Machine Man (serial)

I came to see the dogs as a hive mind. When I made my way to the bathroom—wobbling along on a skateboard I had found under the bed, pushing myself with my one functional hand—I would first encounter just one dog. It would be sitting on the floorboards, scratching an ear, chewing its jacket, or something equally pointless. It would get to its feet and stare at me, its tiny brain struggling to figure out this wheeled man. Then it would panic and scamper away.

But when I emerged from the bathroom, sweating from wrestling the toilet into submission, I would find three of them waiting at the top of the corridor. “Shoo,” I would say, or pretend like I was going to lunge at them. But they wouldn’t move. They would just sit there, side-by-side, in their little outfits, communicating telepathically. There was no fear in their glittering eyes, only plots. The hive mind they comprised, Dog, it was planning something. Dog was figuring out how to turn my situation to its advantage. As I rolled toward my bedroom, Dog’s many eyes would burn into my back. I couldn’t shut that door fast enough.

121.