"Mister Kwynn, enlighten me. What drives these death-row prisoners to undergo such a transformation? Having their brains extracted and implanted into robotic bodies seems like madness to me," Tecla Milaan turned to face the head of the robotics division at NyxCorp.
"It's about money, Miss Milaan. As a journalist, you know that. It's always about the money. Their families or next of kin receive substantial financial benefits for as long as the units remain operational."
"Units? They are people."
"Yes, of course. People." Kwynn straightened his tie.
"And how substantial is this compensation?"
"I'm afraid I can't divulge that information. I agreed to meet with you since you are a respected journalist at The Journal, but I can't go into detail. It's a significant sum."
"And what are they used for?"
"As a deterrent, deployed in riots. Their robotic bodies are quite imposing."
"So, they're combat droids?"
"No, no. Of course not. A deterrent, and for peace-keeping missions."
# # #
At the same time. Somewhere deep in the South American jungle, Unit 96 strode over a lifeless body, its hydraulic legs emitting a faint squeak. Unit 96 was an armoured cyber-organic being, weighing in at three hundred kilograms — of which one point eight kilograms were organic matter from a donor body. Titanium plating protected the brain and brainstem, and parts of the face were visible to give the imposing killing machine some degree of human appearance. Scanning its surroundings for lingering dangers, Unit 96 relayed a brief message over the comm system: "Niner-Six to Control. Threat neutralised. Threat neutralised."
"Roger, Niner-Six," came the crackling response from Control. "Damage report."
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"Minor damage. Exoskeleton remains intact, no damage to organic parts."
"Roger, proceed to sector Three-Seven-Delta. Confirm."
"Copy, Control. Sector Three-Seven-Delta... Damn, I'm dying for some barbecue."
"What's that? Repeat, Niner-Six."
"This is Niner-Albert-Six... goddamn... what is happening? This is Albert Johnst-Niner-Six. Jesus, what the... hell... is this?" Something awakened within. Fragments of his memories came flooding back; memories of his life before blended with newer memories as a soldier; a killing machine. He looked down at a body that wasn't his, a robotic body. He wanted to vomit, but he couldn't. He fell to his knees; blood came seeping out of his eyes and dripped on the ground.
"Please Repeat, Niner-Six. You are breaking up."
"What have I done? Where am I? What am I...? This isn't my body." Unit 96's distress reverberated through the comm system, followed by a sudden silence punctuated only by screams and echoes of gunfire.
"Niner-Six. Respond."
"Niner-Six. Respond."
# # #
"Captain, we have a situation," declared the mission observer, catching the attention of their nearest superior.
"Sitrep?" demanded Captain Nash, leaning over to peer at the mission screen. The display revealed a row of flatlined heart rate and brain function monitors. The video feed was freeze-framed, displaying the last fragmented and blocky image frame received before cutting off.
"Captain. One of our units in South America has run amok, resulting in fifteen military casualties and some minor collateral damage."
"What the fuck? The mindwiping process renders them emotionless robots. The units are incapable of independent action," the captain exclaimed, his disbelief turning to anger.
"What is your order, sir?"
"Send in an airstrike. Carpet bomb the entire sector back to the Middle Ages." Captain Nash, a seasoned veteran since the onset of the first Corporate War, found himself astounded by the shitstorm this operation had turned into.
# # #
Tecla Milaan checked the news on her optical display. "Mister Kwynn, can you offer insight into the recent tragedy in South America? A NyxCorp robot has murdered over a hundred civilians and a dozen friendly soldiers. NyxCorp military dispatched an airstrike with the intent of covering it up. It happened minutes ago. It's all over the news feeds."
"Interview is over. You must leave now, Miss Milaan."