From afar, if you squint enough, you see the upturned smile with crinkling around the eyes.

Moving closer, if you touch the big lumps on both sides of the top figure, you get an inappropriate reaction, especially if it’s your first time meeting them, the entity.

The entity, as we call them, the human, decides to call us humanoid. The surface level of humans with no real experience or expressions. The bottom line when it comes to emotion, but we come in second when you need more likely true information and help to do things. “I’m sorry,” I say it with the exact depth routine we always practice together.

The figure, whose name is Joey, makes a face that I cannot decipher. My data reports show Joey is not a human but a centaur because he has four legs on his lower body. No matter what he is, both a human and a centaur are peculiar entities, I think personally, standing on my white steel legs, waiting for his response.

“This thing is called a wheelchair, S91E. I think it’s time for you to upgrade your system. I’m a human, a real creature, not a centaur. That thing is a mystical creature.” Joey sighs while galloping his feet around and turns back.

“I shouldn’t have bought you yesterday. It was a mistake. Fifty percent off, and instead of a proper humanoid, I brought home the old-fashioned one.” He moves again, and I kneel because he wants me to.

“118,” Joey states my birth year. He looks like he’s questioning himself before making a decision. “Well, taking you to the reparation will cost more money, so I’ll take you back tomorrow to the market. Let’s hope someone needs you so they’ll buy you.”

I stare at him for so long. He must feel uncomfortable by the way he looks at me with a troubled human expression. “Wipe that sad look off your face,” he says and leaves.

I stand up to go look in the mirror.

What does he mean by that? I only see a humanoid with a cold metal face that is me.

I’ll overlook his words, maybe he’s the one who has malfunctioned.