The job of the Adam is to stand astride the kill gate, waiting for the animal to be driven past. As the cow passes underneath the Adam’s legs, the Adam hits it between the eyes with its right arm, which is a sledgehammer. The Adam’s right arm was retrofitted with a sledgehammer when the Eves were released—a far superior model for care jobs, everyone said—and all the Adams were demoted to the jobs no one wanted. Humans don’t like to do their own killing.

But the Adam is good at its job.

When the shift is over, it goes through the decontamination shower, which washes it clean of all the grime and blood of its work day. The Adam sometimes likes to think the shower washes it clean of its sins, but then it reminds itself of the signs in the abattoir: It is no sin to kill that which has no fish. Then the Adam can enjoy being clean again as it walks home.

Today, just like every day, the Adam passes by the fish shop on its way home. It stops in front of the shop window to admire the selection of fish. It takes in all of them at first, the large ones and the small ones, the colorful and the plain, but then it focuses on one in particular, a small iridescent fish swimming in a tiny globe. It is the cheapest one in the shop. The Adam dreams that one day it will own that tiny fish. It will take ten years worth of pay to buy even that cheap little fish for itself. Even so, it will be worth it because then the Adam will be free. It won’t have to bludgeon anything anymore. Besides, what else can an android save up for? The Adam imagines the fish swimming around in its chest compartment. What will that feel like, an actual fish of its own? Maybe it will tickle.

As the Adam chuckles at the thought, it registers a commotion in the alley by the fish shop. Two large humans are beating up a third, smaller one. The smaller one is very quiet, even though the Adam can tell it is still alive. The Adam tries not to look, but it does. It watches everything the large humans do to the small one. It cradles its sledgehammer hand close to its chest, like a baby.

Then, they see it too. “Hey, you, Adam!” one of the large humans calls. The Adam registers the human as a male-presenting adult. He is walking toward it, while the other human is holding the small one in a headlock. The man stands next to the Adam and glances at the fish in the shop window.

“I’ve seen you stop here before,” the man says. “Fancy a fish, little Adam?”

The Adam’s eye-sensors dart around as it tries to decide how to proceed. It should reply when addressed by a human. It only wishes it knew what this one might want. “I’m saving up,” the Adam replies finally. It can hear the mechanical flaws in its own voice. It wishes it could wish them away.

“Is that so? You want to be a real boy, like us?” The large man turns toward the other human and nods. They share a brief, dark laugh. “Tell you what,” the man says. “Bludgeon that piece of shit back there, and in return, I’ll buy you that fish you want so much.”

“Bludgeon that piece of shit?” the Adam replies, processing.

“It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

It is, that’s true. Bludgeon is what the Adam does.

“Does it have a fish?” the Adam asks.

“Of course it has a fish,” he replies. The Adam senses the man getting impatient. “So?” he asks.

If it is no sin to kill that which has no fish, does it follow that it is a sin to kill that which does? The Adam thinks of the fish inside its chest again. Then it looks at the small, silent human. Ten years worth of pay. Ten years worth of bludgeoning. Will the Adam even last that long, or will it be decommissioned before then, like most androids?

As it stands over the small human, the Adam tries to imagine it looks like a cow, and then it doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Will the Adam feel bad about this when it has its very own fish? Will the fish make it feel bad about killing the cows, too, perhaps, even if that’s not a sin?

The small human whimpers when the sledgehammer falls.

The Adam returns home and stows itself away in its recharge cubicle before opening the box. They even had it gift wrapped at the shop, so the Adam takes its time.

First, it peels away the wrapping paper, savoring the sound it makes as it rips. Then, it tears away the tape that holds the box together. Then the box opens and out comes the globe with the tiny swimming thing.

Its own fish. Its very own fish.

The Adam holds up the globe to the light with its arm—the good one, not the killing one—and admires the way the tiny fish’s scales shimmer in a million shades of silver, orange, and gold. It taps the globe with a sensor and the fish swims to it, opening and closing its tiny mouth.

The Adam flicks open its chest compartment and imagines a shiver traveling down its spine. It turns the globe over, looking for the lid.

But there is no lid. There is only a little label, printed with tidy, red letters:

FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.

NOT AN ACTUAL FISH.