MY ONLY RECOURSE IS THERE IS NO RECOURSE

　King had carefully orchestrated everything from the very start. He had never intended to tell the truth about Burnerman’s origins, neither to the robot master himself nor to the rest of his subjects. Lying was dishonorable, but what were a few mistruths when considering the greater good of his people?

　“You were created for the sole purpose of causing ecological destruction... But I suppose that was too cruel and foolish an idea by even human standards. And so you were abandoned by them.” King spins the lie so effortlessly that it seems he believes it himself.

　“...And you saved me?”

　“Yes, but...”

　“But?”

　“There is a device inside you—” King touches a finger to Burnerman’s chestplate. “A device which will detonate in the event you fail to carry out that mission.”

　Burnerman blinks, brow knitted; His disbelief is obvious.

　“You’re kidding, right?”

　King gravely shakes his head.

　“Then— Why didn’t you take it out?”

　“I did try.” King had already prepared a response. “But it was installed in such a way that removing it would have destroyed your IC chip as well.”

　“So it doesn’t even matter? I’m gonna die anyway?!” Burnerman immediately grows frantic, angry, sitting up from the cold metal plane he reclined on.

　He hadn’t taken much convincing.

　“No—” King puts his hands on Burner’s shoulders, a gesture both to comfort him and to put a bit of distance between the two. “No, Burnerman, I won’t allow that to happen. I would not revive you only to tell you that you were doomed.”

　Burnerman stares anxiously at King with pinprick pupils.

　“Your life is a precious thing— Even if the humans so easily threw it away. If you follow me, do as I say, we can show them the error of their ways.” King holds out a hand to the other robot.

　Burnerman relaxes only enough to put his palm in King’s, his head swimming. He had just gained consciousness, how could he know who to trust or what to believe?

　“I won’t let you die, Burnerman.” King places his other hand atop his creation's. “I swear it. But I need you to help me.”

　A forest every day. That was the order given by King; an order he claimed instead to have been programmed by uncaring human scientists. It was an unreasonable demand, undeniably. Burnerman himself insisted meeting such a strict quota would be impossible. But his resistance only lasted for a short time; The fear of death and his gratitude to his king urged him forward. An animal survival instinct embedded in a being made of steel and plastics, he was motivated by the preservation of his facsimile of life.

　Burner was called dull-witted, boorish, uncouth, but even so he could appreciate the natural beauty of an untouched landscape. In the beginning, he had trekked through the jungles in his uncertainty. They teemed with life: flowers blooming in bright technicolor, ornate birds gliding through emerald green canopies, insects whose shells reflected light from the sun... Animals ran through the underbrush and the branches up above, calling and chirping, rustling the plantlife that surrounded him. The robot master’s angular, bright red form stood out from the greenery, marking him as something distinctly foreign and out of place.

　He knew what he was doing was wrong. Fire engulfed the treeline in what felt like an instant. The flames raged with an otherworldly heat, filling the air with smog that would have strangled Burner had he lungs to inhale it. Overhead, birds in black silhouette fled from the blazing woodland.

　The amount of death required to sustain him was impossible for him to comprehend. The sheer weight and volume of it was enough to crush him, causing already unstable supports to bend and snap. In a shamefully human way, Burnerman adapted. His distress transformed into amusement. King always praised his work— And if King said it was just, there was no reason to argue. It was easier to let King think for him, less painful. All Burner needed to do was act. With King's words of encouragement echoing in his mind, he came to see the beauty in eradication, in flames dancing tirelessly using death as their fuel, in the complete transformation of living things into lumps of blackened charcoal. Every thing had its purpose; Burnerman’s was to destroy, to reshape the world to his savior's liking. Who cared if it was wrong? Whose values were those in the first place? Morality became irrelevant in the face of survival, and so he came to revel in fulfilling the detestable mission appointed to him.

　Burnerman’s destructive power was unmatched, but had he been too clever, too skeptical, his head screwed on a bit tighter, King might have found the flames trained on him, melting him down to his last microscopic component... Watching images of the smoldering remains of a once lush jungle flicker across one of his many monitors, King felt relief at the fragile simplicity of his underling’s mind and heart. Burnerman’s crazed laughter crackles over the speakers, the cacophony as unsettling as it was reassuring. As long as he could be certain that he held the chains sufficiently tight...

　If humanity was nature's shepherd, then King was glad to turn his wolf loose upon the sheep. But how little they cared! Perhaps some, the few with even a shred of empathy, mourned the massive loss of wildlife which had not earned the ire of robotkind in the way they had. But the fiery destruction of forestation was mainly met with apathy from the humans, even when it meant less oxygen for them to suck up into their greedy lungs... The disregard for lifeforms other than their fellow man came as no surprise to King. Humans were self-interested as a species, and even more so as individuals. He knew this from the data that had streamed through his mind during his creation. Mankind's prerogative was to use up and to discard; Behavior that was wasteful at best in the case of natural resources, and unconscionable when speaking of sentient beings... King and his brethren were, in their own way, undeniably alive, and made so deliberately by their human creators. So how could humanity throw away the very things they made so closely in their own image...?

　King still grappled to come to terms with their callousness. How could they be so heartless? Did killing humans make him no better than they were? He more often than not allowed himself to see them all as fundamentally evil, completely unworthy of his concern. After all, they had treated his kind with the same sweeping indifference. His revenge was just, and ultimately... for the greater good. Logic brought him back to that line of thinking again and again. King started to believe there really was no length he was unwilling to go for the sake of reaching that lofty ideal.

　His thoughts often turned to Burnerman, of how shameful his treatment of his own creation was. Although at times he worried this too made him a hypocrite, he didn’t feel particularly remorseful— Despite being very aware it wasn't right of him. Deluding the poor boy was undeniably cruel, but it wasn’t as if Burner was under any actual threat to his wellbeing. And after they had established a mechanical utopia, there would no longer be a need to deceive him. King fantasized about telling him one final lie: That he had found a way to safely remove the explosive device inside him, and he could at last rest easy. After all, he had grown somehow fond of Burnerman, of his loyalty, his frankness, his strange innocence. His pitifulness made him precious. But at the same time... King loathed him for it. The way he clung to him for support, how he tirelessly sought his approval. Burnerman was like a confused dog that had been beaten one too many times, but still kept running back to its master, tail wagging. It was sickening.

　There were indeed times when he could no longer stomach it. Burnerman's miserable pleas for comfort and reassurance, his delirious rambles and muttering, the shouting, the failure to show proper respect... In the event his patience ran thin, King would punish him for his insolence by deliberately exacerbating his worries, or better yet, by simply turning him away. On more than one occasion Burner had been reduced to a screaming, sobbing wreck after King had refused him an audience. It was a pathetic, heartbreaking scene, but King found an odd thrill in "disciplining" his subordinate in such a way. Burnerman could never understand such punishments, begging to know what he had done wrong— Of course, he had done nothing to deserve it really, except to be an inconvenience in his over-fondness or in his volatility. His mix of confusion, fear, and frustration made for quite the amusing spectacle. It confirmed before King’s very eyes how truly hopelessly Burnerman needed his guiding hand, how utterly at his mercy he was...

　What a warped way of exchanging affections they had. King suspected Burnerman's madness may have begun to rub off on him at some point.

　Oftentimes, though, he took pity on his poor creation.

　Burnerman stands in the doorway, his shadow obscuring the long rectangle of light cast into King's computer room.

　"You may enter." King addresses him with his back still turned, looking to be preoccupied with research.

　Burner's sheepish footsteps clang metallically against the hard floor. Closing the door behind him, the room is illuminated only by blue-green computer light. For a while he says nothing, rigid with tension, listening to King's fingers clatter rhythmically atop his keyboard. King can feel his guest's gaze fixed on the back of his head.

　"...Can I help you, Burnerman?"

　“Yeah, maybe.” Burner speaks past a lump forming in his throat.

　At last, King turns around in his swivel chair and faces him.

　“Feeling worried again?”

　Burnerman’s sharp teeth clench behind lips pulled into a frown. Worried. If only he was just worried. King’s dismissiveness must’ve just been his way of trying to be polite.

　“...Something like that.”

　“Come now,” King tilts his head, offering a magnanimous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know there’s no need for you to be afraid.”

　“The bomb—”

　“The bomb which won’t detonate as long as you keep doing as you’re told?” King interrupts. “You’ve yet to fail to follow orders, Burnerman. In fact, your results have been nothing but impressive. You’ve proven yourself more than capable. Why worry?”

　“Because— Because what if I screw up somehow? What if I can’t– What if the gas won’t ignite? Or what if I run out of things to burn?” Burner barrages him with questions. “What happens when something finally goes wrong?”

　"Nothing will go wrong. I'll make sure of it."

　"You don't know that!" Burnerman suddenly snaps, the volume of his voice amplified by the small size of the room. "There's no way to make sure! There's—"

　"Burnerman—"

　"There's nothing you can do! I'm going to die!"

　King rises from his seat and approaches Burnerman. The other robot has clearly begun to panic, eyes wild as he clutches his head.

　"Burnerman, please. Compose yourself." King takes on a firm yet soothing tone, resting his hands on Burner's shoulders. "Do you really have so little faith in your own abilities?"

　Burnerman opens his mouth to speak, but King is faster.

　"Do you have so little faith in me?"

　"No! What—" Burnerman stumbles over compounded anxieties. He's putting words in my mouth!

　King leaves him stranded there, sinking back into his seat with his hands folded in his lap. His cape billows out over the chair like a fine sheet.

　"I understand how horrible your predicament is. Every day, in my research, I strive to find some kind of solution." It's all a lie. There can be no solution to a problem that never existed. "We're both doing all we can, are we not? I must admit your doubts are a bit disheartening..."

　Burnerman wants to scream, but restrains himself. King's disappointment was palpable. Anything but this, anything but letting down his king— Burner's distress only intensifies, becoming a searing sensation coursing throughout every circuit in his body. Something was wrong. The explosive device must have activated somehow— He falls to his knees with a cry, throwing himself at King's feet.

　"No! No, no! I believe you, I believe you!" A frantic mantra. "I believe you! I don't wanna die, just don't let me die—!"

　A smirk tugs at the corner of King's mouth where Burnerman can't see. He reaches down and holds Burner's face in both hands, lifting it so that they can look at each other directly. Imitation tears pool in Burnerman's eyes.

　"You won't die. I refuse to let you die." King's quiet insistence makes Burner realize he is in fact still alive. "You are worth far too much to me."

　Burner stares dumbstruck into King's eyes. He’s got such kind eyes, he thinks, But how can he be so calm when I feel like I'm losing my mind? It disturbs him; He buries his face in his arms to avoid meeting King's gaze any longer.

　“...Sorry. I... I freaked out again.” His voice is muffled in King’s lap.

　“It’s alright.”

　“Is it? I’m always doing this.” Burner pauses, gripping King’s knees. “...I just get so scared all the time— I’m outta control, it’s exhausting. ...I can’t keep living like this.”

　“You won’t have to endure it much longer.　Once this world is a place for robotkind alone, there will be no need for you to fight. And I will find a solution.” King assures him. “You’ll have earned peace as a reward for all this hardship.”

　Burnerman stays quiet, still hiding in the darkness of his folded arms. He wants to believe it. A time where he can live freely, happily, without needing to destroy, without fearing for his life... He wonders if that would even satisfy him at this point. As much as he wants to, he can’t quite picture the kind of peace his master promises him. In a world without conflict between humans and robots, would there even be a place for someone like him?

　“You won’t just get rid of me?” He finally looks up at King again.

　The question rattles King. He freezes, feeling his flawless exterior falter for a fraction of a second. He sees his own fears, his own weakness, reflected in Burner’s bright green gaze. How very disconcerting it is... He doesn’t like it one bit.

　“The idea had never even once occurred to me.” King smiles, eyes squinting shut. “How could I do that to one of my precious subjects?”

　King wonders why it feels like he’s lying despite him telling the truth. It’s gotten so difficult to discern the two as of late.

　Seeming satisfied with King’s answer, Burnerman lays his head back down.

　“Well... Can I stay like this for a while?” He knows it’s selfish of him. King is busy with more urgent matters, but he doesn’t care.

　“Of course.” King, in all his graciousness, strokes the flat top of Burner’s helmet. “You must be terribly tired.”

　He was. In this moment of rest, Burnerman imagines oblivion. At times like this he sometimes found himself thinking it would be preferable to the endless suffering and uncertainty which he had to endure. He pictures blinding white expanding outward from the core of his body until it consumes everything, burning unimaginably hot, hotter than even his own flames, hotter than a star. One brilliant moment of transcendent agony, and then— Nothing. An end to pain. A reward and a punishment all in one; He would never suffer nor cause anyone else to suffer again. He thought of taking King along with him— He deserved it most of all, for salvaging an abominable thing such as himself. And then King, too, could rest, could be free of his burdens and duty. He would die before the others could put their filthy hands all over him any more than they already had. Burner wonders whether that means he loves King, or that he hates him.

　Maybe the whole world would be wiped out. All the hateful humans would die. That would make King happy. Burnerman hoped the explosion would be so dazzlingly brilliant and enormous that whatever horrible God that had created humankind in his image would be swallowed up by it too. He dreams of complete nothingness, true equalization, atonement on all fronts. Extinguishment. That was the kind of peace Burnerman could envision.

　Still, he wanted to believe, from the bottom of his heart. In King’s benevolence, in his own happiness, in a world that kept spinning without needing him to raze it to the ground... Burnerman wants so badly to believe in a world where he and King can stand shoulder to shoulder, carefree and content.

　But until that day comes, all he can do is place his labile life in King’s hands.