Proofreader

By Victoria Roberts

Typos are proof of humanity.

The Typo Alliance slogan fills my mind as I park and slip a file from my purse. I tap my glasses twice, activating the scanner to illuminate data.

TYPO: NEW ECLECTIC GRID POWERS LOCAL WAREHOUSE

ASSIGNED: AGENT BRODY HIGGINS

CONCLUSION: NO FOLLOW-UP REQUIRED

I snap the file shut. Brody might be a senior editor, but I know what a cry for help looks like. Back when I was at the robots’ mercy, I’d dropped enough of my own into the headlines. I glance up at the warehouse. Required or not, I’m following my gut on this one. Stashing the file in my purse, I exit the car.

“Where you going, Meg?”

I freeze. Brody!

He’s behind me, streetlights obscuring his face in shadows.

“My life outside HQ is not your concern.”

“It is when you slip a file I worked from the office.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“So, you cleared this with HQ?”

“Not exactly.”

“What? If you get caught—”

“Then hopefully you’ll fully investigate the next headline typo!” I narrow my eyes. “I thought only robots ignored them.” I tap my yellow glasses once. Brody’s body registers red. I swallow hard and nod. Still human.

“Why won’t you let this go?” asks Brody.

“Because I wouldn’t be here if a proofreader hadn’t followed my typo off-book years ago.” The memory of being freed from the clutches of a robot strengthens my resolve. “Report me if you want. I won’t let other humans become experiments while I wait for clearance.” I turn toward the warehouse.

“Wait!” snaps Brody. “You can’t go alone. As a senior agent, I must ensure your safety.” He activates the touchscreen on his wristwatch. “Follow my lead.”

“Your lead? I got us here.”

“Yes, but I have the tech to follow through.” He points at my glasses. “Unless those track robot patrols.”

I cross my arms. “You know they don’t.”

“Exactly.”

He moves past me, scanning the warehouse. Peeking over his shoulder, I spot blue lights peppering his screen. Robots. Five of them guard the entrance. We inch forward along the left side of the building, his device detecting robot interference. Maybe he did overlook the initial typo, but he’s right about the tech. Finally, he holds up his hand.

“According to patrol rotation data, this entrance will be clear for the next hour.” He glances at me. “If you’re right, we’re looking for a central room with pods.” He turns toward the door. “Be sure to scan the pods so we can tell if any humans have transformed. We have enough robots on the street.” Brody enters digits into the door panel, then I follow him into the dark warehouse.

My shoes squeak against the linoleum and I wince as Brody glares over his shoulder.

I tiptoe and manage to keep the squeaking to a minimum while we pass several empty rooms.

The sound of metallic boots interrupts our search. Brody dims his watch, pulling me behind a nearby vending machine. Five robots round the corner, my glasses registering them in bright blue. One pauses, turning toward us to scan the hallway. I swallow hard. A reflection of its face catches on the vending machine door. My eyes widen. It looks human—nothing like those grotesque, fissured mechanical beings that captured me as a teen. But my glasses don’t lie. It’s a machine. A chill runs up my spine. How can we fight an enemy that’s adapted itself to look like us?

When the scanner nears our hiding spot, I press against Brody. His body tenses with mine. I hold my breath, hoping the vending machine will mask our presence. The robot retracts its scanner and continues down the hallway. I exhale as Brody’s watch brightens.

“The central room is up ahead,” he whispers.

He leads me around the corner and through a double-wide door. Rows of glass pods crowd the room—filled with humans floating beneath the transparent domes. Neon tubes wind through the pods, pumping sedative fumes into each chamber. It’s worse than I remember.

Brody places a hand against my shaking fingers. “I’ve sent the signal for backup. Let’s free as many as we can.”

I nod, snapping back to the present. I’m not an experiment anymore. The Typo Alliance rescued me, and now I fight with them. I move forward, scanning each pod. My heart sinks when several register bright blue. They’ve already been transformed into machines. I press the power button on each pod, deactivating them before moving on.

It’s just like the monthly drills, I remind myself. Focus on the ones you can save.

I gasp when I reach the last line of pods. The robots are collecting younger targets. My breath hitches as each little body registers blue. When I detect a red pulse, I smash the eject button. Leaning down, I scoop the child into my arms. Bless the citizen who put a typo in today’s headline. I press the child against me, willing warmth into her cold limbs.

A hand lands on my shoulder. Brody stands behind me with a nurse from HQ. As sounds of Alliance fighters engaging with robots ring like a victory cry in the distance, I pass the child into more capable arms. My heart sinks a little as she’s carried away, but at least now she has a chance. Like I did.

Brody steps up beside me. “You did good, Meg.” He scratches his chin. “You know, this could earn you a promotion. Maybe move you up to fieldwork?”

I shake my head. “I know proofreading is a lower-level department, but it’s what I’m good at.”

His face softens with a smile. “Don’t underestimate what you do. It could save the world someday.”

I laugh. Maybe he’s right. Only time will tell. For now, I’m happy serving the Typo Alliance in this beautifully imperfect world, preserving humanity one mistake at a time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Victoria Roberts has been making up stories in her head for as long as she can remember. She writes uplifting Sonflower Stories that encourage readers to stand for the light. When she’s not penning or devouring a new tale, she spends her time adventuring in the Sunshine State with her husband, spoiling their poodle Beast, or creating book-themed cross stitch patterns.

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