“Good. Trashbot, there’s more waste to dispose of in the Automotive Robotics Laboratory.”

Trashbot flashes green and leads the way.

The Automotive Robotics Laboratory is a dim underground parking garage. Bare cement walls echo every sound we make, from the rumble and whir of Trashbot’s treads to the squeaks of my sneakers.

A variety of vehicles fills the space. I think most of them are tanks. There is also something that looks like a cross between a bicycle and a helicopter studded with carrot-sized missiles. In the shadows looms a giant spider with a seat on top, and parked next to it is a single wheel with what appear to be steak knives poking out of it.

I spot the vehicle that most closely resembles the van Gina drove. It’s a car painted in a kind of black that does not reflect light. Its windows are darkened, and it is low to the ground with big chunky tires, and it really doesn’t resemble Gina’s van much at all. But at least there are no steak knives.

“This way, Proto.”

I creep between other vehicles to the black car. Creeping seems like a good idea because I do not wish to attract the attention of anyone who might interfere with my attempt to escape.

But a noise attracts my attention: footsteps clicking hard on the concrete floor.

I crouch low, hiding behind the bumper of a truck that looks like scissors with wheels. Trashbot cannot crouch, and Proto does not need to, but they are both capable of making noise, and if they do, our presence will be detected. I will end up back in a chair with my skull drilled open.

The footsteps tap ever closer. A flashlight beam crawls along the wall behind us.

It lands on Trashbot’s faceplate.

In the side mirror of the truck, I spot the reflection of a worker in a dark blue uniform with the uniMIND logo stitched on her jacket. A security guard. Is Trashbot allowed in the Automotive Robotics Laboratory alone?

“Do you have any waste you wish to dispose of?” Trashbot’s voice thunders in the dark space.

“Nope,” says the guard. “I ate a burrito a while ago. That’s the good thing about burritos. Nothing to throw away. You don’t need a fork and knife or anything. Not even a plate. The tortilla is the plate. Isn’t that brilliant?”

What did she do with the wrapper? Perhaps she ate it.

Trashbot apparently has no opinions regarding the brilliance of burritos. The security guard sighs. Her footsteps recede into the distance, and then there is silence.

Burritos are somewhat brilliant, I think.

And, in his own way, perhaps Trashbot is brilliant, too. Were it not for him I would still be locked in my room.

“Trashbot,” I whisper, “would you like to join Proto and me for bad experiences? There will likely be much waste along the way.”