The bartender stopped wiping the glass he had been absently cleaning, and silence seemed to envelop the bar as I could feel the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on me.

“What’s wrong with you people?” I challenged. I wasn’t worried. If this was going to get ugly I could handle at least twice as many as were there.

“Why don’t you finish you’re drink and get out of here, buddy. Best for everyone.” The bartender didn’t smile.

Small minded — in every sense of the word — that’s what these failed biology projects were.

“We don’t want your kind here.” A few of them stood up and and started to circle around me.

“I don’t want any trouble. But whatever you start I’m willing to finish.” I stood up. “A robot has as much right to drink here as anyone else.”

“Oh, we don’t have a problem with robots,” said the bartender as he unscrewed his arm and affixed a taser. “It’s assholes we don’t like.”