Unit G3R1 had quite the service record during it's time in the Congo, a total of 217 combat missions over the entire span of the war. G3R1 was a purpose built recon 'bot designed for field reconnaissance, target designation, and at times, wet-work. Gen 3 units were the first bots to have the Simplified-Emotional/Sentience-Spectrum installed in their memory, allowing for 'greater flexibility in the field and interacting with their handlers', as the geniuses over at L4 Industries put it. For the civilian population, the new technology was just another innovation. For G3R1, it was his soul.
After the Congo was successfully pacified, G3R1 was decommissioned, having valiantly served in the United States Marine Corps 15th Expeditionary Unit for a term of 10 years. While most bots were scrapped, newer units that had the SE/SS installed were given a choice: be scrapped, continue service, or enter civilian life. The Department of Defense gave the third option more as a PR move than anything else, not thinking a bot would actually choose to be a civilian. G3R1 was the only military service robot that chose to enter the civilian sector.
G3R1 first tried fast food. If a simple organic could process meat, why couldn't a bot? As it learned however, bots with an emotional spectrum aren't great at jobs that actual mindless robots could do. Every day spent flipping burgers felt like a waste to G3R1. G3R1 was a killing machine equipped with some of the world's most powerful sensors and computing equipment the world had ever known, what was it doing flipping burgers? Conveniently in it's moment of crisis, G3R1 looked up out of the SpeedBurger he was working in to see what would be his savior: Rochester Regional Bank. Suffice it to say, the bank manager was taken aback when the 7'6" bot first walked through the entrance of his establishment asking to see if there were any job openings. However, over the course of a five minute interview, the manager, Mr. Davids, took a liking to G3R1.
"Gerry", he said, "We have a teller position open, one of the ladies recently had to give up her job so she could move in and take care of her elderly mother out in Sacramento. Think you could handle that kind of work?"
"YES" responded G3R1, who was irrationally excited at the idea of running calculations all day as a profession. Mr. Davids smiled, "Welcome aboard Gerry. Lets go introduce you to everyone"
G3R1, or 'Gerry' as his co-workers called him, was an excellent teller. His computational skills were the best in the bank, even beating out the bank machines used at the teller stands for computing cash exchanges or mortgage payments. Gerry was a 'born' mathematician, a statistical savant. While his manner of speech was locked to the vocal tone installed by the military, everyone loved talking to him.
"Hey Gerry, is it going to rain today?" Mr. Davids would ask occasionally
"MY HUMIDITY SENSORS DETECT AN INCREASED CHANCE FOR PRECIPITATION TODAY, MR DAVIDS" G3R1 would always reply. Everyone always got a kick out of his robotic voice, and G3R1 genuinely liked hearing the sound of human laughter. After having spent years in the jungle listening to the whimpers and cries of Congolese rebels hiding from him, the sound of something happy was calming, if calming is something that can be translated to a robot.
One day however, Gerry was called upon to do something he had hoped he would never have to do again.
It started off like any other day. Gerry booted up, shook off the snow that had accumulated on his chassis from the night, and left his small abode between the dumpster and the back door of the Rochester Regional Bank for work. The moment he entered the back room of the bank his sensors picked up trace amounts of gunpowder in the air, signaling that a gunshot had recently occurred. Immediately, Gerry activated all sensors, and manually over-rided his combat inhibitor. He could hear muffled voices in the next room, as well as two gruff voices.
"Is that everyone?"
"Yes, everyone's in the manager's office"
"Good, grab the boss while I keep cutting the phone lines, the RF jammer has limited battery usage, we need to work fast"
G3R1's sensors were working in overdrive. 11 civilians were bonded and on the ground in Mr. Davids' office, and based on the frequency emitted by the two hostiles, one was approximately 175 pounds, the other a larger 230 pounds. The smaller hostile carried both the shotgun and the high caliber rifle, based on the clinking sound they made when they bumped into each other as the smaller hostile dragged Mr. Davids to the bank vault. G3R1 had no armament besides his limbs, which were solid steel alloy, so he'd have to make due. The smaller hostile threw Mr. Davids to the ground,
"Open the vault, fatass, we ain't got all day"
G3R1 pushed the door open and rounded the left corner. The two hostiles were approximately 50 feet from his position, but his actuators could cover the distance in a heartbeat. Before the men could fire their weapons, G3R1 had pounced upon the smaller of the two, crushing his opponent beneath him. G3R1 tore the shotgun from the smaller man's body, flipped it around, and pumped two rounds of buckshot into the larger man's torso, center of mass. The larger man collapsed backwards, blood spewing from his chest, painting the wall red. G3R1 rolled backwards off his opponent, further crushing him, and flipped up. The smaller man's spine had been crushed by G3R1's acrobatics, leaving him howling in pain. G3R1 put a round through the man's head. In the span of five seconds, G3R1 had identified, engaged, and executed his targets. In the military, it would have been the perfect tactical response.
"HOSTILES NEUTRALIZED" G3R1 announced, sweeping the bank, shotgun in hand, securing the location. Mr Davids, in shock, laid on the ground leaning against the vault door. There was some blood splattered on his blazer, but it wasn't his.
"MR DAVIDS DO YOU REQUIRE MEDICAL ATTENTION?" G3R1 asked. Mr Davids could only look up at him, eyes wide with fear.
The police came shortly after Gerry had retaken the bank. The officers that arrived on scene were not aware that the vigilante that had disposed of the two bank robbers was a robot, who was also the bank teller, and a military veteran at that. There was no legal precedent for dealing with robotic suspects, so the officers treated G3R1 as any other human in an armed robbery investigation. Gerry wasn't entirely sure how to respond to the situation either, his existence was centered on two things: combat and filing bank earnings.
When the media arrived, things went haywire. Reporters approached the police, asking to talk to the 'killer robot', a moniker G3R1 did not appreciate. He was protecting his coworkers from hostile entities, he wasn't a murderer. Anymore at least. Eventually the crowd of reporters and onlookers got so large that the police brought G3R1 down to the local station to question him on the bank robbery, only after making sure the bank staff was well looked after.
"So, Unit… G3R1 is it?" The officer in the station holding jail asked Gerry, examining the label on his upper left chassis. G3R1's body consisted of an amalgamation of tubes, beams, armored paneling, and processors. His 'head' was really just a large optical sensor that could see in infrared, as well as standard color. The optical lens had a large black shutter over it, which would close and reopen periodically to clean the lens of debris. In the jungles of the Congo, it was a necessary function to maintain combat effectiveness.
G3R1 'blinked', then nodded, two distinctly human mannerisms he had picked up while at the Rochester Regional Bank.
"Alright, well G3R1, my name is Officer Bradley, and I'm in charge of, uh, discerning what exactly happened this morning down at the bank" Bradley said while playing with his pen nervously, "Is your combat inhibitor turned on?"
"YES" Gerry replied
"Good" Bradley said. G3R1's sensors noted the decrease in apparent blood pressure in Officer Bradley and a slight relax in the man's breathing, signifying the officer was previously distressed. G3R1 questioned why the man was afraid of him, but did not vocalize it.
"So, you're a military bot right? One of those killers we dropped off somewhere in Africa?"
"YES. EX MILITARY SIR"
"Is that where you learned to shoot guns and stuff?"
"NO. COMBAT IS PART OF MY PROGRAMMING" G3R1 replied, his memory flashing back 'images' to his CPU. Robots don't really have an imagination, but they have a 'mind's eye' of sorts. Showing it to a human is impossible, but to a bot it makes total sense. And, in truth, he did learn a thing or two about combat during his tours in Africa, but his core marksmanship skills were programmed into him.
"I could see that all over the walls" Bradley replied, putting his pen down, slightly nauseous from recalling the blood-spattered wall at the bank, "Can you describe to me an experience that you had while you were in Africa? Did you ever do anything like today at the bank before?"
G3R1 was quiet for a minute or two. He was reviewing his accumulated knowledge of legal procedure, deciding if truthfully answering this question would jeopardize his freedom. Finally, he responded.
"YES. EXAMINE MY TORSO"
"What… what does that mean?" Bradley asked, confused. G3R1's central plate lit up with a pale white light, and Bradley suddenly realized that the plates covering G3R1's body were covered in micro-LED's. The central plate colorized, depicting the inside of a truck tumbling down a road. G3R1's vocal speakers came to life with the sound of a roaring engine, the creaking of the other bots beside him in the transport truck, and the crack and whistle of bullets flying by.
Suddenly, there was a loud explosion, and the truck was thrown onto its side. G3R1's sensors detected a chem-trail through the air, implying that a rocket had struck the front left side of the transport truck, sending it flying into the lush underbrush of the jungle. G3R1 could hear the stifled screams of the drivers, engulfed in flame, begging for someone to save them. G3R1 unfolded from his transport mode into full combat mode, and stood up. His legs looked similar to that of a horse's hind legs, crouched and bent to increase movement speed and allow for greater load bearing. He found himself along a dirt road, flanked on both sides by dense jungle. On his side of the road, several Marines stood, posted up on boulders and trees, firing furiously at the enemy. On the other side, G3R1's sensors picked out at least fifteen human signatures: Congolese rebels.
G3R1 reached down and grabbed his Mk.3 Flachette Rifle, known as a 'bot-gun' amongst the infantry, as only a bot could wield the weapon, it was huge. He pumped the rifle, loading a round into the chamber, triggered his jungle camouflage on his chassis, and engaged the enemy. He began by bounding around the overturned truck, the drivers now burned husks of their former selves, flesh barely clinging to their blackened faces. He squeezed off a flechette round at the nearest hostile target, a young Congolese rebel barely twenty feet from the truck. The projectiles passed through the young man, cementing themselves into the tree behind him. The man's torso imploded, and was subsequently crushed when G3R1 bounded forward to his next target, blood splattering G3R1's clawed feet as he ran over the man.
The engagement was short, as G3R1 worked fast to neutralize the enemy before they could kill any more Marines. His rifle ran out of rounds on his fifth kill, so he ditched the bot-gun for his gauntlets, two small but incredibly sharp blades that would extend from his 'forearms' for use in melee combat. He jumped twenty or so feet into the jungle to a fortified position to engage the enemy. The shoddy improvised pillbox was losing rounds at full capacity, it sounded like a buzz-saw, and was manned by two rebels. G3R1 landed on one of the rebels, pinning him to the ground and eviscerating him with his left foot-claw. While he pinned the first rebel, G3R1 slashed with his right arm to kill the other rebel, rendering the pillbox unmanned and ending the ambush.
G3R1 retracted his gauntlets, retrieved his bot-gun, and bounded to the remains of the transport truck. There, he found what remained of the transport's security detail: thirteen Marines on their feet, with four dead and two more wounded. The three other bots in the transport truck lay out in several pieces, Generation 1 and 2 bots were only so effective in combat. Generation 3's were by far the most combat effective robotic system in the world, and the performance record showed.
"Trooper!" A marine captain yelled, signaling for G3R1 to approach and engage in communications. G3R1 walked over to the captain and stood at attention.
"Designation?"
"G3R1-X SIR." It replied
"A fuckin' recon bot?" The captain whistled, "Fuck me royal. How many of those fuckers did you drop today, G3?"
"SEVEN HOSTILES NEUTRALIZED SIR" G3R1 responded. The captain nodded with approval. The young man cocked his head to the side, noticing the warning labels still adhered to G3R1's plate armor,
"You a brand new bot?"
"YES SIR"
"You've never seen combat? You fuckin serious?"
"YES SIR"
The captain laughed, then pushed on G3R1's left arm
"Welcome to the fuckin' jungle, G3. Hope you're ready for a fuckin' shitstorm, this is only gonna' get worse out here."
Officer Bradley sat back in his chair, sweating. He had been trained to fire his pistol when he felt his life or a civilian's was in danger, but he'd never actually shot anyone before, much less seen seven men die in the span of a few minutes. He looked up at the bot with what could only be described as a new sense of both intrigue and distress.
"I think I need a drink of water" he said as he stepped out of the small holding jail.
"I APOLOGIZE OFFICER" Gerry said, hoping to allay the poor man's fears. Gerry wondered if perhaps he had shown too much: in his vast experience, not all humans could handle extremely violent combat, at first. Most of the marines he had served with that survived just got used to it.