Dan Christmann wrote:
“Solider! Who authorized you that pistol?”
Vince Younghorn gulped as the sergeant slammed him up against the factory wall, the clip skittering to the feet one of his squad mates.
“I-I-I”
“I. Aye. Eye,” the sergeant mocked. Not exactly high satire. But this was mission critical. We can’t all be Major Payne. In covert positions around the room, several of the retrieval team eyed each other worriedly. “I told you section-cash-three-article-six-zero-seven alert, organics only, and you bring a metal pistol into the situation?”
“Awww shoot sarge, those organics are, if you pardon my French, pieces of junk. They misfire three times out of ten, and even if you hit-“
“Has no one briefed you on what we’re dealing with? This thing is a 3000 pound mass of metal whoop-your-butt, if you don’t-“
The wall exploded, throwing the two of them headfirst into their comrades. The remaining members trained their weapons on the gaping hole in the sheet metal. A huge figure loomed there, silhouetted against the light, 8 feet tall that clanked as it moved. It made a strange noise, and held its head up, as if sniffing the air. Then, before a shot could be fired, it was gone, plowing its way through the soldiers, throwing them left and right as it leapt on its quarry. The pistol didn’t stand a chance. It disappeared down the robot’s throat without a sound.
The sergeant stood, his ears ringing, and groaned. Twenty four pages for each piece of lost equipment. Twenty four hours of lecturing, at least, from his superiors. He’d tried to be careful. But the casualties kept mounting. A single tear ran down his cheek.
“Dad blum you, cannibalbot,” he said, shaking his fist, “Blum you all.”
Pope Jon wrote:
As it flees from me, my mind pauses to consider my options but my body keep moving forward.
I don't have the luxury of time, unlike T-69. T-69 has and will not only destroy other synthetic life that interferes with it, it will consume them and make them a part of its ever evolving existence.
That only makes me more insane for what I intend to do, should this chase ever end. As we both maneuver around objects and run tirelessly, my determination only intensifies.
Despite knowing why T-69 has done what it has done, I still want to follow through with what I've promised I'd do.
Someday, I will confess my affections, and T-69 will be my one and true lover. Chasing after a robotic heart is never easy, but I know I can prove to T-69 that it and I should be one.
Melody Joy wrote:
Detective Fletcher A. Hardwater couldn’t say that he’d seen anything worse than the suspect he was chasing now, and he’d been on this job since 2571. That was nearly 30 years ago now, and as he carefully studied the files suspended in the air around him, he wondered if maybe it was time to think about retiring. After all, he certainly wasn’t what he used to be.
His assistant came in, a perky girl who may have been born with auburn curls, but a few quick procedures at the salon last year left her with permanent neon blue hair that hung straight on either side of her well-chiseled face. She was fresh out of the academy, smart as a whip, and ready for anything. Fletcher hoped she was ready for this.
“You got a hit on ‘im, boss?” Mona asked, a flush of excitement in her cheeks.
“Yeah. I think I figured out who our bot is.” He pointed to one of the files and a few flicks of his wrist brought it up larger. “Meet Charlie-224. He’s a junker bot and he’s supposed to keep the streets clean of old junk that bots always seem to be lying around, but this footage here shows him following one of our victims into the alley where he was later found. 224 comes out the way he came, and look...”
She stared hard at the footage which showed Charlie-224 stepping out from the alley nearly 20 minutes after he had followed their third victim into the alley. The robot paused at the entry, looking carefully around, then continued on his way. Mona paused the video, looked at it carefully, then tapped it to rewind to when the bots first entered the alley. She paused it again, studying the picture. Then she stepped back nodding solemnly.
“Did you see it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, “The fuel tank. It was empty when they first went in, and full at the end.”
“You ready?”
“Let’s go get our bot,” she said, voice full of conviction and yearning for justice.
They left together, Mona trailing slightly behind Fletcher. They drove in comfortable silence to the National Robotic Headquarters. It was late, but some places don’t ever really close. Fletcher flashed his badge to the security officer and was allowed entrance. He went directly to the office of Dr. Archibald Anubis, head of the Robotic Security Department.
Tossing the files and video footage up as he went in, Fletcher stated his case bluntly and without preamble. Mona stood to one side, arms crossed, nodding solemnly in agreement, and the absolute picture of a readiness for action.
Dr. Archibald stood slowly when Fletcher concluded. “You’re sure?” he asked.
Fletcher and Mona both nodded.
He sighed, “Alright. Give me a second.”
He tapped the frozen video footage for a moment, and then scanned it with his own device. Tapping in several security codes and allowing it to scan his retinas, he finally sat back down, looking slightly defeated but also accomplished.
“It’s done?” Fletcher asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Archibald answered, “Charlie-224 has been shut down. Retriever bots are on their way to bring him in right now so we can test him to see who programmed him for that, and then he’ll be destroyed. Thank you, Detectives. Great work, as always.”
The two men firmly shook hands, then Dr. Archibald shook Mona’s hand in the same way. On their way to the car, Mona’s excitement finally bubbled over. “I can’t believe we got him! That was SO epic! We make such a great team! Wow! Did you see the way Dr. Archibald typed in those codes like it was nothing? He’s amazing. You’re amazing. Want to go grab milkshakes?”
“Of course. I’ll even buy,” he winked.
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