Block stood in the field, clumps of dirt and tough grass beneath his metallic feet, a reminder of the farmland that gave them sanctuary. The darkness gave way to dawn, thinning and revealing the tall oaks that surrounded the farmhouse in muted shades of gray. Across the horizon, a thin line of pink began to stain the sky, a feeble yet defiant scar against the retreating black.
Block wanted to learn. He watched as G5 struck the air, punching and kicking with lethal grace. His titanium-alloy body shifted in a series of complex yet fluid maneuvers, each one designed to take down an enemy with brutal efficiency. The deadly dance was mesmerizing, a symphony of violence and precision that triggered Block’s threat indicator, even though the SoldierBot was his friend and ally.
Vacuubot hovered nearby, his drone motors humming a soft rhythm. You’ve got this, Block, he messaged.
Block looked at his own hands, made for care and cleanliness, not combat. He lunged at the dummy—what Fenn called a “scarecrow,” trying to mimic G5’s deadly pattern, but his motions were stiff, more mechanical than menacing. He kicked but missed the straw-stuffed body entirely. His leg swung, failing to connect, out of control. Block toppled to the ground, rolling a few feet. His lighter, less agile NannyBot body was not designed for heavy battle like G5’s frame. He was like a child trying to imitate an adult, his attempts clumsy and ineffective.
G5 paused, his optic sensors analyzing Block’s movements. “Try again. This time shift your weight when you pivot.” His voice was a low, metallic rumble. “Use your momentum. It can be your weapon.”
Block got up and picked off a chunk of grass stuck to his right elbow joint. He backtracked and ran at the dummy again, focusing on his balance, his weight shifting as he moved. His left foot connected with the straw bag this time. “Take that!” He stayed upright the second time, but the scarecrow’s lower half was still intact. His own left foot was dented. Scarecrow one point, Block nil.
G5 tilted his head at Block as if not sure what to say. “That was unexpected.”
“Forge can fix it,” Block said. “Let’s keep going.”
They continued the training lesson, and despite the canvas of the tranquil Illinois farmland, each punch was a testament to the harsh reality they lived in. Block wasn’t learning combat for himself. He was doing it for Wally and the other children. They were the hope in a world of chaos and destruction.
Dirt lodged itself into the joints of Block’s hands and feet, marring the mechanical precision of their design. The protective alloy, meant to shield the delicate wiring beneath, was dented on impact with the stubborn straw figure.
You need to quit, said Vacuubot.
Block didn’t want to. The SoldierBot patrol the day before had been too close and served as a stark reminder of the danger lurking outside their haven. He had to be ready.
Block pivoted, shifted his weight, and struck at the homemade enemy, knocking the scarecrow’s straw hat clean off his head. Block’s punch was less jerky, more fluid. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.
“Better,” G5 said. “Enough.” The SoldierBot walked away toward the barn.
He never was much on conversation, Vacuubot said. I respect that.
“This is preposterous.” Block sat on a tree stump in the shade of a maple tree and examined his feet. The smooth, shiny surface was transformed into a gnarled array of dents and scratches. “I’ll never be able to protect myself, much less Wally.”
Fenn whistled a tune over by the goat pen, a bucket of feed in hand, the furry animals crowding around him in a frenzy of bleating and head-butting. He waved at Block and signaled him to come over.
Block obliged, walking with an uneven gait. He would’ve preferred to sit by the tree and replay G5’s fighting instructions in his memory modules, but Fenn was a friendly man and Block’s host. Never ignore your host.
“Garnet might have something for you, Block.” Fenn cradled a young goat’s head in his hands as it nosed into the feed bucket. “She’s been working on something. Could help with all this . . . fighting business.”
Block set his scuffed hands on top of the fence. “What kind of something?”
“Better ask her.” Fenn tipped the bucket, scattering the last of the feed on the ground, and the goats descended.
Block looked at Vacuubot for an answer. The drone whirred as it hovered. Beats me, his friend messaged.
The barn loomed tall in the morning light, its red paint faded but still defiant against the wear of time. Inside was a symphony of rustic charm and advanced technology—hay bales stacked neatly to one side, farming tools hanging from aged wooden beams, and the omnipresent, low-level hum of Garnet. She was not just an AI, but the very essence of the farm, a digital caretaker. Her presence was not marked by a physical body or a humanoid shape. Rather, she existed as a part of the farm’s infrastructure, a complex web of sensors and communicative devices embedded within the very fabric of the barn.
“Hi, Garnet.” Block walked slowly, and his voice echoed in the vast space. “Fenn said you had something for me?”
Garnet projected her avatar—a complex, shifting pattern of glowing lines and geometric shapes. The colors shifted from deep red to bright orange, mirroring the hues of an actual garnet stone. “Hello, Block.” Despite her non-humanoid form, Garnet’s soothing and articulate voice filled the barn, resonating from speakers installed throughout the structure. “Indeed, I’ve been working on a new set of designs. Weapons that will equip all the robots here for combat.”
“What do you mean, all the robots?”
“In order to protect the farm against threat from the SoldierBots and their drones,”—Garnet’s projection glowed, cast on the wall next to Block—“we need more weaponized robots. G5 and Vacuubot are not enough to fight a SoldierBot patrol.”
Block was well aware their group was outmatched.
She continued. “The designs are universal. They can be modified according to the model and functionality of the robot. You, Spoon, Forge, and Maxwell can each be fitted with guns on your arms. I even worked out a flamethrower design.”
Block could turn himself into a weapon. It’s what he wanted, or what he thought he wanted. Though his purpose had always been to clean and provide hospitality to humans, the world they lived in demanded more. It demanded survival; it demanded fighters.
Maxwell had promised he could undo Block’s NannyBot form and turn him back into a CleanerBot, but Garnet’s plan to weaponize the robots complicated things. “If Maxwell transforms me back, if he removes my NannyBot plating, could you install these weapons?”
“Yes. After Maxwell works on you, I could equip your CleanerBot frame with the gun and flamethrower. Just like the others.”
Block stood in the middle of the barn, surrounded by hay and high-tech farming tools, his scenario processor dissecting the information. He could become himself again. Not only that, but he could also be a fighter capable of defending the children. He would be Block the CleanerBot again, only way stronger. Even deadly.
Mr. Wallace, his former boss at the Drake hotel, had told Block once, a lifetime ago it seemed, that he was more than just a cleaning machine, that he was special. And Block had become something else when Maxwell and the junkyard bots changed him into a NannyBot. It had all boiled down to a choice—rescue Wally.
He’d done it because she was all he cared about, even more than his hardwired cleaning urges. Now, he had to choose again.
The barn was quiet, the hum of Garnet receding into the background.
An hour later, Block and Vacuubot summoned the robots while Emery stayed inside the house to watch over naptime. In the barn, everyone gathered around Garnet’s projected avatar, her glowing geometric form casting an otherworldly light on the barn’s worn wooden floor.
Block was nervous. The idea of weaponizing all of them was a drastic measure. It would fundamentally alter their forms, and maybe it would even alter their purposes.
But there were more pressing matters to address first. “We need to patrol.” Block’s voice echoed across the rafters. He pointed at the holographic map projected on the ground, his silicon finger tracing the farm’s perimeter. “Three of us at a time. Maxwell, Forge, and G5, you’re the first team.”
G5’s optic sensors flashed with a low, steady glow that hinted at his acceptance. Maxwell and Forge exchanged a silent look, their LEDs winking in tandem, their communication a language Block could not decode.
“Spoon, Vacuubot, and I will take the second shift,” Block continued.
Spoon’s smooth silver surface gleamed in the barn light. The HelperBot was smaller and less imposing than the others. His design focused on care and comfort rather than combat or cleaning. “I can’t patrol, Block,” he said, his voice a soft whir of gears and servos. “I’m a Medical HelperBot. My programming is to aid, not to harm.”
Block knew where the HelperBot was coming from. Spoon’s primary function was to help, much like Block’s own programming was to clean and provide hospitality, but the world they lived in now was a cruel mockery of their original designations. “Spoon, we’re not asking you to hurt anyone,” Block said, “We just need you to watch.”
Spoon didn’t answer, his optic sensors dimming as he processed the information. Block took the silence as a sign to continue.
“Does everyone agree with the patrol assignments?” Block asked.
A low murmur passed through the barn. G5 and Vacuubot were the first to agree—the SoldierBot verbally and Vacuubot’s assent messaged privately.
Maxwell spoke for himself and Forge. “If it keeps the kiddos safe, we’re in.”
“Thank you.” Block looked to Spoon.
The HelperBot twisted his head on his wiry, cabled neck. “I can patrol. I want to help out.”
“Thank you, Spoon,” Block said. “I greatly appreciate it. Now that that’s settled, there’s another matter before us.” He paused as the robots watched him. Vacuubot beeped in a supportive tone.
He continued, “Garnet’s been working on a set of designs. Weapons that can help us defend the farm. We can all be fitted with combat mechanisms like G5 and Vacuubot have.”
A low murmur passed through the barn, the robots communicating in a silent language of optical signals and coded messages.
Block felt like he was on display, all optical sensors poised on him. He didn’t like the attention. “Why don’t you show them, Garnet?” He stepped back, letting a shadow hide him.
Garnet’s avatar pulsed, the lines and geometric shapes that comprised her form shifting and changing. “My designs are both efficient and adaptable to our individual functionalities.” Her voice echoed through the barn, her words punctuated by the hum of her systems. A series of holographic images began to flicker into life next to her avatar.
First, a simple sidearm appeared in a holographic image, its sleek design unassuming yet practical. “A .45 caliber sidearm that can be attached to any of our arms,” Garnet explained. “Standard ammunition should be sufficient to deter a SoldierBot, perhaps destroy it if you hit the CPU.”
The sidearm faded, replaced by a more robust-looking weapon. Its barrel was thicker and looked more formidable. “A .50 caliber rifle for those who have the strength to wield it. It’s the same design as G5’s gun. The armor-piercing rounds can penetrate even the toughest exterior of a SoldierBot.”
Garnet’s avatar pulsed again, and a different three-dimensional mechanism appeared. This one was unlike the others, a series of tubes and nozzles that looked more like a tool than a weapon. “And I’ve designed a defensive mechanism—a smoke dispersal system. It releases a dense cloud of smoke that can obscure vision, both optical and infrared. Cover for a quick retreat or to confuse attackers.”
Finally, a new image shimmered into existence, one that caused the robots to step closer to the hologram. It was a large, bulky device, a brutal symbol of devastation. “The flamethrower,” Garnet said, “is a weapon of last resort, capable of causing severe damage. It’s also the most difficult to handle, due to the risk of collateral damage. Only those with the highest level of control and dexterity should be equipped with this.”
“Is it April first?” Maxwell asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke,” G5 said. “When SoldierBots attack, we will lose. Need more firepower.”
“You’re going to have a gun and a flamethrower, Block?” Forge asked.
“Yes,” Block answered. “I believe it’s necessary in our situation.” His optics flicked to the holographic representation of the weapons. The idea of being outfitted with a gun and flamethrower was an unthinkable contrast to his programmed disposition.
“The flamethrower is a last resort,” Garnet reaffirmed. “I’ve designed it in such a way that it can be activated only in extreme conditions.”
Spoon’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the barn. “This is wrong. I’m designed to help, not harm. We’re not all designed to be fighters. Block, you of all bots should know that.”
Block’s sensors flickered at Spoon’s words. A CleanerBot with a flamethrower—was it even possible? But they didn’t have the luxury of sticking to their original programming.
“It’s true,” Garnet’s soothing voice filled the barn, drawing everyone’s attention to her glowing avatar. “We’re not all designed to be fighters. But our world is not as it used to be. We need to adapt to survive.”
Spoon’s optic sensors blinked in the dim light, reflecting the conflict within.
Block stepped forward. “You won’t have to fight, Spoon. The weapons are for defense. And patrol is just about keeping an eye out. We don’t want to fight. We want to protect.”
Maxwell and Forge nodded in agreement, their metallic bodies glinting under Garnet’s projected light.
“Then it is decided,” G5 said.
Vacuubot hummed. Good job, Block.
Block turned to Garnet. “When can you start the modifications?”
Garnet’s avatar pulsed with a deep red hue. “As soon as tomorrow. But each modification will take time, and the process is not without risks.”
“Hold up,” Maxwell said. “What risks?”
Garnet’s voice echoed. “Physically, the process of incorporating the weapons into your existing structures involves invasive modifications. There’s a possibility your essential components could sustain some damage. I will, of course, take every precaution to avoid that scenario.” She paused, her avatar glowing a deep orange as if to reflect the severity of her words. “Functionally, adding the weapons might interfere with your primary programming. You weren’t designed for combat, and the modifications could potentially conflict with your built-in directives.”
“Let me get this straight,” Maxwell said. “The guns could mess up our programming? Like I might not be able to fix things anymore?”
“Theoretically,” she said.
“You didn’t mention this earlier,” Block told Garnet. He didn’t realize he would be putting his friends not only at risk of damaging their bodies, but also changing their functionality. The risk to himself was higher too. He might emerge damaged and lose his cleaning and friendliness programming.
“I’m sorry, Block.” Garnet’s image morphed and turned a bright shade of yellow orange. “I assumed you understood the risks. I should have explained.”
The barn fell into a tense silence as the robots processed her words. Block’s processor chewed on the weight of the situation. The choice was not an easy one, but the stakes were too high to back down now. His gaze fell on the holographic projections of the weapons. Deep down, he was built for hospitality and cleanliness, but the world they lived in was harsh, unforgiving, and it required more than caregiving. It required warriors.
“Let’s do it.” Block strode into the center of the group’s circle and looked at Forge, Spoon, and Maxwell. “There are risks, sure, but we need to do this for the kids. Who else but us is going to protect them?”
Way to go. Vacuubot hovered a few feet off the ground, shook, and beeped a series of chirps. Proud of you.
Block continued, “I know this is an extremely difficult decision, and it’s up to you. Nobody’s going to force mods on you.”
Block had hesitated for many days, weighing the decision about his form. Becoming a CleanerBot again meant weakness. He could be bullied, or worse, wiped out with one strike of a SoldierBot’s solid punch. But Garnet’s weapons added a whole new advantage.
He could be a CleanerBot. A lethal CleanerBot.
“I want to become a CleanerBot again.” Block’s steady voice reverberated through the barn. His optics met each of his friends, willing them to understand his decision. “I want to be equipped with Garnet’s weapons. I want to fight.”
“Good,” G5 said. “Training will go better. I’ll teach each one of you to defend, attack, and destroy.”
Spoon came forward and faced Block in the circle. “It doesn’t compute that you would hurt someone. Block, could you kill another robot? What about humans? What if they attack?”
The barn fell silent. The soft hum of Garnet’s presence droned like background noise. Block looked at the holographic projections of the weapons, their deadly designs. Imagining himself as an armed and dangerous CleanerBot was fun, but he hadn’t processed the ramifications. After a few seconds, he spoke. “My priority is to defend. I will not attack unless someone is threatening Wally, the kids, or someone here.” He waited a few seconds to let his declaration sink in. “I volunteer to go first.”
Maxwell was the first to break the silence. “Block, are you sure? The risk—”
“I’m willing to take it. For Wally, for all the children. It’s my duty to protect them.” Block had made his decision, and he was ready to face whatever consequences it might bring. He was ready to become the warrior he needed to be.