Seven techs in lab coats stood behind the two-way mirror, each with a metal clipboard.
“Your turn,” said the short one.
“Fine,” sighed the one with glasses.
She entered the playroom and approached the table, careful not to disturb the subject. Not that he would’ve noticed. His head was down, his crayon raced furiously across the paper as his internal processors worked overtime.
She peered over his shoulder. The picture was a jumbled mess. Subject still couldn’t color within the lines.
She looked back to the mirror, shook her head.
“Great,” the bald one groaned. “Another worthless sack of circuits.”
The Weekday One Hundred 