From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

Part One

Captain Marc Bronson loved his job. Really he did. Sure the hours were crazy, and you got shot at on a nearly daily basis when your luck ran good (fireballs were likely when it didn't), but you worked with good people, got great medical benefits and a pension, and, by golly, you were making a difference. His family had been the force for three generations now, policing was in his veins...

He loved his job. That's what he kept telling himself to make the throbbing vein in his forehead go away, to keep himself from wringing the neck of whatever government bozo it was that got him to this situation, that insisted that he take responsibility for the latest fiasco put together by the City Council and other highly paid morons who knew absolutely nothing of what headaches they were causing with each impossible bureaucratic mess.

Robot policemen, an excellent idea, those morons thought as they rubber stamped an extension to the thrice blasted Enforcer Initiative. Not that Bronson was against the Initiative in theory – after watching some villain kidnap a DATA scientist from right under his nose and put an entire platoon of SWAT into the recovery ward, it was obvious that the police needed some help, and the Initiative provided them with some fairly heavy firepower... But it was all the little crackpot ideas that came with it that got his blood boiling.

Mad scientists throughout the city were donating barely functioning weaponry that had quirks – a goddamn toaster nearly shot his eye out with a laser, for Christ's sake – and now they were buying up old military surplus, like this... this...

“What're you called again?”

“Response: I am Auxiliary Forward Deploy-”

“We call him Oxford, sir.”

Bronson sighed, looking between a gleaming metal monstrosity and its technician, secretly thankful that the young private had shut the robot up. “Right. Oxford. It says here that you're a...” He hesitated, somewhat doubtful. “You're a lieutenant?”

“Affirmative,” came the monotone voice again.

He balked. A robot with an officer's rank... And a lieutenant, no less! How did the brass ever okay that? He'd heard stories about the Police Chief of the Talos Precinct, sure, but he couldn't understand how this thing could have past all the examinations and performed all his duties well enough to get promoted so fast. They'd only purchased him from the US military last year. New recruits don't go up to lieutenant in a year-

Unless they came in as one.

Captain Bronson stared at the sheet, rereading the list of distinctions the robot had earned during its previous service. He tapped the sheet and turned to the technician.

“I was told that its memory was wiped when it was sold to us... Why did it keep its rank?”

“Well, sir, while his memory and personality have been deleted, a lot of his programming was retained – otherwise he would have been worthless to us, sir. So he still has all of his capabilities and training and experience and so forth. It's not all too different from an amnesiac, really, who won't know his own name but can still drive a car and fly a plane.”

“An Army lieutenant is not the same as police lieutenant,” Bronson snapped.

The robot cocked its head to the right. “Supposition: Sir, the Talos Police Department was thoroughly convinced by my service there that the rank was warranted.”

“Sir?” The tech chimed in, his light, human voice a stark contrast to the lifeless rumbling of the machine. “Is his ranking such an issue? We've never questioned the rank of a new transfer before... If he earned it there, he's earned it here.”

Bronson leveled his well-practiced did-you-just-speak gaze on the private, who suddenly looked very nervous.

“Statement: Private Sparks is correct in his knowledge of precedent and standard operating procedure, sir. When taking on an officer from another precinct, protocol states-”

“Protocol states that I can do whatever I want in my precinct, especially when it comes to insubordination, lieutenant, private...” Bronson caught himself and stared at the technician. “Private Sparks?”

The young man stuttered, flustered.

“That Sparks stuff is what got you arrested in the first place, private.” The technician shrunk in on himself. “So long as you still have more civil service to perform for the court, you are Private Bartholomew Smith and not Sparks. A hero moniker would be bad enough but a villain-! I won't have it. Is that clear, private?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Private Smith saluted.

“As for Lieutenant Oxford, here...” Bronson shook his head, turning to the robot, which had remained motionless since Bronson had interrupted it. “As for it, it doesn't matter what I think, because it won't be staying here long. We're leasing him off to another organization.”

Smith looked crestfallen. The robot remained still, and its disembodied voice said, “Query: Is this because of the lawsuits?”

“So you heard about those, eh?” The police captain, flipped through the papers on his clipboard. “It's bad enough nearly killing the criminals you capture, but burns? On civilians?”

“Admission: The copious amounts of heat generated by power supply while I am operating at peak levels is the express reason for the decommissioning of the Auxiliary Forward Deployment robotic program. It is, as they say, a known issue, sir.”

“It's not a bug, it's a feature!” Private Smith chimed in, glibly. “So long as it hurts the bad guys, that is. Sir.”

“Whatever it is, it's causing us all kinds of problems.” Bronson smirked. “That's why we're giving you to somebody who could use that. Let's just say the entire squad is one giant known issue, where dangerous is their best feature...”

Part Two

“A police station?” The red-headed woman turned a skeptical eye away from the brick and mortar structure to the man beside her. “Lemme guess: our next recruit is some war vet who done turned vigilante, kicked a few too many asses using far too many explosives...” Her companion's gaze said: wrong tree, bark elsewhere. “A'ight, then: so we're talking 'bout 'nother Lone Wolf-type sonabitch whose family got axed in front of him, warped his mind 'till he stopped caring 'bout justice and-” The gaze didn't change. She groaned. “Don't tell me we're actually recruiting straight from the goddamn villains now, Slayton.”

“No, nothing like that,” he replied. “Our new recruit is a boy-in-blue.”

She stared at him, looking for a twinkling eye or a tugging at the side of the mouth or... something. Where was the punchline?

“I'm serious, Cherry.” Jack Slayton walked up the stairs and opened the door. “Come on. I guarantee you'll be surprised by him.”

“Come on, by a cop?” She sighed as she followed him into the precinct. “Well, then, he'd better be Dirty Fuckin' Harry...”

The noise level within the lobby of the building dropped almost immediately after they entered, much to Cherry's inner satisfaction, as the criminals going through processing all spontaneously decided to exercise their two favorite rights: the Right to Remain Silent, and the Right to Remain Without a Boot Up Your Ass. They generally went hand in hand when SCORPIO uniforms were present.

They made their way down the hall to the captain's office, the sound picking up behind them. The door was open and Cherry could see the captain (Marc Bronson, according to his badge) sitting at his desk. He quickly rose to his feet and extended a hand.

“Ah, Jack, good to see you again.” Captain Bronson grinned as they shook hands. “It's even better when we don't have to talk about collateral damage and friendly fire incidents.”

“As I understand it,” Jack replied, “we're here because of collateral damage and friendly fire incidents.”

Bronson visibly winced. “You got that right, Jack. I'm up to my big bushy eyebrows in settlement papers and insurance reports and as helpful as this tin can here is-” He nodded to a custom Enforcer power armor suit standing in the corner. “- I just can't justify putting it in the field. Our techs say we can't do a thing for it, since all the schematics are way too damn classified for the police force.”

Jack turned to the power suit and nodded. “So you figured you'd give it to me.” It was a statement, not a question. “It's all just red tape for me and mine; I've already had some people looking into the blueprints and it won't be long before we find a way to work out all the kinks.”

“Power armor?” Cherry asked. “You dragged my ass down here to look at some new power armor? I thought this was recruitment gig!”

Jack smiled. “It is.”

She looked between the two men and the power armor. “There's something y'ain't telling me, Slayton. Who drives this thing?”

“Ah, you must be Cherry-9!” Bronson boomed and shared a smile with Jack. “Your reputation precedes you.” The captain rose from his desk and put his hand on the power armor. “As for the recruit, well, you're looking at it.”

“It drives... itself?” She turned to Jack and shook her head. “Aren't you a bit big to play with Transformers, old man?”

“Oh, you complain now, but once it turns into a supersonic jet you'll be the first one wanting a ride.” He savored the look of hope on her face for a few moments before adding, “This time I'm not serious. It doesn't transform.” He glanced at Bronson. “Does it?”

“Not that I'm aware of.”

Mild disappointment abounded.

“Well? Turn him on, Marc. Let's give him an entrance interview.”

The captain grabbed a large PDA-style device from his desk and pushed a few buttons. A loud series of chimes filled the room as the robot started up.

“Is that-?” Cherry raised an eyebrow.

The captain sighed. “Yes. One of our techs is a big fan of the show and thought it would be funny to replace some of the operating sounds. I only found out about this morning or I'd've had it-”

“Statement: Lieutenant Auxiliary Forward Deployment Unit NE-39 reporting for duty,” a monotone voice cut in. The machine moved only so slightly, the glowing red visor adjusting to view the three people in the room.

“Ah, lieutenant, thank you for joining us,” Bronson said ironically. “This is Jack Slayton and Cherry-9 from the Strategic Command Objective for Research, Protection, and Interdictive Operations.”

The robot remain motionless. “Acknowledgment: Greetings. I am Auxiliary Forward Deploy-”

“Everybody on the force just calls it Oxford, Jack,” the captain interrupted.

Jack nodded. “So, Lieutenant Oxford, you wish to join SCORPIO?”

“Negative.” The robot paused, then added: “I am being reassigned. My personal desires are of no consequence.”

Bronson grimaced.

“Query: Am I in error?” Oxford asked.

Jack Slayton raised an eyebrow. “So you don't want to join us?”

The glowing red visor turned and focused on Captain Bronson, then down to the massive stack of paperwork, over to and finally back to the SCORPIO leader. “Retraction: I am under the impression that I might enjoy it very much.”

“That's a better answer.” Jack turned to one side and gestured to his companion. “We don't have a Mecha-Ops in the same way we have Meta-, Psi-, or Arcane-, so Cherry, here, will be your new commanding officer in the Spec-Ops. You are our first artificial intelligence agent.”

The red-head took a step forward and looked the machine up and down. “Alright, Johnny-5, the captain and the old man have seen yer service record, but they been keepin' this all from me as some kind of private joke, so you're just gonna have ta' give me the spiel.” She hesitated, then seemed to mull something out loud: “Oxford... Auxiliary FORward Deployment... Only Congress and the Military can come up with that kind of acronym and you don't look like no page boy so tell me, which branch did you work under?”

“Acknowledgment: My program was created to assist the United States Military in a variety of fields and situations,” the droning voice replied. “This was originally in the hands of the Army, but both the Navy and the Air Force showed interest in the project and there were plans to modify the base chassis as each branch saw fit for their own purposes.”

“That's nice and all, Sparky, but I meant you.”

A pause. “Statement: I am afraid that I cannot answer that question. The specifics of my military service are classified information.”

Cherry rolled her eyes. “That's also nice, but we've got the clearance.”

“Clarification: I do not.” The robot mimicked a shrug. “I am unable to access those files in my memory bank.”

“Waitaminute!” Bronson pointed an accusing finger at the machine. “I was told your memory was wiped!”

Oxford gazed at the finger, unfazed. Robots were such cheaters. “Conjecture: Perhaps certain files were unable to be deleted without damaging my core personality. Alternatively, the technician that performed my memory wipe may have been incompetent.”

“There we go,” Cherry announced happily. All eyes turned on her. “Secret military project with clandestine operations so secret that the poor-ass soldier on the field doesn't know what kinda shit they're getting' into or what angry sons of bitches will come after them for revenge years down the line... Military man turned police officer but is still too dangerous to work as one. Now we're talking normal SCORPIO recruit material.”

Jack Slayton appeared to suppress a smirk. “Cherry, I do believe an 'I told you so' is in order at this moment.”

Cherry's smirk did not appear to be suppressed at all. “I told you so, sir. No surprises here at all.”