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other floor workers and I watch in silent disbelief as the weeping android strangles the old man.
    It breaks a bone in my hand when I punch the android in the side of her head.
    I scream out as the pain lances through my right fist and up my forearm. When they look human, it is easy to forget what lies just underneath the robots’ skin. The blow throws her hair into her face, strings of it sticking to her tears.
    But she does not let go of Mr. Nomura’s neck.
    I stagger back and glance at my hand. It is already swelling, like a rubber glove full of water. The android is feeble, but she is made of hard metal and plastic.
    “Somebody do something,” I shout to the workers. No one pays me any attention. The slack-jawed morons. I flex my hand again, and the back of my neck goes cold as a terrible, throbbing pain washes over me. And still, nobody acts.
    Mr. Nomura falls to his knees, his fingers gently curled over Mikiko’s forearms. He holds her arms and does not struggle. As his throat collapses, he simply looks up at her. That flowing rivulet of blood courses unnoticed down his cheek, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Her eyes are locked on his, steady and clear behind the anguished mask of her face. His eyes are just as clear, shining behind small round spectacles.
    I never should have played this prank.
    Then, Jun returns, holding a pair of defibrillator paddles. He rushes to the middle of the factory floor and presses them on either side of the android’s head. The solid slap echoes through the factory.
    Mikiko’s eyes never leave Mr. Nomura’s.
    A frothy sheen of spittle has collected around Mr. Nomura’s mouth. His eyes roll up into his head and he loses consciousness. With a flick of his thumb, Jun activates the defibrillator. A shock arcs through the android’s head and she is knocked off-line. She falls to the ground, lying face-to-face with Mr. Nomura. Her eyes are open and unseeing. His are closed, ringed with tears.
    Neither of them breathes.
    I am truly sorry for what we did to Mr. Nomura. I do not feel sorry because the android attacked the old man—anyone should have fought back against such a weak machine, even an old man. I feel sorry because he did not choose to fight back. It occurs to me that Mr. Nomura is deeply in love with this piece of plastic.
    I drop to my knees and peel the android’s delicate pink fingers away from Mr. Nomura’s throat, ignoring the pain in my hand. I roll the old man onto his back and deliver chest compressions, shouting his name. I make quick, forceful little pushes on the old man’s sternum with the heel of my left hand. I pray to my ancestors that he will be okay. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I am so ashamed of what I have done.
    Then, Mr. Nomura takes a deep, gasping breath. I sit back and watch him, cradling my damaged hand. His chest rises and falls steadily. Mr. Nomura sits up and looks around, bewildered. He wipes his mouth, pushes up his glasses.
    And for the first time, we find that it is we who cannot meet eyes with old Mr. Nomura.
    “I’m sorry,” I say to the old man. “I didn’t mean it.”
    But Mr. Nomura ignores me. He is staring at Mikiko, his face white. She lies collapsed on the floor, her bright red dress smudged and dirty.
    Jun drops the paddles and they clatter to the floor.
    “Please forgive me, Nomura-san,” Jun whispers, bowing his head. “There is no excuse for what I did.” He crouches down and takes the fluke out of Mikiko’s pocket. Then, Jun stands up and strides away without looking back. Many of the other floor workers have already scurried away, back to their posts. The others leave now.
    Lunch is over.
    Only Mr. Nomura and I remain. His lover lies across from him, sprawled on the clean-swept concrete floor. Mr. Nomura reaches over and strokes her forehead. There is a charred patch on the side of her plastic face. The glass lens of her right eye is cracked.
    Mr. Nomura drapes himself over her. He cradles her