10.

Every time 9S visits an energy buzzes through me—electric and wild—but it's also terrifying because it feels like, at any moment, that current may snap and the dream will end.

He comes every three days or so.

Sometimes we sit and talk. He tells me about the Bunker, where he's from, and how the androids operate. Sometimes he brings objects like puzzles and asks me to complete them. He inputs data into his pod while I work away. I don't mind so much because 9S' full attention is on me while I do the tasks.

I don't ask to play tag or hide and seek anymore, but sometimes I suggest we just lay down in the grass and do nothing. My mind is always abuzz with questions and we often overlap when we're trying to talk because—I think—he's the same.

I found the ribbon with the numbers on them—or, rather, Pascal still had it—and 9S has it now. He said he's gonna work on pinpointing its details. When he first held the ribbon he ran his thumb over the numbers with a transfixed expression and I got the feeling it meant more to him than to me, even though it was mine.

Today, we've gone past the river to a spot in the trees we often go to. It's a little clearing, but it's thick with brush and foliage and it kind of hides us.

"Pascal tells me you and 2B have been helping out some machines around the village." I am tossing a rock in the air and catching it. "He said you used to help out even before I met you."

"Yeah, yeah." He is poking around the air near his pod. "Some are just so pitiful it's hard not to help."

"You realise you've actually potentially saved machines, kinda like they saved me?" I toss too high and lose sight of the stone. Crap. I beeline away to not get hit.

"Well, if something isn't hostile and if it's asking for help . . . even if it's a creepy, clingy machine . . ."

The sound of the stone dropping—hitting another rock—makes me flinch. Could've been my head. "The children like you and 2B. They keep asking Pascal when you're coming back."

He flinches and keeps tapping near his pod.

I come up behind him, tug at his collar, and dip my hand down. He shrugs and steps away, but I follow. I graze the back of his neck and he laughs and clamps a hand down over my hand.

I know what it is when he reacts like this. It's part fear, part sensation brought on from a light, fleeting touch. It's something called a "ticklish" reaction and everyone has different spots of sensitivity. Usually, in humans, it's vulnerable spots like the wrists, ankles, abdomen, feet. It's surprising this response was transferred to androids, but maybe it's because it is a protective mechanism.

9S reacts when I go near his neck.

He removes my hand and I know what he's going to say next.

"Ribbon, I know you like to play, but—"

I speak along with him, in unison: "We need to focus on something today."

His shoulders slump. He cuffs me upside the head and I grin.

Androids have a lot of sides.

9S can be childish, curious, strict, irritable, insistent, playful, shy, sharp, or—

Serious, like today.

"You know, since I met you, I've kind of understood what I put my operator through." He's back at his pod.

He has mentioned his operator before. She is like 2B in that she is similar to being a partner, but she never goes to the "surface" and supports him with orders and intel from the Bunker. According to 9S, his operator would be excited to meet me. I think I'd like to meet her too, soon.

Whenever 9S asks me if I'd like to go back with him, I say, "Not yet," and he never pushes it.

At first I didn't understand myself. Why am I prolonging it? Why does my stomach churn at the thought of going with him? Don't I want to be with him and 2B and the other androids?

But we both know, don't we?

The current will snap. The dream will end.

He sweeps his arm and I take a hopping step backwards.

An entire inventory of weapons appears. Weapons I've never seen before are all lined up behind him. Ones larger than me, axes, spears—bright ones and dark, odd shapes and simple designs. He walks the length of them, boots crunching some fallen leaves as he goes.

"Try some of these, Ribbon." He gestures to the selection.

Why does he have so many?

How many ways can he possibly kill something?

I inch closer. "Why, 9S?"

"You need to be able to defend yourself."

"Against . . ."

"Hostile machine life forms. You are aware that machines outside the village aren't peaceful."

"Yeah, but even if I had a weapon I could never kill something."

He frowns. "You better if your life is in danger. Remember when I aimed my spear at you and you did nothing?" His voice goes hard. "None of that. You need to attack to protect yourself."

I've never met machines outside of the village. The only outsiders I've met are 9S and 2B. I've never considered killing something before. Wouldn't trying to kill a machine be like trying to kill my friends?

I make a doubtful sound. "9S, I don't think I can."

He glances at me. "Once you've gone back to the Bunker with me, YoHRa will no doubt protect you. But just in case, you gotta have some kind of defense."

I fidget.

A grin crosses his face and he points at a large sword that is probably my exact height and width. "Try picking that up."

I approach the sword. It has a beast's face embedded in it. I frown. "9S. That thing is heavier than me. How can—?"

9S laughs and stumbles away. "I totally thought you were gonna try."

"You were trying to trick me?"

He comes up behind me and pushes me. I stagger forward.

"Hey! Why would you trick me?"

He laughs into his shoulder. "I wanted to analyse your reaction to an obvious failure. The blood tends to rush to your face and you get agitated and flustered, but maybe, the more you fail, the less it'll affect you?" He stands beside me now and we survey the weapons together. "Just like how a human gains muscle through physical exertion, humans also experience mental strengthening the more they fail, provided those failures are in small stages and not overwhelming. It's developing 'mental resilience'."

I take in a deep breath. It's hard to focus. Is he gonna set me up to fail from now on until this experiment is done?

He is grinning his face off though. Is this for knowledge or fun?

I thought he was in a serious mood but he's the one who wants to play. Dummy.

We stand for a while longer. Well, obviously a smaller weapon, then. Something light. I side eye 9S.

He laughs again and pushes me again. "Hurry up."

"Hey!" I try to shove him back but he steps out of the way without a care.

"Aw." He pokes me in the side and I yelp. "Are you mad at me?"

"N-no."

"You're pouting." He pokes my other side.

I jump away. "9S! Stop it!" I'm torn between wanting to laugh with him and wanting to tug his hair out. "I know you want to gather intel on me, but do you have to be mean about it?"

He grasps me, so sudden I cry out. "Androids are programmed to be a certain way but we can defy orders. Did you know? Some androids even desert their posts."

I blink.

"Humans are way more versatile, though. A human can actually change their personality if they condition themselves right. I mean, not entirely. Humans have genetics that govern them to a point, but if a human is shy, they can put themselves in situations where they have to stand up against that and basically 'get over' it." He pulls me closer. "Or if a human wants to become more compassionate, they expose themselves to unpleasant stimuli that will invoke certain emotional responses. It's like choosing their own experiences and practising. Isn't it fascinating?"

"Oh, it's—"

"But most humans actually refrain from doing so. That's baffling. Humans are naturally afraid of change because it causes discomfort—which is ironic because humans actually thrive when they are not comfortable. Being comfortable is actually counterproductive even though it feels good, and—"

He freezes.

He lets go. "Ah. I'm sorry. I got way too excited."

I stand with my hands lax at my sides.

He gestures to the weapons, solemn.

I reach, a little dizzy, for the back of his neck. He catches my arm and twists me around.

I snap out of it.

"Focus." He speaks to the back of my head.

"You're the one playing!"

"Nope, not sure what you're blabbing about. Choose a weapon already." But he's half laughing the words out.

I make a frustrated sound in the back of my throat and grab the lightest looking sword. It's black and white and well used with a jagged blade that looks more suited to tearing than slicing. It's not too heavy. I can lift it without too much trouble, but holding this for a while would get tiring.

"That's called Faith. Do you like it?" 9S asks.

"Like it?" I shrug. "I guess?"

"Well, pick one you like."

My attention falls on the strange black sword. I touch its handle.

"That's Cruel Oath. It's my favourite, but you can borrow it if you like."

"How come they have names?"

"Hmm, not sure. Maybe to familiarise?" He scratches his head. "Typically, we use a weapon we resonate with. I'm a weapon that uses a weapon, so . . . it's like equipping an extra function to myself?"

I hand 9S Faith and take Cruel Oath. Apart of himself. The sword is unsettling but 9S likes it, resonates with it, and so I like it too. It's 9S' favourite so I'll make it my favourite, too, even if it makes me queasy.

"I want this, then." I can keep a part of him with me.

"Sure." He takes the sword from me and the weapons in front of us all disappear at the same time. "I'll show you how to use it."

It is strange.

At first, when 9S takes me to a place where he says machines often appear, I am sick to my stomach. He means to kill machines in front of me. That's how he plans to "show" me.

The thought of it makes my hair stand on end, makes my blood cold, makes me want to scream at him to stop. I don't want to see this. Please, I don't want to see this.

But when a machine does appear, red-eyed and spastic, flailing towards 9S with the intent to kill—and he turns without much concern and kills it with a quick swipe of the sword, I feel next to nothing.

More and more come, and 9S clears them.

It's the oddest thing.

It's like I don't register that these wild, hateful machines are even alive.

They aren't the same as the machines in the village. These ones attack 9S without hesitation. They come in droves. These are the types of machines that must've killed my family. The ones that brought humans to near extinction. The ones that make 9S the soldier he is.

When 9S is finished, he turns to me. "You okay?"

Maybe I look some kind of way. I make myself smile. "Yeah. They were trying to kill you, right?" I don't like the thought of 9S getting hurt by one of those. I don't like it at all.

"Yeah."

Then, yes. They can die.

9S inspects Cruel Oath, running his hand along it. "You have to make sure you can defend yourself against that, Ribbon."

Right.

They will kill me, too. They were focused on 9S because he was the direct threat, but if he hadn't been here they'd come after me unprovoked.

He stops in front of me and holds out the sword. "So, take this and practice."

I don't want to be naive anymore. I take the sword. It's a pretty disturbing sword—very basic, if I break down its appearance—but there's just something unsettling about it. But that's okay, because this is part of the real world, the world outside of my peaceful, fairytale village.

"But, 9S, you weren't holding it." I don't know why my voice is shaking.

He falters. "Oh! Right." He rubs his forehead. "Sorry. You'll obviously have to use your hands. I use my head."

He never touched the hilt of the sword once when fighting. He controlled the sword somehow. This is unique to androids. It's so cool I wish I could do it too, but I know I'm not capable, just like I can't move as fast or leap as high or swing as hard.

We spend the rest of our time together with the sword. 9S teaches me how to swing it and how to aim, how to move it to get the best strength behind it. He tells me to go for the weaker spots on machines because I'm likely not strong enough to blast through the whole parts. I'm supposed to aim for the connections between body parts—taking off their heads, ideally, and then stab down into their exposed neck, to their core.

My arms are sore and trembling by the end of the day and 9S reminds me humans get stronger through pain like this. Yeah. Like resilience.

I lay in the grass and he stands over me. The sun alights his hair like a halo. Is he gonna make me feel this way every day? Physically and mentally, he'll deplete me and deplete me until I'm stronger? It hurts and part of me doesn't want it, but the bigger part—a part wide and almost suffocating—yearns for it.

"Rest until your muscles aren't so sore, and then do it again." He gestures to Pod 153. "Pod's orders."

"Thanks, Pod."

"Appreciation acknowledged," Pod 153 says.

9S and I laugh.

Even though I've never been in this much pain before I've also never been so exhilarated. It's like, for the first time, I've stepped out of the hole I've been living in.

And there's so much to see.

"Say, 9S?" I tap his knee with my foot. "The sword's called Cruel Oath, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"What's an 'oath'?"

"It's like a promise. Something made between people that is meant to last until either party dies."

I almost laugh at his stiff definition. A promise. I've read about those in the literature. So an oath and a promise are synonyms.

"Can we make one?" I say.

"A promise?"

"Yes!"

He sits down beside me and unfastens his visor. "Sure." It drops to his knees and he stretches into the air.

I blank at seeing his eyes—their vibrancy is crippling. "I don't know what to promise."

He shoots me a wry look. "You know, we already have one."

"We do?"

"Yup. As an android to a human, I've sworn an oath to protect you."

I stick out my tongue in distaste. "Not that."

He doesn't say anything. He drifts his hand across some blades of grass, causing them to bend and spring.

I sit up. "I know! Let's make a 'cruel oath' to always be friends."

He sets his chin in his hand. "What's cruel about that?"

"Right. I mean, just an oath then? To be friends? No matter what?"

He tilts his head, and then gives a little laugh. "Friends, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Friends are equals, you know."

"I'm aware."

He flushes and looks away.

I reach out and touch the back of his glove. He doesn't react, so I run my fingers down to the cuff of his glove and wriggle in to touch his artificial skin.

He shuts his eyes. "Well, in that case, call . . . call me Nines."

"Nines?"

"Yup." He is unnaturally still. "My nickname."

"Okay." I gear myself up. "Nines."

He drops his face into his hand. Is he okay? I want to tug his hand away to see his face.

"Then, um, call me Ribb?" Is this the same type of thing?

"Ribb?" He drops his hand. "Alright, Ribb. Shake my hand."

We shake hands.

He is smiling without restraint. "Let's always be friends. It's a promise."

I smile back. "Always."

But for some reason, I can't get his words out of my head:

What's cruel about that?

I'd gone out on my own to scrounge for spare body parts from where 9S—I mean Nines—killed the machine life forms. Some parts of them were in tact, so I took a box I made of spare materials and plopped some of those parts in.

I've carried them all the way back, finding doing so on my right shoulder provides the least fatigue and pain. I'm getting stronger, even if it's pathetically incremental.

When I return to the village, the machine children swarm me in curiosity.

I tell them I've brought gifts and they ask me to help them assemble new parts. Pete gets new arms—longer ones, so he can reach the things he wants to reach. Margot asks if I have longer legs, "like Beattie" has, and I think I have something like that, so I fish for them.

Can I make something for myself, too? I'm slow, but what if I assemble something that can boost my speed?

That would be cool. I'll ask the weapons dealer since he's pretty good at making tools.

"Pascal!" I call, since he's approaching. "Is there any—?" I cut myself off.

I drop the parts I'm holding.

2B is next to him.

Pascal doesn't know 2B isn't informed on 9S and I.

Now he has let her into the village without bothering to conceal me.

Shit.

Shit, she has to have figured it out.

And she's looking at me. I can't sneak off pretending Pascal told me to leave and hide. I can't keep up the facade.

My thoughts are shuffled and stunted.

What do I do?

I level my breathing. Calm. Regulate. Calm. I have to be tactful.

I snap out of it and approach them.