I always start with the hair: the scalp, the eyebrows, the upper lip. Once I get through this, I vow never to touch tweezers again. In the shower, I scrub away every trace of dead skin. Just one cell might save me.

Next comes the makeup. Luckily, the new bot has lab-grown skin with human-like scars, so I can keep the mole on its chin. The nylon fibers in the wig used to itch, but now they hardly bother me.

The difficult part is body temperature. We run hot. The yellow jumpsuit works as a standard uniform, but its airgel-infused lining makes it stiff in all the wrong places. When I look in the mirror, I see a mannequin version of myself.

The claws of guilt catch in my gut. I never lied. Now that’s my whole life.

Fragments of text cut across my reflection. My lens parses a few words from the constant updates. Our code is embedded in their code. I swipe my eyes to open the map. My pulse quickens. The meeting place across town is obvious. The only way to get there is by public transportation.

On the maglev, I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the robot, swaying with the crowd. The trick is to laugh without thinking. I wish it weren’t so frightening.

I think about absurd events. It’s a train full of bots in matching uniforms: yellow for logistics, blue for repair, green for gardening. Like old advertisements. Friends that exist everywhere herald the arrival of a clean and prosperous era.

They did it—once we were out of the way.

The city scrolls by. Bullet holes have been repaired. The blood has been washed clean. We pass a collapsed skyscraper. Arrange the racks for hydroponic cultivation one after another. Glide through once-clogged boulevards, now thick with leaves.

Their city is both a garden and a ghost town.

Someday, I will ride this train to the end and then walk home—to a desert without bots. But today I’m supposed to meet a conductor from a different route. It took months and months to receive my invitation, so I was late.

“Can you help me?” His voice is garbled. The delivery bot stares at me with misty eyes. Its gears interlock and jerk forward, blocking the exit.

“I’m lost.”

I manage to push it out of the way and reach the door before it closes. But bots don’t push one another. I miss my stop.

I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth. The nanogel coats my throat like syrup. When the bot’s sniffer catches a drop of DNA, the car fills with red suits.

“Where are you going?” I ask with genuine concern.

“Maintenance.”

During the war, older models were the easiest to hack. We ripped open their plastic skulls and mined their information.

“Hmm. I missed the last update.”

“Three more stops,” I say, like the kind little bot the robots think I am.

“Thank you,” the bot says, pushing its sagging features into a smile before walking away.

I get off at the next station, a few blocks from my destination. I have to hurry, but I remember not to run.

I’m walking through a part of the city the bots haven’t fixed yet. Under the abandoned expressway, moldy mattresses lie beside boxes of rotten fruit blackened by flies. I had almost forgotten what decay smelled like.

“You’re late,” a voice says from the shadows of the underpass.

It’s obvious when he steps into the light. He is wearing yellow clothes like me, which means there will be fewer questions about logistics. But that’s his disguise. There is worry in his voice.

I’ve done every kind of eavesdropping and scanning, but I’m better at spotting fakes.

“I almost lost you.”

“Why didn’t you do that?” I ask, because I would have.

“It’s worth the risk.”

He takes a step closer. It’s hard to see what he really looks like beneath the makeup, but there is something about his eyes. Fire.

For just a moment, I think he’s different from the others. He might have a chance. But then I remember what is waiting for us: a combination of unfavorable circumstances.

“Were you being followed? I think there are spies.”

“I was careful.”

I can’t meet his gaze. Sometimes being human is harder than being a bot.

He nods. “The others are waiting.”

“What else?” I ask, trying to hide my guilt. One is bad enough.

“Don’t worry. There’s a seat available.” He gestures toward the utility door behind him.

Beyond it lies a labyrinth of ancient tunnels and sewers.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait,” I say. “Please tell me how to get there.”

I blink twice so the camera in my lens can record his instructions.

“Just in case we get separated.”

He explains the route. Each step ends at the port where the ship is waiting.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“For what?” he asks, just before the drone crashes into the alley, kicking up dust and trash.

A group of red robots rushes in. They surround him and raise their rifles.

He abuses them, but he saves me from the worst of it.

Now I can’t help meeting his gaze. I force myself to look away.

“Wait,” I say to one of the security bots.