WORK IN PROGRESS
A collab between myself and  glitchuser

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It was late one Friday night when the final keystroke finally was pushed.
“Thank God this is done. I can’t remember the last time I had to work for 12 straight hours to gather enough stuff for an article.” Matt says.
Matt was a freelance journalist, and lately work had been slow. He had barely been able to pay his rent for his apartment the week before. He was grateful that he didn’t have to worry about it for another whole month. He yanks the final article out of his old Smith-Corona and leans his head back, his long brown hair dangling behind him, feeling it pull his head down, pressing his neck softly into the back of his chair. The soft ticking of a nearby clock somehow soothes his tired hands. He takes a deep breath and feels his chest rise before he nearly gags.
“Jesus, what’s that stench??” He whips his head towards the offensive smell and sees his weeks fare nearly flowing over the edge of his trash can onto the newspaper riddled floor.
“Oh, right, garbage.” He chuckles to himself. He lifts himself out of his chair and ties the bag shut. He tosses it carelessly over his shoulder and grabs a set of keys off the wall. He twists the knob of his apartment and pulls the door open. He pulls it shut behind him, placing the keyring holding his keys together strategically between his lips and he locks the door. He deposits the keys into his pocket, and he descends the three flights of stairs separating his floor from the streets of the city.
He kicks the door to the back alley open ala Bruce Lee, complete with yell, and he busts into the alley with a big grin on his face. He takes the bag of offensive refuse and tosses it into a big green dumpster amid the tossed away piles of garbage from the other tenants of the apartment building he lived in. He slams the lid of the dumpster down and a gust of wind blows his hair into his face. He spits out, sure he had gotten something disgusting in his mouth, and a glint of silver catches his eye.
“What the hell is that?” He approaches a big pile of assorted recyclables, mostly old electronics, televisions, refrigerators, and things of that nature. He pushes an old Zenith television onto the alley floor, and the screen shatters, but that’s not what surprises him. What surprises him is what lies beneath.
“Is…that a robot???” He asks out loud. He looks around, checking to make sure no one was around. He kneels on one knee to look at it. It looks like a cross between a husky and a human, but, a robot. He brushes some dust off of its shining silver muzzle.
“Woah, wicked.” Is the only thing that manages to escape his lips and he looks at it. He pushes some boxes and assorted recyclables out of the way and takes in the machine’s form. It seems to be in some disrepair, a panel on its arm and chest seemingly torn open, hanging carelessly asunder. He almost feels sorry for the discarded machine. Dents are numerous, but not irreparable, at least by his amateur eye. He lifts up the undamaged arm and feels it over.
“Nearly the same as a human, if I had to guess.” He says. He looks at the hand and feels it over, the cool metal of the fingers feeling nice on his sore hand. The other hand of the robot, lying limply by its side, twitches, but Matt is too busy looking at the other arm to notice this, or the eyes flickering softly to life…