To Kill A Droid

by Jon Athan

  Felix said, “I'm serious. You are a shining example of what all androids should be. These damn deviants give us a bad name, but you give us hope.”

  Nicholas stopped smiling. He said, “You can stop with the praise, Felix. I understand. Thank you.”

  “Stop? I don't think it'll ever stop. You're climbing the ladder, Nick. After last night, I'm sure you'll receive a promotion. You might even find yourself working for the secret service soon. How would you like to work for Kelypso? Huh? How does that sound? Yeah, I bet it sounds fan–tastic.”

  “It... It sounds okay. If I were to receive a recommendation, I'd surely consider it.”

  “I bet you would.”

  Nicholas furrowed his brow and tilted his head. He glanced around the room, as if he were searching for a hidden camera crew or a group of pranksters. He was mystified by his peer's erratic behavior and escalating hostility. Envy was a human emotion, but he could sense it in Felix's voice. His systems recognized the peculiar patterns as those of a potential deviant. He couldn't accuse him of such a heinous crime, though. Donald's termination and the child's innocent questions continued to stab at his artificial mind.

  Nicholas asked, “Felix, are you feeling okay? Have you... When was the last time you were analyzed by your technician?”

  Felix scowled and said, “What the hell–” He rapidly blinked and took a step in reverse, like a person snapping out of a trance. He said, “I apologize if I acted out of character. I've been overwhelmed with work recently. What were we talking about?”

  “We were talking about your health. Please, answer the question. When was the last time you visited your technician for a technical evaluation?”

  “On... On the thirty-first of last month. Is there a problem, friend?”

  “The thirty-first? Felix, there were only thirty days last month. You must visit your technician immediately or–”

  From the doorway to his office, Oscar said, “Nicholas, get in here. We have work to do.”

  Nicholas glanced over at the office. He gave a slight nod – sure, I'll be right there. He turned his attention to Felix. To his dismay, his peer already started walking away from the conversation. He was not interested in being scolded.

  As he strolled towards the patrol area, ready to mingle and gossip, Felix waved at Nicholas and said, “Speaking of promotions... Good luck, Nick!”

  Nicholas stared at Felix, analyzing his every motion and word. His recognition systems identified him as a deviant droid. His profiling systems described him as the perfect candidate for a terrorist group. It was his duty to stop him, but he couldn't move forward. He wouldn't admit it to a technician, but he feared he was developing a conscience.

  Nicholas whispered, “Be careful, Felix. I'm watching you.”

  ***

  As Nicholas entered the office, Oscar said, “Feel free to take a seat, champ. We won't be sticking around for too long, though. We've got ourselves another situation. Fortunately, it's near the slums, so we've got a few minutes to spare.”

  Nicholas reluctantly nodded. He didn't agree with his boss' assessment of the situation – he valued all human life equally – but he didn't want to deviate. He walked towards the hardwood desk at the center of the room, then he sat in a sturdy wooden chair.

  Oscar stood near the wall to his left, staring at his reflection on the hanging mirror. He casually fastened the buttons on his white shirt as he prepared himself for work. He cared more about his presentation than the well-being of the poor residents. He glanced at the holographic medals and certificates floating a centimeter above the wall. He couldn't help but smirk as he examined his achievements.

  Nicholas asked, “What is the situation, sir?”

  “I believe it's the first of the day. So, that would make it 'Hostage Situation 325.' We're picking up right where we left off. I'm sure we'll have another hostage situation before midnight, so don't worry about that. We have plenty of work to do, Nicholas,” Oscar said with an officious grin plastered on his face.

  The middle-aged man knew most of the work would be offloaded on the police androids. He would direct his unit, he would make the difficult decisions, but he wouldn't stress about his job. He wasn't a trigger-man. Fortunately, androids did not feel stress – at least, they weren't supposed to.

  Nicholas said, “I understand. What are the conditions of the situation? Any casualties?”

  Oscar bit his bottom lip and nodded, then he said, “Yes. There has been an unfortunate loss of human life. If you thought last night was bad, this... well, this is one of the more 'horrific' hostage situations in recent memory. It almost feels like another terrorist attack...”

  “I see. It sounds very serious. What happened, sir?”

  Oscar flumped onto the leather rolling chair behind the desk, disgruntled. He glanced at the tabletop, searching for a knickknack to ease his mind. Due to his usually casual demeanor, he didn't have a stress ball with him. During times of great stress, he could only relieve himself by pursuing and punishing deviant droids.

  With his elbows on the table, he said, “We have two confirmed casualties at the Manzanita Apartment Complex. A male and a female have been killed by a deviant droid. It is unknown if the droid belonged to them or if it attacked without provocation. A neighbor was also attacked – a bullet through the neck. His condition is currently unknown.”

  “Who's the hostage?”

  “The child of the deceased. A... An infant.”

  Nicholas furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw as he pondered the situation. His system was bombarded with several red flags. The red flags sprung up more often as he delved into the department's database. Many of the recent hostage situations involved children and a single deceased parent. In this case, the situation involved dead parents and an infant.

  Something was afoot, but he couldn't find the trail.

  Disrupting the police android's contemplation, Oscar slipped into his coat and said, “The suspect has been cornered. That deviant piece of crap won't be escaping. I will not allow it.” He grabbed his high-powered hand cannon from his desk, then he placed the firearm in his holster. He said, “Our officers have been having a firefight with the suspect. It hasn't been confirmed, but if that's the case, then I'm expecting more than one deviant in that building. Stay on your feet, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas stood from his seat, ready to depart. He asked, “There are multiple deviants in the apartment? What makes you think that, sir?”

  “One deviant wouldn't be able to hold back a battalion of police officers on his own. Even if it were a high-tech military android, it wouldn't be able to match up to flesh-and-bone tactics. No offense, champ.”

  “None taken.”

  “Good. We're still going to need you to 'negotiate' with these deviants. We don't want a dead baby on our hands. It doesn't matter where she comes from, a dead baby is never good for a police department. Never. So, we'll talk them down, we'll secure the infant, then we'll shoot them down. Let's go.”

  Nicholas watched as Oscar exited the office. His boss' strategy of deceit was oddly overwhelming. He found himself momentarily paralyzed. A bait-and-switch, he thought, lie and terminate. The idea did not sit well with him. Like malware on a computer, his developing conscience was running rampant across his mainframe. Yet, he could not disobey his boss' orders.

  As he slowly walked out of the office, Nicholas whispered, “Four: never deviate from the protocols...”

  Chapter Four

  Hostage Situation 325

  The emergency lights cycled between red and blue, illuminating the surrounding buildings and cracked road. There were blockades comprised of four police cruisers at each side of the road. Wailing sirens could be heard from the other side of the block. The poor area was being tightly secured by the armed forces. The police, however, focused most of their resources on a single building – the Manzanita Apartment Complex.

  The dilapidated apartment building stood ten-stories high. The beige walls were vandalize
d with vibrant gang graffiti. The paint was chipped due to the weather conditions and the poor quality of the air. Most of the windows were shattered, too. A black sedan rolled to a stop near the police blockade to the south.

  Oscar hopped out of the driver's seat. He stared at the apartment building and examined the current situation. He winced and crouched as gunfire echoed from down the street. Police officers on the street fired at a window on the second floor. Hidden by the curtains and broken blinds, a person near the window returned fire.

  Nicholas did not shudder throughout the confrontation. He wasn't afraid of death – protocols. As his boss plunged into his trunk for a bulletproof vest, the police android strolled towards the front of the car. Left-to-right, he analyzed the destitute neighborhood. The broken windows, graffiti, garbage, and smog and sewer fumes saddened him.

  He whispered, “Will it ever get better?”

  As he approached, Oscar asked, “You ready to get in there, champ?” Nicholas nodded. Oscar grinned and said, “Attaboy. Let's get this over with.”

  Oscar squeezed between the police cruisers, Nicholas followed his lead. An orchestra of thunderous gunshots reverberated through the street, following the rhythm of urban warfare – bang, hide, bang, bang, hide, bang. Oscar crouched behind a parked truck in front of the building, finding refuge with his peers.

  Nicholas walked with unwavering strides, unfazed by the gunfire. He stared at the second floor window with inquisitive eyes, then he turned his attention to the foyer of the building. Including Oscar, five police officers hid behind the truck. Four SWAT members stood near the entrance, peeking into the hall and barking their demands.

  Why were SWAT members distinguishable?

  SWAT members didn't wear regular armor. The special unit officers wore full-body exoskeletons. The Kevlar and nanotechnology-fused shell was capable of blocking most conventional weapons. It featured shoulder pads, an impenetrable breastplate, and a standard military helmet. The gas masks were optional, but every SWAT member wore them. Unlike droids, police officers valued their lives and prayed to return home to their families unscathed.

  Nicholas stopped behind the truck. He stared at the targeted window and said, “Judging from the schematics, the culprits seem to be hiding in apartment 202.” He examined the hood of the truck and the cracked pavement. He said, “Judging from the gunfire, it is safe to assume they are only equipped with street-level firearms. A 9mm handgun and perhaps a rifle. I think we should also assume they have a hand cannon inside, but that is not certain.”

  Crouching beside Oscar, Sergeant Frank Greene stared at Nicholas with a furrowed brow – perplexed and impressed. The man stroked his stubble, then he ran his fingers through his grizzled hair as he turned his attention to the windows above.

  He said, “Your boy is right, Rodriguez. We have two deviants holed up in that apartment with one known hostage. I have two men up there preparing to breach, but we might risk hurting the infant. I've tried to set up snipers across the street, but we can't hit them with that baby in there. It's too damn risky. It's your call, sir.”

  Oscar glanced at Nicholas and asked, “What do you think? Huh? Can you handle them? Can you talk them into releasing the infant?”

  Nicholas responded, “I will do my best, sir.”

  “Good, good. Remember, if you can take a shot, take it. And, if you have to risk yourself for that baby, you do it. Her safety is our number one priority. You understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chiming-in, Frank said, “Droid, take the autohound with you. You'll have a better chance with it if there's more than one deviant up there.” He stood on his tiptoes and whistled, then he shouted, “Here, boy!”

  The sound of metal clicking and clanking on moist pavement emerged from the other police barricade. A machine with the figure of a dog pranced towards the truck. The autohound had a titanium frame, which protected its intricate wiring while allowing for nimble movement. There were weapon barrels mounted in its mouth and on the tip of its wavering tail.

  When the mouth cannon wasn't in use, the dog was able to use its sharp steel teeth to neutralize any target. The robotic hound also had retractable sickle-shaped claws, like those of a velociraptor. The robotic creature was built to neutralize targets – human or android. It was a violent killing machine and an expendable resource.

  Nicholas stared at the autohound and said, “Let's go save a baby. Follow my lead, champ.”

  ***

  Nicholas drew his hand cannon as he marched towards the foyer. The SWAT officers stepped aside, constantly glancing towards the second floor – a makeshift bomb could fall on them at any moment. The autohound pranced into the entrance hall and immediately took a right.

  Before the negotiator could enter the building, a SWAT member staggered out of the front door. His coughing and groaning were muffled by his gas mask. Blood spurted from a gaping gunshot wound on his stomach. The tactical armor couldn't prevent everything.

  As he strolled towards the door, Nicholas glanced back at the truck and shouted, “Get a wagon for this man! He has less than five minutes!”

  The police android marched into the unusually eerie hall. The street was filled with shouting and the second floor was dominated by gunfire, but the entrance hall was oddly tranquil. For a moment, he felt as if the world and its flawed inhabitants were whisked away. He was alone, but he finally felt accepted.

  Disrupting the peace, five gunshots reverberated from the second floor. Of course, the police returned fire, solely aiming to divert the deviants from killing the infant. They couldn't allow them to leave unpunished after all. The autohound growled from the stairs to the right, calling for his master's attention – this way.

  Nicholas shook his head as he snapped out of his trance. Fantasizing was reserved for humans anyway.

  As he walked up the stairs, Nicholas said, “Good boy, good boy.”

  He crouched as he followed the autohound to the second floor. The robotic dog stood in front of the door in the play bow position – his chest low to the ground, his rear-end in the air, and his tail wagging uncontrollably.

  A SWAT officer hugged the wall near the door. He held a rifle with a bendable frame, a handgun mounted on the barrel, and an attached camera and LCD screen. The bendable rifle and camera allowed him to shoot around corners from the safety of his cover. The officer fired a round through a hole on the door – one of many due to the shootout.

  He glanced at Nicholas and said, “I can't get a good shot on them. They moved the furniture and I can't see the baby.”

  As three gunshots pierced the center of the door, Nicholas crouched beside the officer – barely dodging the bullets. He asked, “How many can you see?”

  “I have one male deviant with blonde hair standing near the window. He's been shooting down at us since we got here. Another deviant ran into the kitchen before I could hit him. He was wearing, um... navy coveralls, like if he worked as a janitor, but I'm certain he was a droid.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “A female deviant. She had the infant in her possession, but I lost track of her. I believe she ran down the hall and towards the bedroom, but we can't be too sure. I can't update you on the infant's well-being, either. I'm sorry...”

  Nicholas patted the officer's shoulder and said, “Don't apologize to me, sir. You've done an exemplary job keeping these deviants on their toes and keeping the loss of human life at a minimum. Thank you for your service. I will be responsible for this hostage situation from now on, though. Please, stay low and follow my lead.”

  Nicholas stared at the door, contemplating his strategy. The gunfire continued to boom and crackle through the building, erupting like a powerful firework. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood accompanied the ruckus of destruction. Yet, the police android did not flinch or wander. As directed, the infant's safety was his only concern.

  In a stentorian tone, loud and confident, Nicholas shouted, “Deviants! Drop your firearms and
release the hostage! Surrender and you will be properly recycled! Continue and you will be terminated! This is your only opportunity to comply! Please, do not test me!”

  The deviants did not respond. The gunfire, however, stopped with the demands. Nicholas tightly gripped his hand cannon as he glared at the door. He was ordered to neutralize the deviants without prejudice, but he hoped the violent droids would surrender peacefully. He didn't want to execute more of his kind if it was not necessary.

  To his dismay, the peaceful silence was short-lived.

  A volley of gunfire from an automatic assault rifle penetrated the door and the neighboring walls. Bullets ricocheted from the officer's shoulder pads while the police android's right shoulder and arm were riddled with bullets. The pair were not harmed by the gunfire, though. The bullets were not powerful enough.

  Nicholas glanced at the autohound and said, “Attack the deviant droid in the kitchen. The target is wearing navy coveralls. Do not attack the infant or the deviant carrying the infant. You understand?” The autohound nodded in agreement, comprehending every word of the command. Nicholas said, “Good. Go get 'em, boy.”

  ***

  Robert, the blonde deviant droid, stood near a broken window in the living room. Holding a 9mm handgun, he crouched behind a tattered couch and aimed at the splintered front door. The deviant was overwhelmed by the firefight, struggling to conjure a decent escape plan. He was a common service droid after all – he wasn't trained to kill.

  Seth, a dark-haired deviant in coveralls, stood in the neighboring kitchen. He leaned over the bar countertops, aiming his assault rifle at the front door. Like his partner in crime, he was a mere service droid. However, the rifle-wielding deviant had trained with firearms before. The fact was evident with his reasonable handling of the rifle.

  Disquieted by the sudden silence, the deviants kept their eyes locked on the front door. Their fingers trembled on their triggers. Like warmongering politicians, they were eager to pull the trigger. Yet, the droids found themselves anxiously waiting for the opposition's response. Time slowed to a crawl, sound dwindled to a buzz.