Knocking From the Closet

“A little robot knocked on my door… and begged me to erase him.” It was small.

Metal joints, glowing eyes, voice trembling like a scared kid. It said:

“Please delete me. Please.” I asked why. Its head twitched. “They’re coming.

They need my memories. You’re the only one I trust.” Before I could respond, it projected a hologram—

a group of towering metal figures searching homes. “Erase me,” the robot whispered.

“Or they’ll erase you.” I panicked and performed a memory wipe. It powered down.

Silent. I hid it in my closet. That night, the same metal figures appeared on the

news. Authorities said they were “satellite reflections.” But every night