Description: The sounds grew louder. Frost closed her eyes. She wasn't ready. The footsteps ceased. With a creak, the door slowly opened. And there, standing before her, was a robot. "Dad?" "No." Frost exhaled, a mixture of disappointment and relief. "Bunt. You were gone so long, you had me worried." "It is becoming more and more difficult to find supplies, Frost. And there are more and more dangers to evade." Bunt bent down and lowered his box of loot to the ground, then, on one knee, he placed a hand on Romes. The broot did not stir beneath the metallic touch. "He is getting worse." "You're supposed to tell me he's getting better." "I do not lie. You know that. Your broot is dying. He has a month of life left. Two at most." "I was sick too, once. Don't you remember? I used to always be sick when I was little. Dad told me so. He said it was bad, very bad. Worse than Romes. And, look, I got better." "The Broot will not."The brutal honesty was too much for Frost, and her eyes filled with tears. It was a day she had been dreading for years, and all she wanted to hear was that there was hope, just a glimmer of hope. "I wish my Dad were here. He would never say such things to me. He would comfort me." "Alas..." "Alas... Alas... What do you think you are, Bunt? You're not human, Bunt. Never will be."

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