After the contest was over, the assorted spirit beasts and cultivators returned to the restaurant to celebrate. Zane's rock chicken skewers had been well received by the judges, but Eric won them over with his hamburgers.

Zane couldn't help feeling hollow as he watched the big man receive the catering contract. Eric was so happy, probably the happiest they had ever seen him. He had gone into the contest expecting nothing, and came out on top.

Drinks were poured. More hamburgers were prepared, then eaten. Everyone was having a great time, except for Zane. Once things had died down, he slipped out onto the front patio with a bottle of soju.

The young man watched as snow fell silently on the street. Zane thought it was strange that his cultivation enhanced body was resistant to the cold, but he couldn't escape the chill radiating from his bones. He sat, and drank, then drank some more.

Eventually the bottle ran dry, but he stayed out there on the cold patio. There wasn't much point in going back inside. Instead he sat there, watching winter blanket the city in a carpet of dead white snow.

The opening of the front door announced a visitor, and Zane looked up to see Groucho standing over him. “You can't have my skin,” the young man said, “I'm still using it.”

“I wouldn't want it anyway,” replied the killbot as he handed Zane a bottle of plum wine, “It's got those squiggly black lines all over it.”

Zane watched the construct slowly lowered himself into a sitting position. The cold was doing his joints no favors. Groucho smiled. “Well, you never did tell me how your trip to the temple went. Which god was it dedicated to?”

The young man took a sip of his plum wine and shrugged. “I have no idea. When I got to the end there was just some asshole with a clipboard.”

A shock went through Zane, but between the booze and the cold, he barely felt it.

Groucho frowned. “Did he have a name?”

“Archibald Zemersmith,” the rogue cultivator replied as he fished out his new necklace. “Tell me, does this thing look familiar?”

The killbot shook his head. “It doesn't look like anything to me,” Groucho said with a look of confusion on his face, “At least, I don't think so. Are you sure there wasn't a god at the shrine?”

“Nope. Just some lonely little man with a fondness for traps.” Zane studied Groucho for a moment before he continued, “You know, I've been thinking. Your creator scrambled your brains up pretty good. Would you even recognize him if you saw him again?”

Groucho shivered. “That’s a chilling thought.”

“It gets worse,” Zane warned, “See, I was thinking about it, and what if Archie’s lair wasn't a temple? What if it was designed to kill anyone who came inside? What if he was using it to passively gain experience from all those traps of his?”

The killbot took a deep breath that he didn't really need. “What are you getting at, Zane?”

The rogue cultivator took a sip of his plum wine. “What if you brought me there, not because you wanted to, but because you were programmed to?” Zane set the bottle aside. “Think about it for a minute. Archie needed people to come to his fake temple, and it isn't like the gods were guiding people to it. So, what if he made someone to show them the way?”

“It's possible,” admitted the killbot, “I don't like it, but it's possible.” He turned to face Zane. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Nah,” the young man shook his head, “You can't control what you were programmed to do. Besides, I still need someone to run the vending machine.”

Groucho stared at him for a few seconds before turning away. “You're awfully pragmatic, for a human.”

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Zane shrugged. “Maybe I'm not a human. Not on the inside, at least.” He took another pull from the bottle. It was sickly sweet, but he drank it anyway. “Maybe my life before this one was a dream, or a fantasy I made up. Maybe I'm really a kobold. Who fucking knows?”

He winced as the necklace shocked him again. “It doesn't really matter anyway. I'm a dead man walking.”

“That's a shame,” said Groucho, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I was just starting to like you.”

“Well, maybe it's all for the best,” Zane said before he chugged down the rest of the bottle. “It's not like this world is short on murderous psychopaths.”

“Is that really how you see yourself?” the killbot asked.

“Nah.” Zane shook his head. “I'm just doing my best to survive, the same as everybody else.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the snow fall. Groucho looked over at Zane, studying his face. “I know what you did for Eric.”

The young man turned to meet his gaze. “And what was that?”

“You gave him the good meat,” replied Groucho, “The ingredients he used were filled with Essence. Yours weren't.”

“Don't read too much into it,” Zane said, “I didn't feel like fulfilling the catering contract. If Eric won, I could make him do all the work.”

Groucho raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Why do you care?” Zane asked.

The killbot chose his next words carefully. “I’m not really a person, so take this with a grain of salt. But I think this world is better off with you in it, than without you. So, maybe don't give up just yet.”

“I'm not giving up.”

“Oh really?” Groucho asked. “Because it looks to me like you're preparing your exit strategy. Eric takes over the restaurant, Pinky gets to run it. and you, what? Walk off into the snow?”

“It's probably safer for everyone involved if I leave before things get worse.” Zane pulled up his sleeve to show the creeping black veins. “I've been told that draconic corruption isn't a fun way to go. I'll turn on them eventually, and I don't want that.”

The young man shook his head. “I may be a selfish prick, but I'm not that selfish.”

“Don't worry,” Groucho assured him, “If things get bad, I'll put you down myself.”

Zane laughed. “I don't think that leg of yours will be able to keep up. But, thanks for offering.”

“Anytime,” replied the construct, “Now, if you're done feeling sorry for yourself, there's a very tipsy kitsune inside that needs you to carry her to bed.”

Right on cue, the sound of breaking glass came from inside the restaurant. Zane dusted the snow off his legs and got up. He paused before going back inside. Groucho was still sitting on the patio.

“Your legs are frozen in place, aren't they?” Zane asked.

Groucho gave a slow nod.

“And I'm guessing you need my help, but are too proud to ask.”

The construct nodded again.

“Well, good luck with that,” Zane said as he walked inside, leaving Groucho sitting alone on the patio.

The killbot gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax. Besides the stiffness in his joints, the cold didn't really bother him. And it was a beautiful winter night.

A few moments later, Zane came back to help him up. “Don't worry,” the young man said, “I may be an asshole, but I'm not that much of an asshole.”

Groucho watched in glee as Zane's necklace delivered a double helping of negative reinforcement, sending the young man into a full body spasm.

The killbot grinned as he helped Zane back up. “Having a little trouble with your new necklace?”

Zane leaned forward until the necklace was touching both of them. “Hey Groucho, why don't you go fuck yourself?”

***

From inside the restaurant Pinky’s ears perked up. She didn't know what was going on outside, but there sure was a lot of swearing.

Zane stumbled in through the door a few minutes later and gave her a thumbs up. A bruise on his face healed as she watched.

“Groucho and I had a little argument,” he explained, “He eventually came around to my way of thinking.”

The killbot in question swore as he entered the building. Groucho twisted his head back to a more natural position and shuddered. “Never do that again!”

Pinky giggled and looked up at Zane. Her cheeks were pink from the booze. “Were you being naughty?”

“I…” The young man looked down as an inquisitive hand reached inside the front of his robe. “Oh.”

“I think I should be a little naughty too,” giggled the kitsune.