The robot had but one job. He had to keep the building running. He had mini-robots to help him but size did matter in this case and many a time minibots’ faulty system faced our robot with some issues. So he turned into a dictator to keep the mini-robots in line. So they started calling him, 'the bad robot'. He upped and downed all day long throughout the building with feet that never went cold, hands that never got tired, and a heart that never beat.

Except it beat once, for an evil witch. And that beat was the beginning of the end for him. It was perhaps Destiny himself was out there to get the robot. To teach him some humility. However, the general consensus is that Destiny doesn’t intervene. Ever. So, his chance of meeting her was a random event after all in the fabric of things all happening all around us. The robot’s mechanical heart began to be made flesh, slowly, one vein at a time. When it was halfway through, there was a relapse. And like she appeared one day, suddenly, out of the blue, she disappeared to the wild blue yonder, leaving the bad robot with a half-made flesh heart and in a world of humane aches that cannot be described in ones and zeroes.

Then nothing happened. Thousands of years passed, generations after generations of mortal men came and went. People built giant spaceships, conquered half the galaxy, cured all the diseases—death itself, and wrote epic poems. All the while the bad robot was there. Contemplating the things he could have done differently. Unlike mortal men, he did not age. Neither do Witches, he knew.

The year that marked the dawn of a new age, he decided to visit the Green Crossroads, the last place he knew of her whereabouts. A lot has changed. There are settlements on both sides. Not too futuristic, but surprisingly artsy. An art-style he was familiar with. He couldn’t wrap his fingers around it though.
Passerbys didn’t mind him much. It was not uncommon to see robots, ancient or new roaming around. He explored and explored. At some point, he came to an exhibition. A painting was on the display. It was oddly familiar too. The figure in the painting… Suddenly it came to him. It was Morgiana, a character from a film the witch loved. He also realized all the artworks he saw on his way, those were painted by the evil witch. She was there.

He frantically looked left and right, down and below (hey, witches are crafty!) and some twenty paces away, he saw her. She was scrutinizing an art piece. She still looked the same, her long face, a mole on her cheek, dark eyes, and long black hair. She looked up at him.

The bad robot's half-made flesh heart beat once, partially. He started walking towards her. She looked at him with a cold, cold stare. The world started trembling. The foundation of the cobbled street began to come undone and the world vanished. So did she.

The robot woke up from his dream. If he had a functioning full heart, perhaps it would beat really fast then—pumping all the blood all over his body. Then again, the rest of his body is mechanical, there are no veins. He looked up at the ceiling of the building, now broken, nonfunctional—and didn't utter a sound.
The question remained though—do robots dream? And if they do, then do androids dream of full-flesh hearts?