ROBOTS
Izuku squirmed in his seat as the robots in his class all filed in at the precise second the bell rang. They all sat down at the same time, in the same motion, and took out identical notebooks from black backpacks and opened them to the same page. Izuku, unnerved and feeling out of place, took out his own battered hero journal.
Aizawa rose from the floor. Smoke belched out of the exhaust ports around its neck as it said, "Greetings class, and welcome to your homeroom. The itinerary states that we shall head to orientation."
As one, the robots rose. Aizawa glared at them and said, "However, humans are very adverse to behaving predictably. It would be illogical to not follow the prescribed schedule, and therefore, that is exactly what we should do."
A few of the robots shuddered at the logical fallacy, but they all sat back down. Aizawa's eyes darted to Izuku, and it stalked over. "You. Unit 1-A-18. Why did you not rise with the others?"
Izuku gulped. "Ah, I, uh, I wasn't sure what was going on? I mean, I had a minor programming-"
"Did you all hear that?" Aizawa asked. "The uncertainty. The way this unit trembled and refused to make eye contact. That is the exact behavior you should all strive to conform to."
The robot students all gave polite applause. Izuku stammered out a polite thank you, and Aizawa leaned forward. The robotic teacher radiated heat and reeked of motor oil.
"Squishy, fragile skin, with numerous physical defects." The robot poked him. "Flabby and inefficient pneumatics encasing brittle framework. You might be the single most impressive infiltration unit I have ever seen."
"Why, um, thank you? I was born - I mean built - this way."
"Do you see this? Humans are imperfect by design, amalgams of protein and minerals that dredged themselves out of the primordial muck and subsisted off of inefficient chemical reactions and degrading biomatter. To infiltrate their meager defenses, this is what we must become. Weak. Imperfect. Unique. Achieve a form and motion such as this, and gaining access to their most prized resources and their paltry handful of competent specimens will be calculator's play."
Aizawa dumped a bag of synthetic skins onto his desk. "You are to put these on and meet me outside in ten minutes for a physical assessment. Are these instructions understood?"
"Yes, Sensei," the robots chanted. Izuku copied them a stumbling second later.
As the robots lined up to claim their meat-suit, Izuku quickly darted forward and picked one out. The cheap rubber felt stifling against his skin, but he felt less exposed behind the costume. The resistance was counting on him to infiltrate the robots' defenses, and he couldn't let them down.
As he was leaving, a metal hand clamped painfully onto his shoulder. Izuku turned, and stared into the glowing red eyes of the spiky robot glaring at him.
"You might have fooled the others, but you cannot fool me. Human."
498
Robo-Bakugo: "if you're a robot, you'd have no problem drinking this motor oil, correct?"
Izuku: tries valiantly and chokes
Robo-Aizawa: perfection