V1-900; The Constable [UK]

500 years after the collapse in the heart of New-London.

Darkness, that is the first thing she perceives, not in the traditional sense of low visibility due to a lack of ambient lumens, this is what it means to be blinded.

“State designation” A voice commands. Before visual sensors come online the automaton can already begin assigning attributes to the voice, creating a profile; Male, heavyset build, 30-50 years of age and an accent that indicates an origin in the Yorkshire region.

“VI-900 Automated Constable, serial number; 232 557 809” the automaton replies in a soft, feminine voice that is pushed of a speaker in the neck. A voice that research indicates is most likely to put an erratic or frightened POI at ease.

“State prime directive” The man says again.

It’s at this point that VI-900; takes note of the lack of motor controls, likely a series of concentrated EM shunts that have been inserted in key areas of the arms and legs, for all intents and purposes VI-900 is merely a taking head.

“To uphold the public good, to maintain the peace, to protect and serve.”

“Responses are correct and accurate, activate sensors!” Shouts the voice, presumably speaking to another figure in the room.

Vision is granted, with a small crackling pop the eternal blackness gives way to static which slowly clears, showing the scene before VI-900.

Before her stands a man matching the description she had slowly been building in her processor, and further notes can be drawn. 5’8”, approximately 127kg or 280lbs, brown hair and green eyes, and a notable scar running along the left cheek, almost reaching the eye.

The man wears clothes that may have been nice once, however a series of stains and rips now mar the fabric of his coat, shirt and pants with specs of blood decorating his heavy workman’s boots. Furthermore, the man makes no attempt to hide the revolver on his hip.

The surroundings do not match where VI-900 had previously powered down, the walls and ceilings are concrete, and much of it is decorated by graffiti that while resembling gang symbology do not match any known gangs that VI-900 was familiar with.

As for the floors though there is a dense layer of dust, debris and refuse, faint yellow and white painted lines can be seen.

“Where are you right now?” He says, crossing his arms his brow furrowed slightly however his voice does not betray frustration but rather concern. Worry.

“We are in a parking garage… an abandoned one.” This is a test, one to assess functionality both on the levels of structure and programming.

“Close enough, this place WAS a parking garage, now it’s nothing, just a formation of concrete and memories” he says as he turns, as though taking in the environment for the first time.

“This is not where I belong, you have stolen me from Scotland Yard, this is class D felony larceny, surrender and perhaps the courts will be merciful.” States VI-349, attempting to subdue the culprit through negotiation.

The man seems unmoved, he turns back to the automaton, hands going to his hips now as he stares deeply into the visual sensors of the constable.

“I’m afraid Scotland Yard is gone, along with the law and order you knew… com’on let’s tear the bandage off…” he says, nodding to someone that the automaton cannot perceive, worsened by the fact that her neck appears to be as paralyzed as her arms and legs.

Sudden movement, in moments VI-900 is tilted back and is slowly pushed forward with a grunt, sounding female in tone, VI-900 can only watch as she’s pushed forward on a trolley, several turns are taken, and portions of time where strained grunting and muttering can be heard, indicating an accent in levels, this theory is proven correct when the grey ceiling gives way to the grey vault of the sky above.

Finally she comes to a halt and is stood back up properly, gazing over the wide expanse of the city, much of it familiar however great devastation has been wrought over the area, buildings have crumbled, cars have been defaced and destroyed, many corpses, old and new can be spotted even from this vantage.

Immediately her processor begins to work in overdrive, has a terror attack taken place? Has a war started? Has a natural disaster stuck? All theories were flawed, all had pieces of evidence that didn’t support the overarching narrative.

“The world… as you knew it, anyway, is gone… it was destroyed roundabouts 500 years ago…” he says, taking a seat on the hood of a nearby car, looking over the devastation below.

It all clicks together, every piece of evidence fitting together better then any alternative theory, the filth, the graffiti, the clothes and the brazen display of a firearm, not to mention the destroyed infrastructure, the corpses, many of which likely decades old. But what could cause such destruction?

“Now, it’s my understanding that you old world bots can’t lie… so I’m gonna ask you a question under the belief that you’re gonna play it straight with me… given what I told you, what are you gonna do now?” His words are measured, his tone calm and yet he rubs his hands together as he awaits VI-900’s response.

“My prime directive has not changed, I am to uphold the public good, maintain the peace, to protect and serve.”

“It’s very fortunate that you say that… as it happens, we’re the closest thing to law and order in this city, as such, if you intend to continue your mission you’ll need to answer to me.”

“Have you been granted your authority by a proper governing body? Do you follow the same principles as law enforcement from the past?”

“Aye, we’ve been granted our authority by The Crown, as legitimate a claim to authority as you’ll find in the Wastes.“ Monarchy has reasserted itself, if the royal line lives on then they would possess the authority to supplant the Parliament in times such as these.

“What caused this? Plague? War?”

He nods quietly, taking in the question, nodding over to the unknown woman, carting around VI-900 upon which the movement begins again.

“We don’t know where they came from, or what they are… not REALLY…” he says as she’s slowly swiveled around the grey vault above becoming interrupted by a great rift, a tear in reality itself hanging high above the city, every so often something can be seen falling from it, however not even VI-349’s sensors can make out what precisely it is, only that it appears to be writhing as it falls.

“It could be that it’s gods wrath… could be that Venus is in retrograde… could be just bad bloody luck… but what we do know is it’s bad news for the rest of us, we know we can’t close it, we know that monsters tend to fall from it… and it’s not the only one of its kind.”

Down the street loud pops can be heard. Gunshots. The man peeks over the side of the building, seemingly deciding not to worry about it yet.

“Ah, right, Introductions; my name is Charles Morris, I’m Captain of The Constabulary, and the young lady who so diligently hauled your chassis up all those ramps is Evelyn Pembroke, you could think of her as a Sargent in our organization which brings us to you…”

There’s a scuffle of boots against pavement and from the left hand side of VI-900’s vision, a second figure makes themselves known.

Similar to what the automaton had hypothesized the second figure is female, petite build, black with shaved hair, few cuts or scrapes can be seen and she wears clothes much similar to Charles, faded, rugged clothes meant to keep the body warm and little else.

Slung around her shoulder is what appears to be a rifle, bolt-action most appropriately used for hunting large game.

“What’ll it be then? You gonna join the Constabulary? We don’t do things quite the same as you did back in the day… but we keep the peace, protect the innocent and support the community.” His words are measured, laced with conviction, if he’s lying then he’s managed to fool himself first and foremost.

“Very well, I agree to your terms.” She says, though she can’t feel emotions, at least to the capacity that humans can, she does feel a certain drive to return to service. To follow her programming.

“Alright…” he says, rising from his seat, nodding to the woman once again who begins the process of unlocking VI-900’s limbs one by one.

“…Do you have a proper name?” He says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he holds his hips.

“For ease of communication and socialization, SecureTech has allowed me to adopt the name of Violet when conversing with colleagues and civilians.”