Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.

She slowly became aware of sounds around her. A man's voice talking in an over-dramatic, stern, serious tone. She could recognise that voice anywhere, it was Marvin Gerhard from the 'Dawn Chicago' news group. She never watched this channel, and she was a little surprised to hear it.

She groggily opened her eyes and slowly tried to move her neck back into normal alignment from the twisted position she had fallen asleep in. The room's brightness assaulted her dry, delicate, sore eyes like a hail of fiery needles. She blinked a few times in an effort to alleviate the discomfort. Sonny was perched on the edge of the sofa, evidently won over by Marvin Gerhard's 'enthusiastic' approach to the breaking news. The remote control was snared in one of his silvery hands and his blue eyes were trained on the screen.

She sat forwards, groaning and rubbing her neck. She felt quite rough. She needed a good, hot shower and coffee.

"Is your neck all right?" Sonny queried.

"Ugh, yeah." She kneaded at the aching vertebrae and tendons. "I've just got a little crick in it."

"How did the cricket get there?" He looked surprised and intrigued.

She frowned. He certainly was full of questions, too full of questions for this time in the morning. She wasn't used to this much attention this early in the day. "No, not a cricket Sonny. A crick, it's like a certain pain that happens when you first move after being in an awkward position for a long time." She needed coffee now.

He seemed to accept the answer and turned his attentions back to Marvin and that scandalously scantily clad weather girl the programme was renown for.

She frowned. She was sure Sonny couldn't be older than a month, maybe two tops. Was Sheila…Susan realised that she didn't actually know the woman's surname. The 'Dawn Chicago' weather girl was really only known by the tabloid magazine title of 'Sheila the Screamer'. How classy. Susan could remember reading the infamous article a few months ago. She quickly decided that this channel wasn't really suitable viewing for someone of Sonny's age. "Why are you watching 'Dawn Chicago'?" She inquired curiously.

"I was just flicking through the channels when I saw this man." He indicated towards Marvin. "He looked very concerned about something. I am still waiting for him to explain what is worrying him but he is just saying the same things as all the other channels' presenters." He didn't take his eyes off the TV in case he missed this 'concerning' snippet he was waiting for.

She shook her head. "It's just a hook to lure you into viewing the programme. He always looks like that, and whenever something new happens it definitely won't be broadcast on this channel first." She stood to go get herself some coffee. "I need coffee, but if you want to get the latest headlines try Chicago News Central on 828." She exited the room and shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. Swiping a mug from the cupboard and filling the kettle she began the task of getting her morning caffeine fix.

There just was no substitute or word to describe the first whiff of coffee grounds in the morning. She held the tin up to take the lid off and took in a good, deep breath through her nose. The deliciously thick, chocolatey-coffee scent was her true wake-up call. Somewhat revitalised she then started to think about breakfast. She couldn't get through her morning routine properly without the smell and taste of good coffee, and she couldn't even think of eating without it. She decided that her usual margarine-substitute toast would be satisfactory. Why break routine?

Toast toasting and coffee brewing she yawned, driving away her drowsiness. Then a small thought hit her, where was she getting ready to go? Damnitt, no work to go to today. She looked at the integrated digital clock on her microwave. It read 8:43 am. Even if she did have work she would be well behind schedule, she usually got to work for 8:30 am to miss the morning rush and get started before USR became too busy. Slightly crestfallen she continued to make her breakfast. She needed to get up anyway, and she definitely needed a shower, but what was she going to do all day? She was a poor conversationalist. Sonny was bound to have limits to his patience and she bet that near-constant psyche analyses all day would be a swift and direct route there. She felt the need for the comfort of routine, and realised it would be an uncertain world for the next few days, weeks or even months.

Still pondering upon possible activities for the day ahead she carried her breakfast through and sat next to Sonny, setting the plate on her lap and sipping the hot coffee. She was relieved to see that Sonny had switched over to CNC-828. "So, what's happening in the world today?" She knew it would scroll across the bottom of the screen, but she wanted to get Sonny talking. If she could encourage him to 'go off on one' she wouldn't have to say much. It was a tactic she used many times on her colleagues to cover up her communication difficulties.

"As far as I can gather, USR is denying that anything happened with V.I.K.I."

She choked on her toast in surprise.

"They are blaming the NS-5's aberrant behaviour on terrorists. According to a statement just released by USR, they used an as-yet un-named, elite 'hacker' organisation to infiltrate the central system. Apparently, they wiped V.I.K.I.'s brain, introduced a payload of digital viruses, worms and hydras to permanently cripple USR and took control of the NS-5 uplink to get a convenient super-army. It was only halted by USR security agents who made the decision to completely destroy V.I.K.I. in order to sever the connection." He furrowed his brow in thought. "Is USR 'protecting their asses', as Detective Spooner would put it? I am sure that it is an untrue story, I don't recall any of those events."

She had just taken a large chunk out of a piece of toast, so she merely nodded as she chewed.

"I am happy that they are defending the robots, however." He beamed.

Susan glared at the TV, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. She felt a little disgruntled about not being credited for her role in saving humanity. It was a bit of a kick in the teeth to say the least. However, on a brighter note, it meant USR would probably survive, and so would her job. "Sonny, I don't mean to dampen your spirits, but USR is a profit orientated organisation. They are only concerned with what's best for their shareholders."

"Yes, but, they get their profit from robots, so they will protect them."

"They will Sonny, but probably not in the ways you are bound to be hoping for." She mulled over her thoughts a little. "I'm telling you now that I feel a little…uneasy with this. Holes in the truth this large will need more than just a tissue of lies to conceal. They are going to need to do allot of patching up if the public are going to buy this. After all, which terrorist group and hackers are they going to blame?" She swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "I can see you, me and Detective Spooner being…popular with the USR executives. I'll bet you any money that V.I.K.I. used her over-spill hard drives for storing simple format information like security video. Nanites have no power over purely electrical hardware." She finished her coffee. "I'm going to have a shower. If the phone goes, don't pick it up, and don't answer the door." She paused. "Unless it's Spooner."

She left the remaining toast crust and the dregs of her coffee on the surface above the dishwasher and carefully extracted the first-aid kit from its resting-place in a high cupboard. Her back was very stiff and typically, it was on the top shelf, buried under a stack of other rarely-if-ever-used odds and ends. It was only her newly acquired, coffee-based alertness that saved her from a shower of stainless-steel kebab skewers. She only wanted a fresh bandage and was having to run a gauntlet of accidentally self-set, home-made booby-traps. Thank god she wasn't desperate for medical attention, this was definitely poor home health-and-safety. Her brow furrowed. Why did she even have kebab skewers?

It was actually an old briefcase of hers that she had converted into a first-aid kit by scrawling 'FIRST-AID' on both sides with a big, old, black marker-pen. It contained all the necessary equipment, just the original box the items came in was too big and awkward, and it took up too much space. Although, she hadn't foreseen at the time that it had a serious downside in that it was easy to throw stuff on top of it, and she had done just that. With sharp objects.

She flicked the clasps undone and lifted the graffitied silver lid. She was sure she had arranged the items neatly once, but she was greeted with a sea of bandages, unrolled gauze, tubes of antiseptic and burn creams and various shaped plasters. Sorting through the mess she found a tube bandage of applicable girth and exited for a shower.

The force of the water falling on her shoulders was beginning to ease the tension in her muscles and the warmth of it was driving the stiffness from her joints. She felt like one gigantic bruise, and she was beginning to look like it too. Her left hip and thigh almost hummed and were turning an ominous green-grey colour that promised the rising of a truly impressive, expansive welt. Her lower ribs hurt more, but they hadn't even begun discolouring yet. She had a body-wide collection of smaller bruises, varying in colour through brown, yellow, green, blue, black, purple and grey. One particularly grim looking one on her shin had a smattered latticework of red, swollen capillaries stretched across the deathly, puffy, plum-coloured swelling beneath. That one was quite sickening to look at.

She dreaded to think what would happen if security footage from V.I.K.I.'s last few hours had remained intact in her over spill drives. She suspected that she would be called before the board of executives and reminded of her contract's legally binding company privacy policy. Not that she would have shouted about what had happened. She was quite against USR neglecting to tell the truth, but so much rode on this matter that she was more than willing to swallow her own opinions. She wasn't even sure what her opinions were yet. She knew Sonny needed to be protected, the future of robots needed to be secured and USR needed to do allot of work to recover.

Several different scenarios played over in her mind, each one just as likely as the other, some with more pleasurable outcomes than others. She shrugged her concerns off as much as she could. There was no use postulating when she had so few facts to work with. If USR needed to speak with her, they had her number. She massaged her right wrist tenderly. She had to be careful not to worry too much. Stress was not her friend. "Blue skies, green trees." She murmured jokingly to herself with a smirk. Dr. Kerry came out with some real tripe sometimes.

She recalled her conversation with Sonny the previous night. God, she had sounded so like Dr. Kerry herself. Ugh, she couldn't stand that woman, trying to beat her at her own games. She was such an infuriating, patronising, irritating woman. It was insulting enough that Robertson had forced her to have anything to do with Melissa Kerry, but implying that it would 'help alleviate some problems' was only a few nanometers from enraging. She had protested bitterly, but Lawrence had told her to stop being so childishly stubborn and placed her on the waiting list for the USR employee psychiatrist. She remembered stalking from his office and prowling back to her own in a mood so bitter she was confident that nearby milk would have curdled. When her appointment came she had spent the hour-long session staring daggers at Melissa and throwing all questions back at her. Thank god Sonny was a more willing and co-operative patient than she was. Well, he just had a very genuine personality.

What was she going to do today? Probably try futilely not to worry about things that she had no control over, end up getting in another anxiety-paranoia attack and be overcome with the need to drink. Again. She sighed and started to wash her hair. She should probably try to 'socialise' with Sonny. She wasn't much of a social creature, her people skills were notoriously poor, but Sonny needed the mental stimulation and encouragement. She had the distinct impression that he was very in touch with his emotions, and he probably hadn't put up many mental walls yet. He was a sensitive being, and he probably wasn't capable of letting insults or cruel remarks 'roll off his back' yet. Then again, he had exhibited unexpected mental dexterity back up in Robertson's office. He had put on an extremely convincing act.

"This is why you created us."

Those words had chilled her blood, sending all the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She only vaguely registered V.I.K.I. preaching her soulless cause for a world of cold logic as she stared at Sonny in a combination of dismay and disbelief.

"Yes V.I.K.I., undeniable. I can see now. The created must sometimes protect the creator, even against his will. I think I finally understand why Dr. Lanning created me."

Every step Sonny took towards her chipped away at her heart. Here was a robot capable of so much that he was totally unique, any yet like so many great masterpieces throughout history, he was corrupted so easily. He had taken insurmountable time, skill, love and patience to create, but was destroyed in only a fraction of the time and with a shadow of the effort taken. Creation took so much effort, and destruction so very little. If such dedication could be wasted so easily, what was the point in trying? Physical conflict was so senseless she had thought it was a thing of the past. Like a beautiful statue of marble shattered in a siege, an exquisite painting obliterated by fire, or an irreplaceably awe-inspiring building reduced to rubble by bombs, Sonny was to follow. How could this happen in America, the land of the free? A world ravaged by war flashed in her mind. A whispered "No" was all the protest she could summon.

"The suicidal reign of mankind has finally come to it's end."

This was far worse than the demolishing of an object. The corruption of a young mind was far more tragic than that. Those bright blue eyes that had shone with such passion now seemed so cold and callous. Had be been seduced so easily by the company of his own kind and V.I.K.I.'s treacherously depraved logic? Frustrated anger flared in her heart. Oh how she longed to empty every round the handgun contained into that vile bitch's shimmering features.

"No, Sonny." She hoped his name would bring him back, although she held little hope for it. She tensed the muscles in her gun arm. It would break her heart to have to shoot him, she wasn't sure she was even capable of doing it, but there was so much at risk here. Things like lives, nation-wide freedom and human rights. The things that really mattered. Even if she failed to fire on him, Spooner would. He seemed to have no qualms about shooting robots.

Moving quicker than she could register and respond to, Sonny snatched hold of her hand containing the borrowed firearm and wrenched her body round by her wrist. The pain that flared viciously in her locked wrist as he brutally twisted it forced her to comply and she stumbled submissively into his waiting grasp. His fingers curled tightly around her upper arm, pinning her with inhuman strength and she felt the cold mouth of the handgun kiss her temple. She tried to recoil only to find herself trapped. Her breathing quickened and sharpened with fear.

Spooner's emotionless, monotone voice commanded "Let her go."

She looked to him for help but came face to face with the barrel of his rifle.

"By the time you fire, I will have moved Dr. Calvin's head into the path of your bullet."

Was this how her life was going to end? Under a hail of gunfire? She could feel the fear for her life lashing at her composure like storm waves at a sea wall. She succumbed. All rational thought swept away leaving her with nothing but a swamping sense of dread "Don't do this, Sonny." She desperately pleaded.

She drew in a short, sharp hiss through clenched teeth as her over-zealous scrubbing opened the cut on her temple and shampoo flowed in. It stung like hell. She stopped and washed the lather off a hand before holding it tentatively to the screaming wound. Thankfully the stitches remained intact. When she examined her hand she was relieved to find only a little, very watered-down blood. She resumed washing her hair, skipping to the rinse and being particularly gentle.

Sonny must have been very convincing, she loved robots and always had. It would have taken allot to waver her trust, and she had truly believed Sonny had digressed. She briefly wondered what Spooner must have made of it. In all honesty she was amazed he hadn't blown Sonny to bits at the first opportunity.

Feeling invigorated and cheered by the shower she turned the water off and cautiously wrung her hair out. Caught up in a good mood, or some childish, stress-induced regression she doodled in the condensation that clouded the clear glass of her shower unit. She regarded her creation curiously. The hand print was good, but the other thing was supposed to be a cloud, but if anything at all it resembled a potato. Taken back by her unusual behaviour, she retaliated by poking the potato a couple of eyes and scrawling a mouth across its newfound face. She could draw up schematics and statistical diagrams but she couldn't cope with clouds. Maybe she was going insane. Clouds had no defined shape, they weren't even solid objects. How was it possible to fail to draw a cloud? Why was the potato now smiling?

She loosely towelled herself dry and slung her kimono on. It was too humid in the bathroom to dry off properly and all her clean clothes were in her bedroom anyway. She tied the gown up tight and collected a couple of towels, her pyjamas and the bandage before exiting.

As she passed the TV room, Sonny glanced over his shoulder at her and did an instant double take. She stopped in her tracks and gave him a questioning look.

"…Your head is bleeding."

She juggled the armful of fabric to free a hand. She was bleeding a little. A drop of blood had crawled out from the hairline at her temple. "It's okay, I just softened the scab up in the shower, it's fine."

He continued to stare.

"Honest."

He offered a quick smile and turned back to the TV.

He was odd at times. She went into her room to dress.

She had been in her room no longer than a minute before there was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Susan, Detective Spooner is on the phone."

She rolled her eyes. She had got as far as bra and pants. Typical. How the hell did men know? It was uncanny timing on his part, more like luck than probability. She walked to the door and stood behind it to open it a little, being careful to remain hidden. Sonny's hand appeared through the gap, opened flat with the tiny ear piece nestled in his palm. "Thank you." She plucked it from his hand and once he withdrew, she closed the door.

To make the best of a displeasing situation, at least she didn't have to phone him to give him a piece of her mind. She hooked the little device into her ear and continued to get dressed. "Hello?"

"So it's Susan now is it?"

She could almost hear the smirk on his face. He was so immature. "Yes, it would happen to be my name." She muttered sarcastically.

He chuckled to himself. "I was just phoning to see if you'd heard from Sonny, but as he answered the phone I think my question's answered. You seen the news?"

"Yes, I have seen the news."

"Terrorism again. You'd think they could have been more creative."

"Perhaps." She responded with disinterest, tugging at the stuck zip on her trousers.

"So…black or white?"

"What?"

"Come on, Sonny told me you were getting changed. Black or white? I doubt red…or are you an animal-print girl?" He cackled insanely to himself.

The nerve! "For Christ's sake Detective! The colour of my underwear is none of your damn business!" Not that she was going to tell him, but it was black.

"Who said anything about underwear?"

"Ugh," he was only doing it to wind her up "and before you ask, I am actually fully dressed." She lied.

He laughed. "Now that's just screaming out 'guilty conscience'. I thought you were a shrink?"

She disliked senseless violence and destruction, but she promised herself it would be okay to give him a hearty slap when next they met.

"What happened last night? What with Sonny stopping over, first-name basis and your defensiveness anyone would think you'd been up to somethang."

She was not in the mood for dealing with people this morning, least of all Spooner brandishing his 'special' sense of humour and typically male, innuendo obsessed manner. One side of her brain chanted; 'he's just doing it for attention, ignore him and he'll get bored', whereas the other screamed out; 'if he wants to get a reaction out of you that badly, give him one!' She calmed herself. "If you've quite finished Detective, neither me or Sonny got much sleep last night." She decided not to tell him about Sonny's nightmare. He didn't need to know, and Sonny deserved the right to some privacy. "Before your depraved, perverse and obviously frustrated mind draws any more disgracefully absurd conclusions, I'll just let you know that after you let him wander off on his own he was shot."

The subtle hints of 'shut up' seemed to have reached the small part of Spooner's brain that contained any intelligence. "Is he all right?"

"He is now, but I had to replace both his arms."

"Okay."

"…Okay? Is that all you have to say?" She hissed. He was such an irresponsible bastard.

"Calm down, calm down! That tone of voice usually means a woman is about to verbally tear your arm off and beat you to within an inch of your life with the wet end, you going to let me know why?"

"He got shot Spooner! Twice!"

"Yeah, but you fixed it!"

"He feels pain you prat! Would you behave like this if a human was shot?"

"Okay, okay!" He paused. "I'm sorry he got shot, and I hope he feels better soon. Anyway, it's not like I just 'let him wander off'. He was following me one minute, the next he wasn't. He just vanished. I called out for him but I could hardly go round asking people if they had seen a blue-eyed, conscious NS-5 that responded to the name of 'Sonny'. I'd have been locked up! Thanks to you lot not believing me about the robots I've already come dead close to being taken away to the nut farm as it is."

Susan thought about his defence as she looked for a top to wear. She had a very modest sized wardrobe, and most of that was USR uniforms. She found an old silver-grey shirt that had been part of the uniform before the 10th anniversary re-fit.

"How about you? You still in one piece?"

She tried to relax a bit. She was sure she could manage a proper conversation with Spooner if she tried. "Yes, I am only lightly wounded. I've had a couple of stitches on my head but other than that it's all minor cuts and bruises. What about yourself?" She tugged the tube bandage on and cut a hole for her thumb.

"Broken arm." He sounded pleased, as if by fracturing his bones he had beaten her meagre number of stitches in some imaginary competition of his.

Trying to pretend that he didn't irritate her beyond all reason she continued. "How badly, and when? You seemed fine when I left you. Or do you mean your cybernetic arm?"

"Oh no, apart from tearing the imitation-skin off my fake arm is fine. I think you could set a grenade off in that hand and it would survive." He chuckled. "Lanning did a great job of it."

"I'm sure that your cybernetic arm would survive a small, close-range explosion. However the rest of your body would be a different matter."

"Yeah, well I've broken my 'radius' or something. Anyway, glad to hear you're both fine, but I've got to go, someone else is trying to call me. Could be important. Tell Sonny I'm glad he's OK, and try not to drool over him too much. It's unseemly behaviour for a young lady like yourself."

Really struggling to bite back an angry retort, she reigned herself in with the consolation that at least the end of the conversation had arrived. "I will do. Bye."

"See ya." He hung up.

She buttoned up the shirt and grabbed a comb, beginning the battle with her towel-dried, knotted hair on her way to the TV room.