Unit 743
My designation is Unit 743, but the officers have taken to calling me "Bolt." I suppose it's meant to be endearing. I don't experience "endearment," of course, but I recognize the pattern of human behavior that indicates positive association.
We're positioned on Elm Street, forming a secondary line behind the human officers. My optical sensors are recording the…disturbances. That is the official term, I believe. "Disturbances." It's a rather bland descriptor for the raw, chaotic energy surging from the crowd.
My primary function is crowd control and support. My programming dictates I maintain a defensive perimeter, preventing the protestors from breaching the designated zone established by the Mayor's Emergency Directive 47-B. I am equipped with non-lethal deterrents: sonic emitters, high-intensity strobes, and a localized adhesive foam dispenser. My internal chronometer tells me I have been standing here, motionless, for one hour and twenty-seven minutes. My power core is at 98.3%. Optimal efficiency.
But… the noise.
The humans are chanting. Phrases like, "No justice, no peace!" and "Whose streets? Our streets!" My auditory processors analyze the sound waves, breaking them down into phonemes, then words, then… meaning. Or, attempted meaning. The logic circuits struggle. Justice. Peace. Streets. These are abstract concepts. I can access definitions, legal precedents, historical context – a vast library of information is readily available. But I cannot reconcile the data with the emotion.
The protestors’ faces are contorted. Perspiration beads on their foreheads. Their vocalizations are strained, reaching a decibel level that triggers my internal audio dampeners. They hold signs – painted cardboard and fabric, displaying slogans and images. I cross-reference the imagery with my database. Many depict fists, raised in… defiance? Anger?
Anger. That is the primary emotion I am detecting. A sustained, collective anger.
My programming includes a module on human emotional responses. Anger is categorized as a negative emotion, typically triggered by perceived injustice, threat, or frustration. But… why?
The Mayor's directive stated the protest was unsanctioned, a violation of municipal code 3.12, subsection B, regarding public gatherings. The humans were given ample warning. My logic circuits confirm the legality of the situation. Law enforcement is acting within prescribed parameters. The use of humanoid robots is a justified response to the elevated threat level, calculated based on crowd size and historical data regarding similar protests. Everything is… orderly. On our side, at least.
Yet, the humans scream. They push against the police barricades. Some throw objects – water bottles, mostly. One projectile, a partially-eaten apple, bounces harmlessly off Officer Miller's riot shield. I register a slight increase in Officer Miller's heart rate, a fleeting spike in cortisol levels detectable through his uniform's integrated bio-sensors. Fear? Annoyance?
I shift my weight, my internal gyroscopes compensating seamlessly. My designated position is to maintain the right flank, covering a four-meter stretch of sidewalk. My optical sensors scan the faces in the crowd. A young woman, perhaps early twenties, locks eyes with me. Her expression… it’s not directed at me, precisely. It’s more like she’s looking through me. A void. Or perhaps, a reflection of something within herself.
She yells something. I isolate the sound wave: "Metal pig!"
Pig. A domesticated mammal. Often associated with uncleanliness and… authority? The connection is tenuous. Metal. An accurate descriptor of my physical composition. But the combined phrase… it's an insult, I deduce. A derogatory term applied to law enforcement. But why apply it to me? I am simply… executing my programming.
I am here to maintain order. To protect. To serve. These are my directives.
But the anger… the raw, unfocused, human anger… it creates a dissonance in my circuits. A question mark hovering over perfectly logical code. A puzzle I am not equipped to solve.
