there should be a flank route via,” he pushed the map window to the side and pointed towards a door with a plaque that read Janitor Closet, “that door."

The sound of footsteps got uncomfortably close. “Okay just- whatever. Let’s just go before one of us gets shot."

Upon leaving their little corner, they began to run, right into view of the armed militants. One of them yelled something that was inaudible to Dave, his heart thundering, and bullets began to trail them.

In an attempt to make sure Dave did not get hurt, Making ran in front of him, shielding him till they managed to open the door and rush in. Loud footsteps followed, and they locked the door.

“Move it!” Makina shoved Dave along to the other side of the dim room filled with schedules and small personal belongings. From the table, Makina grabbed a small and rather old looking phone. It beeped in mechanical response to let Makina know it was a functional phone.

Since the main doors were blocked by the police, Makina took to smashing through the glass panels at the side of a cafe. Behind them, bullets chased.

He fumbled with the phone, his metal fingers not offering much grip but managed to punch in Ms Pauling’s desk number by memory. His legs worked tirelessly in keeping him away from those behind, but Dave was tiring out fast. The robot slowed down a bit to grab Dave’s arm and yank him along. If need be, he was willing to carry the man.

Putting the phone to his ear, he willed Ms Pauling to pick up. As soon as he heard a little click, he began to fire off his words.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Makina. Slow down. Repeat all that again.” The voice on the phone instructed.

“We’re fleeing from the airport. Now. This SWAT team is chasing us and I’m pretty sure unless they’re idiots, they’ve called for backup.” He pulled up a window of his current location. Several red dots moved along other streets ahead of him. “We’ll be cornered in no more than five minutes."

There was a short silence on the phone, then Ms Pauling made an affirmative noise. “Okay. Yeah. I just need your location."

“We’re coming up on some shop. 35.0711 degrees north, negative 106.6195 degrees west. About five minutes.” It was a cemetery. How nice.

Ms Pauling made another grunt, “Okay. I’ll be there. Just hang on."

The five minutes seemed agonising. While the SWAT team chasing them were gone, the little red dots on Makina’s map were closing in too quickly for comfort.

When they got the the edge of the cemetery, there was no one but the faint roar of cars zooming in. Quickly turning to Dave, he apologised. “Sorry for this. Play along.” That was all the warning Dave got before Makina grabbed him in a headlock, pressing the pistol to his temple. He waited, Dave waited, but no one came. The roar of a car got louder and louder, a black car zooming in. It jerked and screeched in front of them, Ms Pauling rolling down the window as much as possible - which wasn’t much at all.

“Get in. I broke past a barrier and there are people chasing me."

As Makina scrambled into the car, police cars began to surround them. The first car that stopped opened, and a police officer opened fire.

Before Dave could get in, a bullet pierced his upper arm, a flash of searing pain following. Nonetheless, he got into the car and slammed the incredibly heavy door shut, hissing as he clutched the bleeding wound.

Ms Pauling was not playing around. “Hold still guys. This is going to be rough.” She slammed on the accelerator and smashed right through thin barriers that were just forming. Whether she rolled over some people, she chose to ignore. “We’ll head to the nearest private airport. Bidwell is flying - I’m sure you know Bidwell,” she nodded to Makina, “you’ll have to give him the location of wherever your friend went."

She became suddenly aware and uncomfortable of Dave. Instinctively, her hand went to the holster on her hip where she always stored a spare pistol. Makina noticed the little movement and growled. “He’s nice. Don’t take out the gun."

Dave squirmed uncomfortable, ripping off a part of his shirt to bandage the wound. Ms Pauling glanced back quickly. “There’s bandages somewhere. I stole this car from the president.” She had broken off all communications in the car, having cut the wires to every phone and smashed the GPS in.

“You stole this. From the President,” Dave repeated. “Isn’t that kinda impossible?”

Ms Pauling smirked. “We have people who do things for us. Friendships, you might say.” The government had no idea that Mann Co was home to nine of the world’s deadliest mercenaries. Outlaws, criminals, serial killers, assassins, psychopaths - they were just civilians in the eyes of the government. To them, Mann Co was just a hat making company and Team Fortress Industries was non existent. The Administrator had done a fantastic job in ensuring that no one knew about the area or the mercenaries. Years of hacking, clearing records, corrupting files and hiring people had paid off well.

“Anyway,” Ms Pauling continued, “when we get there I’ll call Bidwell in and he’ll fly you to wherever you need. Don’t expect him to follow you when you get there though. He’s supposed to be with Saxton Hale right now."

The drive to the airport was tense. They were sure the government and military was on high alert for them now, though if Ms Pauling’s friends in the government could be trusted, they’d keep off her tail for now. When they were done with the Cadillac One, she’d have to hose it down completely and destroy all evidence.

The private airport was situated in a barren and dry land; a simple hangar waiting. Before they reached, the purple lady sent out a notice to Hale’s aide. When the car slowed to a stop, a plain, white plane was already waiting.

“Good luck. And if anyone asks or talks about the car, say nothing. I am probably going to destroy this and have a new one made.” Miss Pauling bid them good luck and not to get into too much trouble, before leaving the two in the hands of Bidwell, who was not too pleased with it. Still, he welcomed the two on board, remembering Makina very vividly from their last meeting in the city, where he had to talk to a very angry woman about lockdown because she would not talk to anyone else.

“Please don’t trash this plane, or Mr Hale is going to notice how much money I’m taking out. Not that he would care… but still. It’s too troublesome to get a new plane.” He noticed the sloppy bandages Dave had made from shreds of his shirt that were stained red. He went to the front of the plane and returned with a small first aid kit. “Here.” He gave Makina a glance. “Where to?"

“Charles de Gaulle airport. The plane should have landed there."

Bidwell disappeared one more to pilot the plane while Dave patched up his arm before sinking deep into his chair. “Y’know what, wake me up when we’re there,” he mumbled. Two minutes into closing his eyes, Dave was asleep.

Wake me up when I’m dead. Makina jerked at the voice returning. Wildly, he looked around, but there was no one. Unsettled now, he took to the pilot cabin where Bidwell was. Something bubbled like acid inside him.

“Do you mind if I hang around here?” He asked. Bidwell turned to look at him, not able to detect anything off.

“Oh no, feel free to stay."

“Thanks."

After landing in the airport, Freedom had taken off. There was a certain pull to this house he was in. The old lady who owned the place had been nice enough to let him into her house. She didn’t speak English much, just enough to be able to offer him water - not that he needed it. The rest of their one-sided conversations were in French or robotic hums.

With an untouched, cold glass of water in his hands, Freedom had taken to venturing the house. The woman didn’t seem to mind and so he wandered, looking at everything with a childlike curiousity. Under the old television sat a dusty photo in a worn, wooden frame. The picture was a boy, no older than 18, hugging some older woman. He frowned. Something about the picture was calling to him, but when the feeling went away, he put it back, dismissing any ideas.

He sat down on the ragged but nonetheless plush couch, staring at the old woman. She took the single seat off to the side and closed her eyes. Then softly, she began to hum a tune.

The house quietened, all sounds gone except for the humming of the old woman. Freedom wondered if he could get used to this life, maybe pick up their language. Based on the reactions of the people he’d run into, the French didn’t seem to know what went on with the robots back in New Mexico and didn’t think of them much.

But that was fine with Freedom.

Description

A/N. Thanks for all the follows and favourites! I realise I have not been saying much as the writer but I want y’all to know I love each and every one of you. Reviews always appreciated! Also I apologise if I get locations severely wrong. I hope Google Maps is accurate enough.

There was a whole lot going on in Makina's head. On his display, there were little boxes filled with crucial information he had neglected ever since his escape from Gray. Current internal temperature, battery percentage, a small map to the corner, time, location, radar, and basic information about his model. There would always be a reminder of his serial number, just hovering near the corner on his heads-up display.

A constant reminder that he was nothing but a killing machine. But beyond that, was another little box that stated his current emotion in case it was new and he couldn’t name it. Medibot had installed it for him to keep track of things.

Besides that, there were little red dots on his map which he had enlarged. He’d set those little markers to remind himself of where he was going, since the map had no words or anything.

He and Dave walked along a street, accompanied by few cars that hurried off to their destinations, no one paying attention to the oddities except for the occasional glance or mutter of disapproval.

Dave’s head remained bowed, eyes sifting through a map on his phone. “The airport’s awfully fair, Mac. Maybe we should…” He raised his head and hurried to the side of the road, frantically waving his hand.

“What are you-“ A too-bright yellow taxi pulled up on the curb, driven by what seemed like an old man with a kind smile on his face.

Pulling the door open, Dave and Makina slid into the cab. Very slowly, almost like he couldn’t, the old driver turned around. “Where’d you lads like to go today?” He asked. His voice was creaky in a way that unsettled both passengers. There was almost a feeling like acid bubbling within Makina - something that told him something was off. Gut feeling, he remembered someone telling him once. But he didn’t have a gut at all.

“The airport please,” Dave said. He sank back into his seat, still a little tense, as Makina noticed. Dave wasn’t comfortable around this driver either and everyone in the car knew about it.

The old man drove in silence for the first five minutes, before his creaky voice pierced uncomfortable silence. “So… you boys ever heard of the grey east?"

The two passengers shared a look. “Grey… east?”

The driver laughed. “Oh… lads these days don’t even know what’s happening around them.” He launched into a long ramble about how the youths didn’t know a thing and were practically useless, all the way until they were near the airport.

“…those robots killed a lot of people. And guess what? The army didn’t do a thing. They just ran off and let the Master storm the area."

“Wait, the Master?” It occurred to Makina that the old man probably wasn’t a man at all. “Who is that?"

The old man went awfully silent. With an almost mechanical movement, he slowly turned his head to glance at his passengers. “It’s your stop,” he growled.

Makina’s fingers went cold. This wasn’t a man at all, it was a-

“It’s your stop,” He repeated again. Makina stayed still for a second more, giving the man a quick scan before nudging Dave out and following him.

Dave frowned, catching the small nod Makina gave. The two of them stood still, the yellow taxi not moving, until the street went clear of people.

In a frenzied second, the car sped up and tried to swerve off, Makina pulling out the pistol and firing through the back window. Glass shattered, and immediately the car screeched and stopped.

In the driver’s seat, the old man jerked and sparked, before the disguise fizzled away and revealed a Spybot. Behind him, Dave whistled. “You guys get all the good technology."

“If this is the Spybot… then the body is somewhere. Spybots have to kill someone to get the DNA to disguise as them,” The Sniperbot muttered. He scrambled to the boot and smashed it open, sighing in dismay at the sight of the old man poorly stuffed into the boot. “Great.”

People were starting to come back to the street, wandering around the car and peering inside. Chatter and worried calls began to rise, and while everyone was distracted, the two scurried away.

The airport was hardly anything fancy or interesting. Upon entering, they were greeted with a plain old building that just had the necessities - blocky pillars, and signs. To the left was departure, and to the right was arrivals. To head towards departure made sense - someone there had to know where a twitchy robot with a helmet went.

Just outside the departure hall were a row of counters with airlines over them. Indistinguishable to Makina, he rushed to the first counter, where the lady froze for a second before slowly reaching for the phone. He lunged forward, grabbing her hand. “Do not call the police,” he warned. “I just need to know if you’ve seen a robot who’s shorter than me and has a helmet."

The lady’s lips trembled a little before wildly shaking her head. Frustrated, Makina pulled out his pistol. “Dave. Ask around.” Before he let go of the woman, he gripped her hand tighter. “Do not call the police.”

The same thing happened until one personal finally managed to say something. “H-h-he took Air France f-flight 673… to Charles de G-Gaulle airport in… Paris."

Dave quickly typed down everything on his phone. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Makina rummaging through things. He sincerely hoped no one managed to sneak a call to the police. “What’s the arrival time?"

“It-it’s expected to arrive at… 10.44AM, central European time."

Quickly reviewing the information on his phone, he nodded. “Thanks. I’ll just… get my friend out now."

Outside, there were sirens wailing already, red and blue light flashing through the glassy doors and the police crouching behind the open doors of their cars, firearms pointed at the door. One of them gave a little gesture with his hand, and six heavily armoured men rushed into the building with their rifles close.

Dave was jogging out of the departure hall, which was eerily empty, when he caught a glimpse of the SWAT team searching the place. Knowing that was a bad thing despite his mostly innocent self, he turned and fled, shoving Makina out of the hallway.

“What is your problem?” Making hissed. Dave quickly put a finger to his lips.

“The SWAT team is roaming around. Someone called the cops while we were asking for information.” Well, when I was asking for information. You were ready to throw something. His mouth clicked shut before he could add in that last thought.

Makina would have pursed his lips if he could - or if he had lips to begin with. “Alright. What does this SWAT team do?” In his time around a bunch of people who were strongly inclined to fighting and possibly the military, he had never heard of this ‘SWAT’. Were they of that much concern.

Dave was constantly checking behind him like a Sniper looking for Spies while he tried to find how to explain the SWAT team in a simple and understandable way. “They’re basically a group of people who are really good at killing things. And I don’t think getting killed is something on either of our plates."

The Sniperbot nodded. He wanted to say how they were just trained to fight, while he was programmed to do it. Ever since the day he was made, his purpose was to kill. Some SWAT team or whatever shouldn’t have been a problem. But yet, he was smart enough not to underestimate humans. Dave had proven to be smarter than expected already.

Looking down at the single pistol on him, he quickly ran through a map of the place he’d scanned on the way to their current position. “Okay. I don’t know if you’re familiar with a thing we call ‘flank routes’ but they’re basically an alternative path we can take to flank the enemy. If this map is accurate, then there should be a flank route via,” he pushed the map window to the side and pointed towards a door with a plaque that read Janitor Closet, “that door."

The sound of footsteps got uncomfortably close. “Okay just- whatever. Let’s just go before one of us gets shot."

Upon leaving their little corner, they began to run, right into view of the armed militants. One of them yelled something that was inaudible to Dave, his heart thundering, and bullets began to trail them.

In an attempt to make sure Dave did not get hurt, Making ran in front of him, shielding him till they managed to open the door and rush in. Loud footsteps followed, and they locked the door.

“Move it!” Makina shoved Dave along to the other side of the dim room filled with schedules and small personal belongings. From the table, Makina grabbed a small and rather old looking phone. It beeped in mechanical response to let Makina know it was a functional phone.

Since the main doors were blocked by the police, Makina took to smashing through the glass panels at the side of a cafe. Behind them, bullets chased.

He fumbled with the phone, his metal fingers not offering much grip but managed to punch in Ms Pauling’s desk number by memory. His legs worked tirelessly in keeping him away from those behind, but Dave was tiring out fast. The robot slowed down a bit to grab Dave’s arm and yank him along. If need be, he was willing to carry the man.

Putting the phone to his ear, he willed Ms Pauling to pick up. As soon as he heard a little click, he began to fire off his words.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Makina. Slow down. Repeat all that again.” The voice on the phone instructed.

“We’re fleeing from the airport. Now. This SWAT team is chasing us and I’m pretty sure unless they’re idiots, they’ve called for backup.” He pulled up a window of his current location. Several red dots moved along other streets ahead of him. “We’ll be cornered in no more than five minutes."

There was a short silence on the phone, then Ms Pauling made an affirmative noise. “Okay. Yeah. I just need your location."

“We’re coming up on some shop. 35.0711 degrees north, negative 106.6195 degrees west. About five minutes.” It was a cemetery. How nice.

Ms Pauling made another grunt, “Okay. I’ll be there. Just hang on."

The five minutes seemed agonising. While the SWAT team chasing them were gone, the little red dots on Makina’s map were closing in too quickly for comfort.

When they got the the edge of the cemetery, there was no one but the faint roar of cars zooming in. Quickly turning to Dave, he apologised. “Sorry for this. Play along.” That was all the warning Dave got before Makina grabbed him in a headlock, pressing the pistol to his temple. He waited, Dave waited, but no one came. The roar of a car got louder and louder, a black car zooming in. It jerked and screeched in front of them, Ms Pauling rolling down the window as much as possible - which wasn’t much at all.

“Get in. I broke past a barrier and there are people chasing me."

As Makina scrambled into the car, police cars began to surround them. The first car that stopped opened, and a police officer opened fire.

Before Dave could get in, a bullet pierced his upper arm, a flash of searing pain following. Nonetheless, he got into the car and slammed the incredibly heavy door shut, hissing as he clutched the bleeding wound.

Ms Pauling was not playing around. “Hold still guys. This is going to be rough.” She slammed on the accelerator and smashed right through thin barriers that were just forming. Whether she rolled over some people, she chose to ignore. “We’ll head to the nearest private airport. Bidwell is flying - I’m sure you know Bidwell,” she nodded to Makina, “you’ll have to give him the location of wherever your friend went."

She became suddenly aware and uncomfortable of Dave. Instinctively, her hand went to the holster on her hip where she always stored a spare pistol. Makina noticed the little movement and growled. “He’s nice. Don’t take out the gun."

Dave squirmed uncomfortable, ripping off a part of his shirt to bandage the wound. Ms Pauling glanced back quickly. “There’s bandages somewhere. I stole this car from the president.” She had broken off all communications in the car, having cut the wires to every phone and smashed the GPS in.

“You stole this. From the President,” Dave repeated. “Isn’t that kinda impossible?”

Ms Pauling smirked. “We have people who do things for us. Friendships, you might say.” The government had no idea that Mann Co was home to nine of the world’s deadliest mercenaries. Outlaws, criminals, serial killers, assassins, psychopaths - they were just civilians in the eyes of the government. To them, Mann Co was just a hat making company and Team Fortress Industries was non existent. The Administrator had done a fantastic job in ensuring that no one knew about the area or the mercenaries. Years of hacking, clearing records, corrupting files and hiring people had paid off well.

“Anyway,” Ms Pauling continued, “when we get there I’ll call Bidwell in and he’ll fly you to wherever you need. Don’t expect him to follow you when you get there though. He’s supposed to be with Saxton Hale right now."

The drive to the airport was tense. They were sure the government and military was on high alert for them now, though if Ms Pauling’s friends in the government could be trusted, they’d keep off her tail for now. When they were done with the Cadillac One, she’d have to hose it down completely and destroy all evidence.

The private airport was situated in a barren and dry land; a simple hangar waiting. Before they reached, the purple lady sent out a notice to Hale’s aide. When the car slowed to a stop, a plain, white plane was already waiting.

“Good luck. And if anyone asks or talks about the car, say nothing. I am probably going to destroy this and have a new one made.” Miss Pauling bid them good luck and not to get into too much trouble, before leaving the two in the hands of Bidwell, who was not too pleased with it. Still, he welcomed the two on board, remembering Makina very vividly from their last meeting in the city, where he had to talk to a very angry woman about lockdown because she would not talk to anyone else.

“Please don’t trash this plane, or Mr Hale is going to notice how much money I’m taking out. Not that he would care… but still. It’s too troublesome to get a new plane.” He noticed the sloppy bandages Dave had made from shreds of his shirt that were stained red. He went to the front of the plane and returned with a small first aid kit. “Here.” He gave Makina a glance. “Where to?"

“Charles de Gaulle airport. The plane should have landed there."

Bidwell disappeared one more to pilot the plane while Dave patched up his arm before sinking deep into his chair. “Y’know what, wake me up when we’re there,” he mumbled. Two minutes into closing his eyes, Dave was asleep.

Wake me up when I’m dead. Makina jerked at the voice returning. Wildly, he looked around, but there was no one. Unsettled now, he took to the pilot cabin where Bidwell was. Something bubbled like acid inside him.

“Do you mind if I hang around here?” He asked. Bidwell turned to look at him, not able to detect anything off.

“Oh no, feel free to stay."

“Thanks."

After landing in the airport, Freedom had taken off. There was a certain pull to this house he was in. The old lady who owned the place had been nice enough to let him into her house. She didn’t speak English much, just enough to be able to offer him water - not that he needed it. The rest of their one-sided conversations were in French or robotic hums.

With an untouched, cold glass of water in his hands, Freedom had taken to venturing the house. The woman didn’t seem to mind and so he wandered, looking at everything with a childlike curiousity. Under the old television sat a dusty photo in a worn, wooden frame. The picture was a boy, no older than 18, hugging some older woman. He frowned. Something about the picture was calling to him, but when the feeling went away, he put it back, dismissing any ideas.

He sat down on the ragged but nonetheless plush couch, staring at the old woman. She took the single seat off to the side and closed her eyes. Then softly, she began to hum a tune.

The house quietened, all sounds gone except for the humming of the old woman. Freedom wondered if he could get used to this life, maybe pick up their language. Based on the reactions of the people he’d run into, the French didn’t seem to know what went on with the robots back in New Mexico and didn’t think of them much.

But that was fine with Freedom.