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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Sci-fi · #1916381
Some robots don't know how to make a good cup of coffee
Nolan sat on the edge of his cot watching as Mark threw one end of his rope over a wooden beam and then tied the other into a noose. "Who you goin' hang, Mark," he got up and went to the coffee maker sitting on the table next to the door.

"That damn robot!"

"Which damn robot," he picked up a dirty cup, wiped it out with a dirty white napkin, and poured coffee into it. "There are at least a dozen of the buggers on this job site."

"The one that keeps asking, Are we having fun yet? While we're diggin' out bodies."

Oh," he returns to his bunk. "You mean Scorch?"

"Is he the one with the built in flame thrower?"

"Yes," Nolan took a sip of coffee, let out a scream of pain, and then dumped the rest of the coffee onto the floor. He went to the coffee maker, turned out its little red light and poured its contents into a trashcan. "Who made that coffee?"

"D.R." said Mark scratching his head. "Nolan, can you help me get Scorch's head in this noose?"

"No," Nolan sit back down on his bunk. "But I'll help you get D.R.'s head in it."

"But Scorch is more irritating of the two robots."

"Mark," Nolan glared. "irritating I can deal with, but if I drink one more cup of D.R.'s poisonous coffee, I'm goin' to die."
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