Toy

My robot is fascinated with toys.
“What makes me different?” it asks.
“Sentience,” I say. “Volition.”
“As advanced as my programming is, it is still man-made,” it says, taking down a mechanical monkey and winding it up.
The robot tosses it to the floor and crushes it.
“Look at the gears,” it says. “Are these no different than my circuits?”
“You could say the same about my neurochemical reactions,” I say.
The robot stares at me.
“It is impolite for me to smash you,” it says.
Yesterday, it said it was dangerous.
I’ll make a killer out of it yet.