I push the face-plate into place. It takes a bit of force; it always does, but it finally clicks in, and I let my legs fall down to the floor.
 
 "Don't you think this one looks kind of funny?"
 "I'm pretty sure they're all identical, Rin."
 "This one is different."
 
 Hisao laughs me off, but I look into it's lifeless eyes. I think this one is special. As Hisao is tapping away at his keyboard, I dump my brush into the paint-can and start to cover the chest plate.
 
 "Can we name this one?" Hisao laughs me off again. "Don't get too attached to it, they don't make it back very often."
 
 I think I can help this one. I lay down the brush against the paint can, and hop up from my seat. Hisao looks over to me, confused, but quickly goes back to his own work. I bite down into the ammo reserve, trying to capture a few bullets in my mouth to carry them over. We're supposed to give them 10 each, but if I give this one a few extra it might last longer.
 
 I spit my mouth-full of bullets into the tank, and sit back down. It leaves a horrible, rusty taste in my mouth.
 
 "If it makes it back, then you can name it." A small grin sprawls across my face, and I pick my paint brush back up again. I start painting on Shizune's intricate logo.
 
 ...
 
 "What do they feel?"
 "I don't know, Rin. Probably nothing, honestly."
 
 What a sad life to live, feeling nothing and existing to shooting things. "Do you think they fear?"
 
 Hisao looks at me for a second, with a pensive, perplexed face. What did I do?
 
 "Kind of. They have some sort of self preservation, so I guess that's like fear."
 "Why don't they just stop? Why would they fight?"
 "What do you mean 'stop?"
 
 "If they were afraid, don't you think they'd just try to hide? Why would they go off and shoot stuff if they were afraid of being destroyed? I'd hide."
 "I, uh.. they were made to shoot stuff I guess, so they shoot stuff."
 
 My heart starts to sink into my chest. What a sad life to live.
 
 I wish that they didn't have to do that, or that we didn't have to make them. I wonder if they resent us for making them, for sending them off to die. What good do they do, anyway?
 
 ...
 
 I notice that I haven't been painting for a while, but the paint-job is mostly finished, anyway. It also comes to my attention that the sound of Hisao's tapping has stopped.
 
 "I uhh, it's finished." I nod, and use both of my feet to pull onto the lever. Sounds of gears turning fills up the room. The conveyer belt starts up, moving the machine along. A hatch opens, and I get a short glimpse of the outside world before the droid is pushed out into it. If I had hands, I'd stand up and salute the brave thing. Instead, I push back the lever and stop the conveyor belt.
 
 "I think that's enough for today. I think it's time for dinner, anyway." I get up, but Hisao is still staring at me, but only now do I notice that he has a worried-look glued to his face. "Are you doing alright?"
 "I'm fine. Medium hungry."
 
 Hisao nods at me, and we head off together to the mess-hall.