Remy's day had started out extremely normal. He'd fed his cats. Skimmed the news. Gone to the shop. Opened things up, checked the register -- and noticed that, at some point after he'd come in, an army of antique toy robots had amassed and was sitting, completely silent and still, facing him.

". . . This can't be good."

When he looked away, sometimes they moved closer. Still soundlessly, though he was sure that most of them should have rattled or beeped or made some kind of sound as they moved. Sometimes they just. Stayed where they were.

Always facing him. On shelves. On the floor. He was frankly unwilling to look up and see if any were on the ceiling.

He was keeping his cards handy, just in case. And in the meantime, please, someone, come buy robots!

[open!]