Guilt Error #2

Response Ability

Rated T Teen

Maglore’s home lies just inside the city’s metropolitan statistical area in a smaller town called Mondtal. The town is primarily residential with each home being separated by nearly a hundred acres of indigo grass hills. Typically only those in the upper middle to lower elite classes make their bed in Mondtal. It’s out here in indigo country that one could gaze up at the starry skies of Epsilar and perhaps even manage to spot the rings of Galauci iceworld.

It’s been two days since Senator Maglore was assassinated by Patsy, the perfect hit bot. Nida lays on Mr. Onkel’s lap, staring dead with puffy red eyes. Flying the limoucraft is a robot named Donna. She lands the limoucraft atop Maglore’s manor. Their estate is one of the smaller ones in the area at only seventy-seven acres. Unfortunately, Nida has no remaining family awaiting her arrival.

“Are grandma and grandpa here?” Nida quietly asks, stepping down the limoucraft ramp.

“Mr. and Mrs. Welarrei will be here in the morning, Ms. Maglore,” Onkel reports as the two descend the rooftop stairway. “There was a delay at the Yivet zeogate. They only just arrived in the city about an hour ago.”

Nida remains silent. They enter the second floor of the foyer that runs down into a small hallway. Going straight leads into the late senator’s bedroom. On the left is Nida’s. The five-year-old orphan drags her feet as she makes her way to her mother’s room. She flops onto the bed and begins to weep weakly into the knitted comforter.

Onkel sighs, scratching the back of his scaly neck. His shoulders sag as he heads downstairs to the kitchen. He hears a shifting of leaves outside the window. Red accents fade onto his green skin. Scales along his snout up to the top of his head erect. With a flick of his wrist, a laser pistol assembles from the metal bracelet hidden under his suit cuffs. He slides open the window. Aims the handgun while looking around. Nothing.

Onkel shuts the window. Puts a finger to his ear.

“S-0, ST1,” the amphibian bodyguard says. “Eyes open. Black Zero.”

Both hands back on the strap. Onkel pushes open the front doors. It starts to sprinkle. He looks left. Another suited alien. The red glow of her eyes shine on her azure skin. They nod at each other. To the right. Bodyguard number three. Spiked shells on his head rattle like a snake. They nod at each other. Onkel proceeds forward.

The spiky bodyguard turns at the northeastern corner of the mansion. He passes beneath a canopy of twisted bark trees reaching high above the roof. His aim darts left. Then up. Then forward. But in the branches above perches a cloaked stalker.

Patsy.

The spiky bodyguard reaches the end of the eastern wall then turns. Obstructed from his view, Patsy decloaks. The hit bot leaps from branch to branch, using muffled RCS thrusters and grapple lines to move as fluidly and quietly as possible. Along the outside of his legs are zeohydraulic kinetic absorption nodes that negate the sound of him landing. The thrusters are for reducing the sound of pressured branches. For gaps, Patsy uses the grapple lines to swing over to trees of equal level. Then, he makes it to the window of Maglore’s bedroom.

His digital eyes flatten into a line. A translucent film shoots over his face. He can now see through the closed blinds. Nida’s face is buried in tearsoaked pillows. Patsy notices it again. The corrupted simulation that’s been looping since killing Maglore. Nida glaring at him with tears of blood on an empty beach. He’s been able to overlay the playback between now and then. He even got used to it. But seeing her again.

I am… Patsy thinks. I am...I apologize. I…

The film retreats into the sides of his head. His digital eyes return to normal. He grips onto the panels poking up from his temples. The assassin bot pulls at them. His apexium muscle fibers flex. Patsy’s visuals start to glitch. But even with all his strength, he cannot rip himself apart. The guilt error must be solved.

Forgiveness. he thinks. Running simulsim trial. Input external dump. Keyword_“forgiveness”.

Patsy’s digital eyes shoot around his ocular monitor. Changing color and shape.

Trial complete, reads the message on his internal console. No errors found.

Forgiveness, Patsy thinks. Is this...?

But then, a new thought appears in his head. The sprinkles become showers. Raindrops clank loud on Patsy’s metal frame.

Do I...deserve…? he ponders. I...do not deserve...forgiveness. I do not...I want to--

“S-Comm, I’ve got eyes on a hit bot!” the spiky bodyguard says, yelling over the downpour. “East side, in the trees!”

He takes aim. Fires off three laser rounds. Patsy dodges with ease. He looks at Maglore’s window.

“He’s going for Nida!” the spiky one shouts, firing off four more blasts.

“I’m on it!” says the red eyes lady through the earpiece.

“S-Comm on site,” says Onkel.

The spiky bodyguard turns to see Onkel barreling toward the east side of the house. The blue bodyguard bursts through the front doors. She rushes up the stairs. Scoops up Nida.

Patsy looks back down at the spiky guard. Dodges two, three more laser shots. Then something slams into the tree! He looks down to see Onkel. The scaly chief of security digs his claws into the bark. With catlike pounces, Onkel scales the tree with only one hand, firing lasers with the other. The lasers aren’t a problem. Onkel is.

Patsy looks back at the room.

I will earn… he thinks. Your forgiveness.

Rocket thrusters emerge from his calf plating. Two more come out from the side of his forearms. A final pair out of his back.

“Don’t you run away from me, you metal bastard!” roars Onkel, firing more lasers.

Patsy fires off the thrusters and blasts away into the night. Onkel and the spiky bodyguard eventually stop firing. Onkel’s head drops, still hanging onto the tree. The rain washes away the blood on his marred claws.

#

Patsy lands Nel's ship on the outskirts of an old landfill on the crime-ridden moon of Ochidante. This crystal canyon world was once under the rule of the infamous star whale rancher Big Rich McKiller. He finally got his comeuppance when his outlaw son killed him in a duel in the streets of the capital. That outlaw was Al McKiller, also known as the Bronco Blaster. Now, the capital is a ghost town that serves as a base for McKiller and his gang.

Patsy makes his way down the capital parkway. A crackling tumbleweed of glass hops across the street in front of him. The shops and saloons are all boarded up and rusted. Zeogas signs flicker while others leak radiant fluid. At the end of the road stands, only partially dilapidated, the old McKiller mansion.

Milkgem exterior sporting towers topped with glassheart steeples. Such a material refracts the light of Ochidante’s parent body at night, twinkling multicolored lights over this town’s grave.

One of the two armed, cloth armored thugs guarding the front entrance approaches Patsy.

“Stop right there, tin man,” barks the guard.

“I’ve come to see my employer,” Patsy responds.

“Well he’s busy right now.” the guard shifts his laser rifle up so his hand is firmly on the grip. “So go on an’ get.”

“I would advise you to allow me passage. I would not feel guilty for terminating you.”

The guards eyes widen. He looks back at the other thug standing at the entrance. Then back at Patsy. He pulls up his rifle.

“N-now listen here--”

Patsy fires a photon round shot from his chest. Through the guard’s torso and into the ground behind him. The hole sizzles. He falls to his knees. Plops to the ground.

Patsy looks up at the other guard. The remaining thug has cybernetic implants on the left side of his face. A mic comes out of his cheek and whizzes over to his mouth.

“I need backup,” the cyborg thug stammers. “There’s a hit bot. He just killed Laer.”

He throws up his laser rifle and fires on Patsy. The thug lets out a battle cry as he unloads an onslaught of infernal bolts. The constant barrage starts to overheat his weapon. Steam from the mag cooler obscures his view. Then he stops. A heatsink casing pops out from the side of the rifle. Another is automatically inserted by a small, robotic arm near the grip. The robot is gone. Only Laer’s body remains.

“What the--” utters the cyborg thug.

He hears a freezing sound behind him. It’s Patsy decloaking!

“Agh--!” the thug lets out before being impaled by Patsy’s arm blade.

The assassin bot pulls his arm out of the cyborg. His body falls ten feet away from Laer’s. Patsy turns back toward the mansion. He reaches the front door, then stops. His aural sensors are picking up something. Overlapping chatter. Light, hyperproximal footsteps.

Patsy’s x-ray visor pulls over his digital eyes once more. Looks like McKiller’s whole gang is waiting to ambush him. Thugs shoulder to shoulder all along the second and third floor balcony railing. Aimed at the entrance. Clusters of them on the first floor behind makeshift cover and deployed shielding. Count at forty-seven.

Nels built Patsy to be the perfect assassin. Not the ultimate soldier. That means no advanced barriers. No armaments specialized for area of effect. New plan.

The hit bot uses his RCS thrusters to boost himself up to a window. More thugs lining the hallway. He silently crawls up the side of the mansion. All roof corners covered. That’s more like it.

Patsy vaults up the edge of the mansion roof. While in the air, he fires a lethal dart at the thug nearest to him. Down. Activate cloaking. Kinetic absorption to muffle falling sound. He passes the back corner across from him, snapping that thug’s neck. Another lethal dart to the one who just noticed his friend's neck suddenly breaking. Patsy decloaks. Leaps up into the air. Fires a grapple line. Pulls the last one into the air. RCS thrusters put Patsy into a spin cycle. He releases the grapple line. The last roof thug is sent flying, slamming into the distant sanded crystal ground. Terminated.

The robot assassin enters the rooftop elevator. Down one story. He cloaks just before the doors open. One thug rushes to meet up with the others on the third floor balcony. They don’t suspect a thing.

Patsy finds a bathroom. Auto door swooshes closed. He locks the door. Decloak. X-ray visor up. He looks left toward the main hall of the mansion. The whole gang is still waiting to ambush him. McKiller is on the other side of the house in an office across the third floor balcony. Patsy checks his systems. He’ll only be able to use cloak and stealth nodes for four or five seconds once he activates it. Then there’ll be just enough energy left in his tank for fusion beams to lock himself in the office with McKiller and any possible combat requirements. Time to engage.

I will earn your forgiveness, Patsy thinks. Nida…

Bathroom door unlocks. He steps out. Cloak. Shoots forward with a single stride. Five. Pops off the right wall of the hallway and onto the third floor balcony. Four. Drives his hand into the floor. Drifts around the backs of the aiming thugs. Three. Shoots forward down the hallway he was across from. Straight towards McKiller’s office door. Two. One more stride. Patsy reaches out. Cloak's down early! Muffling on emergency drop out! His robotic legs whine and whir. The third floor thugs turn. McKiller’s office door opens. The thugs fire. Two laser shots pang off his shoulder plates. One hits between his armored scapula. Door closes behind him.

Patsy turns and fires his fusion laser at the edges of the office door. It’s sealed. Laser fire can still be heard hitting the other side. The assassin bot, sparks flying out of his back, turns to see a man in armored chaps leaning in his chair. His spurred combat boots cross over each other on the desk. One hand rests behind his long, blonde head while the other pulls a steel toothpick from his mouth. The entire lower half of his face is replaced by a titanium, cybernetic jaw. He stares like half a skull, eyes in the shade of his regalia decorated cowboy hat. His big, blonde mustache covers the point where his titanium jaw and his upper lip converge. This is Al McKiller. The Bronco Blaster.

McKiller takes the steel toothpick and throws it into the wall behind patsy like a dart. He pulls his legs off the desk. Leans forward.

“Good work,” he drawls. “But now you’re on mah list fer killin’ two o’ mah boahs.”

“Hey boss,” calls in one of McKiller’s thugs on his desk communicator. “Gilly, Mart, and Rulango are dead. Can’t find Esqiron anywhere.”

The killer cowboy pauses. Looks up at Patsy with a stare of death. His hand rises from behind the desk holding a high tech revolver.

“Six then,” McKiller seethes. He pulls the hammer back and the gun accents start to glow, whirring as they power up. “One for every bullet in this here chamber.” The cowboy leans forward, aiming the pistol at Patsy. “And every one o’ them is going raght between your com-po-yuter eyes.”

“First,” Patsy says. “Tell me why I was hired to kill Senator Maglore.”

“What in the Sam Hill are you talkin’ about, tin man?”

“You hired SG-L16 to terminate Senator Elfraine Maglore on Epsil-Relcre 4456.092.0.1. Three days ago.”

“Mm.”

“What was the reason for this assignment?”

“You kill six of mah men an’ expect me just tell you whutever?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! Well then…” McKiller stands up. Takes a deep breath. “You’re just gonna have to beat--”

Patsy blasts toward the cowboy. His apexium grip pins McKiller to the now cracked wall by the neck.

“What was the reason for this assignment?” Patsy repeats.

“Kh-ha--uh-d, that darned woman was gonna--chk-l-let those Xomelian scum pass through our turf,” McKiller chokes. “I’ve seen what’s out there, tin man--khck. There wasn’t gonna be no peaceful mah-gration.”

Patsy looks away for a second. McKiller smirks. He shoves his revolver under Patsy chin.

“Sah-yo-nara, y’bucket o’ bolts,” he taunts.

And McKiller fires the gun.

TO BE CONTINUED