Adam stared through the rear window, his breath fogging the glass as Viktor’s mansion faded behind him. His hands were still trembling. That had been too close. Far too close.

  At least the signal had returned. The phone was working—that was a slight relief. Still, Adam cursed himself. Showing up outside Viktor’s place in a taxi cab, alone, like some clueless amateur? Idiotic. He should have used a decoy van—something bland, construction-branded, with a fake company name. And he should’ve had backup. Not a person. Not a weapon. A robot.

  One of his robots.

  If he ever finished them—if he and Sophia ever brought their design into the world—it would be the finest machine ever made. No flesh-and-blood bodyguard would stand a chance. Not against that. But Adam shook his head, forcing the thought away. He wasn’t a killer. That wasn’t who he was.

  Outside, the leafy tranquillity of the suburbs gave way to the cold, angular chaos of near-central New York. Drones buzzed overhead, weaving between towering digital billboards and utility bots. The sky had turned a bruised steel grey. Rain streaked down the taxi’s glass roof in erratic rivulets, blurring the looming spires of the city.

  Adam looked up and wondered: How much longer will this city hold? Once a beacon of environmental progress, it was now slowly sinking into its own carbon debt—its fate tragically intertwined with the very disasters it had once fought to prevent.

  His gaze dropped to the phone. The app was working—still tracking the growing distance between him and Viktor’s known location. But was this how his life would be now? Not just looking over his shoulder, but constantly listening for the shrill ping of a threat alert?

  He thought of his family—his loved ones. Should he warn them? Let them know they were now, by association, targets of one of America’s most notorious crime lords? But why burden them with that fear? He could just add their devices to the tracking network, setting up alerts if any of Viktor’s crew came within five hundred yards. Silent protection. Unspoken love.

  The taxi slowed to a stop outside his office. Adam paid the fare, stepped into the downpour, and darted through the front doors. In the elevator, his reflection stared back at him: dishevelled, sleep-deprived, haunted. His floor. Ding.

  As he entered the office, shame hit him in waves. The last time he’d been here... he’d been drunk. Not tipsy—obliterated. Working late, tracking the mugger bot, he had, if he remembered correctly, urinated in a waste bin. God. The stench the next morning must’ve been unreal. And of course—of course—everyone knew. Even if they said nothing. Especially if they said nothing.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He offered a tight, apologetic smile as he walked through. Alice, the office manager who kept the whole place running, barely returned it. Her frown landed like a slap. And then he remembered—the words. The things he’d said to her that morning, in his drunken haze. Something crude. Disrespectful.

  “Alice...” he began softly.

  She turned to face him slowly, arms folded, face unreadable.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said, looking her in the eye. “Truly. I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. That... that wasn’t me.”

  Her expression thawed, just a little. A smile ghosted across her lips.

  “Accepted. You’re my boss, Adam. But don’t ever let it happen again,” she said, with a flicker of amusement beneath her sternness.

  “Deal,” he said, managing a grateful smile.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Stevie Chan grinning, clearly enjoying Adam’s discomfort. Stevie, brilliant though he was, often behaved like a teenager trapped in a grown man’s body. His autism gave him a kind of social immunity card—Adam had never called him out for it.

  Adam exhaled. Time to face the music properly.

  He walked to the centre of the open-plan office and raised his voice. “Hey everyone… can I have your attention for a quick impromptu meeting?”

  He turned to Alice. “Is Sophia in today?”

  Alice shook her head. “No. She had an appointment. Said she’d be back later, though.”

  “Right. Okay.” Adam cleared his throat as the team gathered, dragging chairs and murmuring amongst themselves.

  “First off,” he began, “I owe Alice a public apology. What I said was unacceptable. I was drunk, yes—but that doesn’t excuse it. That kind of behaviour won’t be tolerated in this company. Not from anyone. Especially not from me.”

  A few nods. Some smiles. Someone chuckled at the mention of Sophia, who was well known for her no-nonsense approach.

  “I also want to apologise,” Adam continued, “for... well... urinating in the office bin.”

  A few groans. A laugh.

  “Yeah. That happened. Look, I swear, it was meant to be a kind of... biochemical self-experiment. Testing the effects of alcohol on neurotransmitters—glutamate suppression, dopamine elevation. How does it affect your thinking? It had affected mine. Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps I became so engrossed in the project that I didn’t want to waste time going to the bathroom. I genuinely don’t know.”

  The scientists in the room, to Adam’s relief, nodded. One of the biochemists—Will—raised a hand.

  “But why do it alone?” he asked. “Why not have one of us monitor you?”

  “Fair point,” Adam replied. “I won’t be doing it again on my own. I... seriously misjudged my tolerance.”

  Another hand went up—Ben, one of the programmers. “Just to be clear—it wasn’t because the company’s in trouble, right? You weren’t drinking because of stress? We’re not about to lose our jobs?”

  Adam forced a smile. “No, no. We’ve had a few minor cash flow hiccups, but nothing serious.”

  “But you’d tell us if things got bad?” Ben asked.

  “Of course,” Adam lied, as smoothly as he could.

  “All right, then.” Adam clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work. We’ve got a world to change. The next generation of robotics won’t build itself. True digital-biological androids... real, thinking machines. The future’s right here, in this room.”

  The applause that followed was hesitant—more obligatory than inspired. Still, it was something.

  Adam returned to his desk, powered on his terminal, and stared into the shifting streams of code on his screen. Viktor was still out there. The threat still loomed. But so did the dream.

  The robot. The revolution. The redemption.

  Robots for good.

  He had work to do.