He kept on punching the mechanoid’s head until sparks sprang cold arcs of blue neon from the steel glint of its crushed skull. He reeled backwards, his ruined hand dropping giant splotches of blood onto the asphalt. He cradled it, twisted it in his shirt. Automatic janitor units bristling with vacuums, scrubbers, dizzying arrays of chemicals buzzed from the shadows to congregate around his feet, some scuttling like electronic crabs upon others of its own ilk to clean the blood that fell on on their plastic carapaces. More sophiscated janitor units ambled over and pulled apart wire by wire and chip by chip the twisted form at his feet. Shortly there was nothing left but his breath in the cold air and a solitary janitor unit stubbornly laboring to contain the hemoglobin that still dripped from his limp fingers. He ran a finger along the brim of his fedora and adjusted his tie, plucked at his lapel with his good hand. He pulled a cigarette into his mouth and walked home under the guttering neon signs that fell like mirage onto the rain slick boulevard. The janitor unit bumbled to and fro at his heels like an electronic stray.