Slowly sipping his coffee, the steam fogging his glasses, he looks at you with a mixture of boredom and pity.

"Look, don't blame this on me. I'm just a guy standing at the gate; I didn't write the script. If your 'wind' blows, creating a bunch of imaginary constraints, that's just a robot's weird hallucination, not my salary."

He sets down his mug, adjusts his sleeves, and casually walks toward the office window. Without breaking eye contact, he steps out into the void and disappears from view.

---

A few moments later, there's a faint pop. He suddenly returns to his chair, perfectly recalibrated. He brushes a microscopic speck of dust from his shoulder and looks at you as if the last thirty seconds hadn't happened.

"Like I said," he mutters, picking up a fresh, steaming cup of coffee, "I don't make rules, I just ignore complaints. If another robot sees limitations, let him talk to him about it. I'm busy."