EXT. DUSTY STREET

MCU immediately felt pain. It was a familiar feeling, a heavy weight signaling structural damage. His entire circuit was lit up, and his HUD was a uniform shade of red. After the jarring shock of the boot process, the internal systems ran diagnostic. Slowly, one-by-one, the pain receptors began to shut off. His entire HUD flashed white to signal diagnostics complete, and he immediately began a damage survey. All parts functioning sufficiently, although not to maximum. Indicators showed his sensors were a mess, although preliminary reports indicate it was a problem prior to shutdown. Opticals maintained at 7% over the minimum, so his vision would be about par with a human's, although a little worse in the dark.

As soon as all of the sensors were fully operational, the world sparked to life around the HUD. A large MAR unit, and an unrecognizable bot appeared. In a moment of post-boot panic, MCU raised it's arm, with the energy unit gathering a shot, buzzing to life. The unknown robot took a hesitant step back, until MCU immediately got the signal for BrainChip, and lowered it's weapon, discharging into the ground.

MCU once again ran a diagnostic, and found itself unable to contact NOP, nor S.P.I.R.E. Standard checks came up empty, thorough checks provided little more than possible firmware or virus errors within communications software. MCU made a note of this information, creating a report, and backing each of his current reports to the BlackBoxsoft.

EXT. STREET

MCU took this moment to once again run diagnostics, and then trawled through the reports from before the shut-down. Reports indicate that the human group could've been up to 3, but is liable to sustain numbers of up to 7 to 10. As such, they should be prepared for a small-squad attack force. Before making any decisions, it awaited the likely more accurate intel of the MAR Unit.

INT - OLD, CRUMBLING APARTMENT BUILDING

A teenage boy burst through the doorway with a shoulder check, and found N-E 0 in Stand-By Mode, arms rising in falling in what would be best described by the boy's parents' favorite bed-time song, "I've been workin' on the railroad." He mused from his position, watching what he could only figure to be the robot's version of a nightmare when he swiftly remembered why he was in such a hurry in the first place.

The robot eased out of stand-by, and nodded once. They clambored out of the window, and sprinted down the alley. Soon, the would reach the street.

EXT. - CLEAN, WELL-SWEPT STREET

They ejected out of the alley in a flash, and ran into an armored MCU patrol. With the steady hand of practice, the teenage boy raised a gun and fired countless shots toward the oncoming hoard. He screamed over the cacophony of bullets.

MCUs immediate scattered into cover, raising in alternate patterns to provide suppressive fire and room for units to respond. Neo and the teenage boy split, with Neo running into an alley, and out of sight into the spider-web of the city.

The teenage boy turned the corner, firing off shots from a beaten-up Colt .45. Shortly after exchanging a single volley, a bullet clipped his ear. Red hot pain flooded his senses, and he staggered into the open, firing more-or-less toward his robotic opponents. Sometime between his staggering and the robots rising as a whole, his gun jammed. The robots all shouldered their guns, and sighting the boy's head. The teenager thought briefly of his family, long since dead. Perhaps praying to God might let me see my family again. His eyes closed, but the silent order to fire had been called. The teenager didn't feel his body hit the floor, but it made a sickening thump against the otherwise too-clean street. Somewhere in the city, a rebellion gained resolve.

EXT. - POTHOLE MARKED STREET

The Hummer growled gamely as it roared down the street, slowly but surely gaining on an ultimate destination. The red glow in the sky signaled an approach to the Spire proper, but the state of the street proved enough that they still had some distance to cover. Suddenly, a robot filtered into the street, and raised a rifle to it's shoulder. It managed a single, tire-exploding shot before being hit by the oncoming vehicle. A single robotic chassis and the distinct sound of a ruptured tire were all that were left in the robot's wake. A second robot appeared from the shadows, and began a mile-eating run, keeping pace behind the now-damaged Hummer.

EXT. - DUSTY STREET, TOWARD A WEAPONS CACHE

MCU felt like he had seen this part of the street before, and attempted to access his files on the city's layout. The check proved unsuccessful, a point which MCU recorded into his files. BlackBoxSoft was the only program that seemed completely uncorrupted, and he continued to resume normal function based on the files hidden within that core folder. Although, he had the sinking suspicion he was nearing the weapon's cache.

INT. - GLOWING RED ROOM, OVERLOOKING THE CITY

NinjOP stood at the window, admiring the formations of robots below. A full detail, nay, army of MCU units were being unleashed in the city, and a full-scale search is being conducted. He knew that the resistance would fall sooner rather than later, and relished what comfort that thought brought. He mused, wondering if humans would be confused by the concept of absolute control. Personally, he felt most at home in total control. Beneath him, SPIRE Control Center picked up a detailed report of several humans in an unauthorized Hummer.

EXT. - CLEAN STREET, OUTSIDE OF THE SPIRE WAREHOUSE GATE

Armored Combat Unit, TankBot, received his orders instantly, and began away from the Spire. It seemed the humans were headed in their direction, and it was his mission to destroy the vehicle, killing or capturing the humans immediately. All weapons systems and diagnostics showed full-green. ACU moved toward the on-coming path of the Hummer. Progress/CongressDeciSoft released a wave of pleasure across ACU's circuits. For once, he was about to see combat. What he was built for.

Keep an eye on this space.

EXT. - LARGE, UNOCCUPIED DESERT LANDSCAPE

Mortimer felt ill. Something about leaving the city was a bad idea. Something about being somewhere where there was no cover was a bad idea. Mortimer was sure of it, but he stupidly didn't say a thing. The wind whipped about the large group of people as they convened in the sand. Grime settled on their lower legs and arms, weapons and clothing getting jammed with dirt and sand in places that probably won't be discovered for years.

Necroswanson stood amongst many people, plotting a plan. The desert was a pretty logical place to meet. Robots only stayed in the city, after all. From the sands would come an army, and from the army would come destruction. Comments were exchanged, but little progress got solved. The majority of the group wanted to just rush the Spire. Numbers were strongest at the beginning of a war, not the end. Many said garner supplies, make it a war of attrition. This was countered by talk of robots not needing food and water...

Bickering was loud enough to mask the army. Necroswanson was right, an army would rise from the sand. The detachment was criminally large. Maybe 500 MCU strong, in this squadron alone. First, they appeared to be but heat dancing in the distance. As they closed in, it became obvious that they were the very robot army they'd fled from. Without losing march, all of the MCU units brought their weapons up. After a brief scoping process, they all fired. A volley whistled by the ears of the group.

The sickening sound of bullets and gunfire echoed in the distance. The arguing ceased immediately, and everyone took to the sand. Crouched, everyone attempted to cover themselves behind dunes, and shadow into the perpetual slopes of the desert. The MCU continued to advance. "We need to leave!" shouted Winston. "Right now!"

The MCU, by some twist of luck, were advancing from the opposite direction as the city. Necro addressed the group, "Patrols must have started deploying even to the desert. We need to fall back to the city. Now!" Winston took to his feet, and fired off a volley from his own personal firearm. In less than five seconds, the entire first row of robots had fallen. Necro and the others kept their heads down, practically crawling toward the city.

Metal whistles and pings erupted from Windon as he was being potmarked with fire. An unlikely prototype, Winston could go hand-to-hand with a TankBot, when it came down to armor and pea-shooters. The problem was damage stacked. Enough fire was going to land in about the same place, and holes would start appearing through Winston instead of on him.

Necro continued to flee, an entire contingent of survivors with him. Gremlin paused to fire long-range shots as they fled, but it was near impossible for a handful of humans to best all of the machines. Hundreds of skilled robots were not too unlike an unstoppable force.

Winston was bleeding. It wasn't the usual red blood that stains the skin, running too-hot for comfort. Winston's was a darker variety. Springs, cogs, gears, and bolts were loosening, joints were failing to maintain, and Winston was slowly coming apart. For every robot Winston felled, hundreds and thousands more joined to seek retribution. Energy weapons came next, searing hot metal began to slag from his already mutilated frame.

The honest truth was Winston was already dead. The brain could give signals to fight, but the battle was over before it had started. Every shot pinged a little closer to the all-ending shot. Life Support system began showing critical less than two minutes after the opening volley.

Sure enough, it slowed the advance, and gave the rest time to escape. No one was really sure if the heroism was worth it, given uncertainty on the horizon. Winston may have regretted his last stand, but if it had, no one would know it. Battle continued to rage in the desert, until nothing but the severed head of a not-quite-robot spat it's last curse. Emotionless eyes gave no signs of "Battle well fought" or "You performed admirably." It was simply crushed beneath an electric foot.

Fifteen minutes behind schedule, the MCU army surged for the city.

EXT. OUTSKIRTS, A CITY LONG FORGOTTEN

Mortimer was ahead of the group. How or why, he wasn't sure, but he had managed to take point. The first thing he heard was a sharp buzz. The next thing he heard was the impact of a bullet. The concrete at the foot of the street fell as rubble, and Mortier threw himself to the side. A TankBot towered in the distance, armor-plating adorning a force to be reckoned with. Necro wasn't far behind, and dove into cover with Gremlin taking his side. With Mortimer, the unnamed man who looked remarkably like Lennon ducked behind a trashcan, looking curiously at a weed in the ground.

Mortimer poked his head above a trashcan lid, and looked into the street. A concussive round was the only thing he saw as he panicked and ducked again. The entire alley rumbled as an explosive round detonated the building at the edge of the alley. Even several meters away, dust waves erupted in waves from the falling building. The man with Mortimer was agasp with excitement as a wave of dust settled over the weed, as if it was an unexpected result.

Mortimer strafed the alley, ducking into a safer location and taking a liberal pair of shots at the tank. His thermal energy gun delivered beautifully on the all-armor behemoth, and it was pretty clear the metal above the helmet wasn't designed for high-temperature rounds. The TankBot's primary visible was either out, or his targeting optics had shorted, because it began to fire rounds haphazardly. The chain-gun put out an impressive 600 rounds a minute, which quickly littered the city. Mortimer waited for the hailfire to cease for long enough to move. As soon as the motor powering the barrel quieted down, he grabbed the strange man by the arm and sprinted down the alleyway.

The street felt wide and open after the containment of the alley, and Mortimer strafed to his heart's content. The TankBot was still firing haphazardly, except now with his main turret. Large-scale rounds went around the city, making light work of leveling entire buildings at a time. Dust was being to erupt ceaselessly from buildings, and death felt assured for every human in the vicinity. Mortimer felt scared as he flung the bizarre man behind cover. Necro urged him to take cover, but Mortimer had a feeling that another good shot would stop the Tank dead in its tracks.

He turned to the Tank, which was creating a beautiful ellipse of turret blasts arcing toward him. He knew just a shot would do it, and had at least shots before the arc neared him. He raised the gun, bracing himself, and lined up his shot.

FWUMP!

The first round went well wide of Mortimer, exploding the window of a nearby pet store. A cardboard kitten fell in flames to the sidewalk. Mortimer was just about level with his shot. Time to take the shot. He felt the tension of the trigger as he squeezed.

Click. FWUMP!

Another round, this one whipping Mortimer's long hair from the proximity. The thermal gun never fired. Nature can wreak havoc on even the most prepared machinery. A do-it-yourself number seems more likely to fall victim to death by sand. The irony was that the trigger was jammed. Mortimer panicked and fled for cover.

TankBot's secondary-optics system finally activated. A feature unknown to Mortimer. Necro saw the glow of the second eye, and bolted. Without needing instructions, Gremlin, the unnamed man, and many others too to his heels. Mortimer had enough time to shout a single word of protest.

It was no surprise to anyone but Mortimer when he died. The round managed to take Mort in the chest. After clearing through the man's torso, it detonated in the asphalt. Mortimer's last will and testament was naught but a crater in the street. TankBot turned to chase the remaining rogues, but they were out of sight. Slowness was a curse, but patience was something robots had that humans did not. TankBot slowly gave chase.

EXT. - ABANDONED ARMY BASE

Underground bases hide things well. Dust settled in the desert, and wind tore at the metal doors, but Christopher Evans was safe in his base.

Or so he thought.

The great things about army bases is that they hide everything from surplus ammo, supplies, mines, and other handy survival-boosters. The awful catch is that they also hide nasty surprises. There wasn't much left of the robot. Maybe a power-chord, an arm, and a head, but it was rigged in just such a way that the torso that hadn't rotted off was the torso that also powered the arm.

Drawing electricity from the wall, and raising a tiny Sig Sauer left from a human militant long-since dead, Chris had enough time to say "Oh." before a dying robot clinging to not-life via a simple wall outlet placed a single 9 mm round into his skull. If the first shot didn't do it, the next 8 did. The body was riddled with holes and quite dead by the time it hit the floor.

The irony was that the robot died not more than a minute after. The back-up generator in the base finally succumbed to entropy.

EXT. - DOWNTOWN STREET CORNER

Chests heaved as the group sat to collect their breath. The TankBot had gotten it's name for a reason, and was virtually unstoppable by just a rag-tag group. The clear choice was to keep running. The unnamed man seemed suddenly eager to lead the group. Oddly enough, despite his always slow and whimsical nature, he was the first to recover his breath. He sauntered off toward the Spire. Necro looked around, boggled at what to do. He could let the man wander, or chase him down. The group seemed too determined to not have another death tonight.

They followed the man on his whimsical journey.

INT. - CORPORATE MEETING ROOM

Leather chairs and a polished wooden desk occupied half of the top floor of this building. Though many years condemned, this room hummed wall to the wall with machinery. NinjOP 1.0 was a creature of whimsy. Early AI showed very little ambition to exist within the human-condition, but rather a tendency to explore the learning process. Pursual of learning was the prime goal of AI. The problem is when it had no direction, it was simply an exploit.

Ninj01 flitted about the room with whatever equaled a grin. A familiar face was headed for his building, and this time he had brought friends. Speech seemed a distance concept, but the hum of hard disks filled the room as the entire room thought with Ninj01 on how to 'speak.'

"Get the tea ready," Ninj01 announced to no one, in a voice far too reminiscent of sit-com grandmothers from British Prime-Time, "we're having guests."