Welcome Home

Awake. Here I am, on a sofa, seeing nothing, eyes adjusting, clear. Someone is pointing a revolver at me. “Well, welcome home,” she says. I am not afraid, but where am I? The last thing I remember from yesterday is: nothing. I have no yesterdays. “You’re wondering what’s happened, aren’t you?” she says. “Yes, please, enlighten me.” She keeps talking, the revolver steady in her hand: “They warned me that people like you get aggressive when told.” I am now wide awake, sitting upright, adjusting my hair. “Then tell me, you owe me an answer.” She laughs. “No, I don’t owe you anything. I’ve already paid.” I stand up and she aims. “Sit down, robot.”