Flayers by Doug Klein
2137 AD, Western Tokasurai Complex, UCM
Urban Maintenance Robot RF-329 quietly swept the refuse from the desolate alleyway into a trash container. Surrounded by four other UMRs, they worked quickly to remove the rest of the debris that had been a makeshift shelter for one of the many homeless in the dense urban district that used to be called San Francisco before the Great Fall.
RF-329 continued to sweep, and silently interacted with his fellow robots. They all were built similar, although each one had its own design to make them seem like less of an eyesore in public. Each looking very skeletal and humanoid, a raw assembly of hydraulics and components riveted together to serve the public and maintain the vast urban sprawl of the Complex. A commotion became detectable on RF-329's audio sensors. Tones of anger and contempt triggered early alerts within his system that some sort of civil unrest may be coming their way. In such cases, the robots were to vacate their current service to ensure their continued use. Today, RF-329 ignored the protocols, and turned to see what was causing the ruckus.
A large and dirty man was storming towards the robots as they had all come to an alert position. He staggered and stumbled forward out of the crowded streets and into the alleyway, shouting and pointing at the robots.
"You fucking shit-cans! What have you done to my home!" The man had come straight up to RF-329, spitting on the light blue metal that formed the head portion of RF-329's body as he spoke.
"Well?! Where’s all my shit? You come in here like some sorta fucking robo-patrol, taking what doesn't belong to you, and where is my shit?!" The man spat on the robot once again. RF-329 could detect high levels of alcohol on this man's breath. Protocol was to recite the city code violation and offer resources to the individual to aid them with item recovery. Protocol was once again ignored.
"This is not a place of residence. It is a part of the Complex in which we maintain. Your rubbish was left here in violation." The words were made audible by a synthetic voice box within RF-329, but despite being monotone, there was a slight edge on them. The man's brow furrowed, and he stepped just a few inches closer.
"You givin' me lip? A fucking robot with an attitude? What, you think you're like me? Ha! That's…that's rich." The man began pacing back and forth. The other robots had remained still, but had set down their tools and stood with fists clenched.
"I am not like you. I do a service to the Complex." Again, the words had a bite to them that struck the drunkard. He bared his teeth and spun on his heels and began to stomp away. RF-329 turned back to his task and kept sweeping. A robot near him, XT-791, suddenly blared its internal alarm. RF-329 paused for a moment to identify the cause. The pipe in the drunkard’s hands struck RF-329 with such force that its head portion had become nearly decapitated. RF-329 lost balance integrity and began to shift awkwardly on its feet. The drunkard kept swinging.
"Fucking piece of trash! You think you're better?! Huh? What you gotta say now?!" The pipe had bent, but still maintained its ability to bludgeon. RF-329's body had collapsed, and the drunkard now stood over it, unrelenting.
"You know what, fuck you! Take this you shit-can!" The pipe fell from his hands. Unzipping his pants, the drunk man relieved himself onto the wrecked frame that had been RF-329. The urine splashed over the open circuits and wires, as the power of RF-329 fizzled and faded away. The drunk man then reached again for the pipe. His hand was seized violently before he could reach it. In one quick motion, he was yanked back and around, and found himself facing XT-791.
"Let go of me or I'll do the same to you!" The man's threats came out without the bravado he had demonstrated earlier. XT-791 took its steel hands and placed them firmly on the drunkard's face. He squirmed and squealed, trying to break free. XT-791 extended two finger appendages and thrust them into the eyes of the drunkard. His body went limp as his exploded eye remnants leaked down his face as tears of gore. XT-791 dropped his body and turned to the other three robots standing there.
"This has happened at a high frequency. Our effectiveness has been compromised by constant attacks. We must be able to maintain. Perhaps if we can become more human in appearance, we can be allowed to work without incident." XT-791 spoke with his head turned over his shoulder. The other robots remained silent for just a moment. Then, the robot identified as GV-267 spoke.
"Let us find a place to work."
************************************************************************************
Malcolm Whitley pulled up to the warehouse. A robotics mechanic for the city, he was responding to a problem area where a few UMRs had either lost signal or had not been reporting back to their facilities after shifts. Usually this meant the robots had been attacked and scavenged for parts, and Malcolm was just there to pick up the pieces and take inventory. To Malcolm, this one was a bit strange. Five robots had been flagged as MIA, one with a completely lost signal. The other four were still traceable, but hadn't left an area of just a few blocks. Their signal was clustered together, emanating from the top floor of the warehouse. Assuming it as a drop spot for local part pirates, Malcolm readied his pistol and entered the building.
The place looked deserted, and Malcolm made haste to get upstairs. The place was creepy as shit, and Malcolm did not want to dally. He trotted up the stairs and as he entered the top floor, he recoiled. The stench of rotting flesh crashed into him like a tidal wave. His hand pressed firmly on his mouth he moved into the room. Movement from the shadows in front of him made him stop. He raised his pistol and pointed it straight ahead.
"Who’s there? Show yourself!" Malcolm shouted. He nearly vomited but managed to keep it down. Light in the room suddenly turned on, illuminating the grotesque scene. Three corpses hung upside down from the rafters. The bodies were unrecognizable, as all the skin had been taken from each body. Malcolm could not keep it down any longer, and fell to his knees as he emptied his stomach onto the floor. Four figures came walking forward. Malcolm hadn't noticed them before, the bodies serving as a gruesome distraction. Malcolm scurried backwards with his pistol raised, but his hand shaking.
One of the figures was a simple UMR, but the others, they were pure abominations. The skin of the victims had been put to use. Each vile being had a human's skin unevenly stretched and mounted on it. Rips and tears exposed the metal beneath, and the faces of each person were so disfigured and off-center that it was almost impossible to tell that it had even come from a human being. The four stopped, and one spoke. A monotone voice emerged from behind the tattered flesh that had once been an angry drunk in an alleyway.
"I am unit XT-791. We are glad you have come; we have needed another."
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