#00684

     The sentries are obedient, do as they are told. How amusing, to see something built from scratch, from metal and programmed to do what’s asked of them. It’s never been thought about too long by the commander. He’s always let the robots roam. Let them patrol and do as they wish on his ship, since their capacity to comprehend is only so much.

     Yet sometimes they seemed organic in a ways and he couldn’t help the curiosity that swells inside him.

     Fingers tap against the control panel, eyes glancing over the screen as he watches the holographic video. Keeping his eye on a certain sentry, numbered 00684 among many others, he’s definitely finding himself watching. Focusing. And more so through the quintants.

     What was fascinating about these creations? What was it that kept his interest in them for so long? Even more so the specific one he’s been watching.

     It’s slightly confusing to the Galra, his ears flattening when he thinks about it and he nearly doesn’t catch the sound of the door humming when it slides open. Metallic foot steps are heard, walking towards him and the whirring of gears hits the commander’s ears. Ah, a sentry. Perhaps coming to report to him.

“What is it.”

     A simple question asked of the automaton, to which his response is exactly what he thought. A report of no findings and Sendak should just wave him away. But he doesn’t.

     He’s curious, wants to test something. See how obedient these machines really are. And his hand lifts up, to curl a finger in a ‘come here’ motion.

“Come.”

     There’s no hesitation in the robot’s steps, following the command he’s been given. How fascinating, truly. As it steps closer, there’s more to be observed about the pristine automaton. The difference it held from the others, the way its steps sounded when it walks and its height compared to his own. What was the point in observing these things? All the commander wanted to know was how obedient this robotic creation could be.

     And clearly, it was obedient enough.

“Tilt your head.”

     He speaks, stepping down from his place to be front of the sentry. His lips curl slightly, fingers folding into his palm as he uses a knuckle to hold up what seems to be the chin of the sentry’s head. And he’s leaning in, lips brushing against a obvious jawline.