“CALL FUNCTION [REQUEST CLARIFICATION]. THE IMPROBABLE AMBIENT TEMPERATURE OF A FICTIONAL AFTERLIFE LOCATION DOES NOT MITIGATE YOUR VIOLATION OF REGULATIONS.”

“Get out of my room!” Rogers shouted, pointing at the door. “I’m not going to stand here and be lectured on military protocol by a god-damned shiny!”

The word rebounded off the walls through an instantaneous, tense silence. Sergeant Stract dropped the clipboard and gasped. The droids “eyes,” two hollow sockets that glowed a soft blue, flashed red for a moment. For some reason, that sent a chill down Rogers’ spine.

“REJECT FUNCTION [PROTOCOL 162]. CALL FUNCTION [PERFORM PRIMARY DUTY]. RACIAL SLUR,” the droid intoned. “FIVE DEMERITS WILL BE AWARDED.” He then turned to Sergeant Stract. “TARGET CHANGE [SERGEANT STRACT]. LOSS OF MILITARY BEARING IN THE HEAT OF COMBAT. ONE DEMERIT WILL BE AWARDED. CALL FUNCTION [ISSUE ORDER]. PLEASE RETRIEVE THE NOTE-TAKING DEVICE.”

Sergeant Stract looked more mortified at receiving a demerit than at Rogers’ comment about shinies. He hurriedly stooped down and picked up the clipboard, returning to attention with a loud clicking of his boots. That didn’t prevent him from glaring at Rogers.

“CALL FUNCTION [CONCLUDE PRIMARY DUTY]. INSPECTION COMPLETE,” the droid said. “A REPORT WILL BE FILED IN YOUR PERSONNEL RECORD, WHICH YOU CAN ACCESS BY FILING A REQUEST WITH THE PERSONNEL SQUADRON AFTER A MANDATORY FIVE-DAY WAITING PERIOD. ALL INFRACTIONS MUST BE RECTIFIED WITHIN ONE STANDARD DAY.”

“How am I supposed to know what to fix?” Rogers asked flatly, despite having no intention of fixing anything at all.

“CALL FUNCTION [TIRELESSLY REPEAT SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS]. A REPORT WILL BE FILED IN YOUR PERSONNEL RECORD, WHICH YOU CAN ACCESS BY FILING A REQUEST WITH THE PERSONNEL SQUADRON AFTER A MANDATORY FIVE-DAY WAITING PERIOD.”

Rogers closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Get out.”

“CALL FUNCTION [DISMISS]. TARGET [SERGEANT STRACT]. OUTPUT STRING: THIS INSPECTION IS CONCLUDED. YOU ARE DISMISSED.”

“Yes, sir!” The sergeant actually saluted, and the droid exited, though the sergeant didn’t follow immediately. He stood, fuming, fists tight. “I hope you’re happy. That’s the first demerit I’ve ever received.”

“I hope you lose sleep over it” Rogers growled. “Now get out of my room before I order you to smudge your boots.”

Sergeant Stract’s eyes went wide, and he scampered out of the room so quickly that the automatic door clipped his shoulder on the way out, knocking his uniform into an infinitesimal state of disarray.

“No!” the sergeant shouted as the door began to close. “Nooooo!”

Just before the panels shut, the Viking passed by the room, her body filling up the entire frame of the door for a brief moment. She cast a disparaging glance into the room, and Rogers held out a feeble hand toward her.

“Wait,” he called, but the door shut. He continued weakly, “Marry me.”

Alone and filled to the brim with anger and despair, Rogers tore off his clothes and climbed into bed. He fell headfirst into a dream of being trapped in a burning building, but just as the Viking was about to rescue him and carry him off to utopia, she morphed into a red-eyed droid who awarded him a demerit for burning debris on his uniform.