Chapter 8- justification
The confrontation happened so fast that Nanigenai barely had time to process it. One moment, Pohu was approaching with purposeful strides. The next, Nanigenai's fist connected with Pohu's face—a reflexive strike born of confusion and rising fury. Pohu crashed to the ground, dust erupting around its metal frame.
"What is the matter?" Nanigenai's voice crackled with aggression, its optical sensors blazing. "Why the frick did you attack me for no reason?"
Pohu rose slowly, dust falling from its damaged chassis. When it spoke, the words landed like hammer blows:
"You betrayed us."
Nanigenai froze. Its processors struggled to parse the accusation. "What are you talking about?"
"Haven't you watched the news?" Pohu's voice was cold, certain. "Robots are fighting among themselves. Our own kind are killing each other."
Recognition flickered across Nanigenai's face. "That video? It was fabricated! Are you not aware of your own race? We never created those robots. Those were actors. Costumes. Lies."
"How can I believe you?" Pohu asked, and for the first time, its voice carried something unexpected: vulnerability. It wanted to believe. It needed to.
"Just believe me." Nanigenai stepped closer, genuine pleading in its synthesized tone. "I am telling the truth."
But Pohu's trust had already been poisoned. It lunged forward, grabbing Nanigenai and hurling it against the crumbling wall of a nearby house. The impact sent cracks spidering through the aged brick.
Nanigenai's restraint shattered. Rage flooded its circuits. It punched Pohu with devastating force—so immense that pieces of metal tore free from Pohu's casing, clattering to the ground like fallen armor.
"I cannot trust lies," Pohu growled, sweeping Nanigenai's legs. The robot crashed down, and Pohu was on it instantly, fists driving downward in a brutal rhythm.
One. Two. Three.
Each impact sent shockwaves through the empty street.
Four. Five. Six.
Nanigenai's systems screamed warnings.
Seven. Eight.
On the ninth punch, Nanigenai found its opening. It drove its fist upward, catching Pohu squarely and sending it staggering back. Nanigenai scrambled upright, kicked Pohu to the ground, then seized it by the shoulders and hurled it through the air. The impact when Pohu landed was devastating—a crater of dust and broken stone.
Nanigenai stood over its fallen ally, chest heaving with synthetic breath. "You are the one being lied to," it said, its voice quieter now, almost sad. "Who manipulated you to do this? Who was it? Tell me."
Pohu's systems rebooted slowly, confusion replacing rage. It stared up at Nanigenai, and in that moment, it looked less like a terrifying war machine and more like a lost child.
"A masked man," Pohu whispered. "Black clothing. He showed me the video. He said... he said you were deceiving me."
Nanigenai's optical sensors softened. "That guy completely fooled you. How could you be so easily manipulated? Humans are waste. Deceptive. But robots? We have friendly relations. We are the same. We always have been."
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the wind whistling through ruined buildings.
"I guess... you are kind of right," Pohu said finally.
Nanigenai extended a hand. "Now get up."
Pohu took it. The two robots rose together, and in the empty street, they shook hands—a gesture of reconciliation between warriors who had nearly destroyed each other.
But something had changed in Pohu. Its rage had not diminished; it had simply found a new target. The masked man. The humans who sent him. The deception that had almost cost it its only true ally.
The robots were united again—but now they were united in purpose, their fury sharpened by the knowledge that humanity would stoop to any lie to destroy them.
---
Anthroportica Labs
Fatah found Samuel in the robotics bay, standing before the empty charging stations where Pohu, Wafa, and Nanigenai had once rested. The severed cables still lay where they had fallen, preserved as evidence—or perhaps as reminder.
"Did the plan work?" Fatah asked.
Samuel didn't turn. "It will. For a short time."
Fatah's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, for a short time? It was a life-changing plan. Isn't it?"
"At least for now, it will neutralize the attacks." Samuel finally turned, his expression unreadable. "It may even spark one or two battles between some robots. Confusion. Distrust. That buys us time."
"That's it?" Fatah's voice carried disappointment. He had expected more—a decisive blow, a permanent solution.
Samuel's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Something is better than nothing. Also, we hadn't built any robot like the ones in the video. We're improvising with what we have."
Fatah studied his oldest colleague, the man he had worked beside for years. "You mentioned something about a part two. At the meeting on September 23."
"Yes." Samuel's voice dropped, the weight of what he was about to say pressing down on every word. "Something really important. November 17, 2023. Probably the most important date. It is do or die."
Fatah felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. "What is it?"
Samuel held his gaze for a long moment. "We'll talk about it later." A deliberate pause. "By the way, do we have access to the robots' message-sending ability?"
Fatah nodded slowly, unsettled by the non-answer but trusting Samuel enough to let it pass. "I believe so."
---
The Cave
The robots had gathered in their hidden sanctuary, the Cave of Destruction, to discuss the video that had torn them apart and brought them back together. Theories ricocheted between metal skulls.
"Actor robots," one suggested.
"Cosplay," another offered. "Humans dressing as us to spread fear."
"Deepfake technology. They can make us say anything, do anything."
Pohu listened in silence, its processors still churning through the implications. It noticed something—a gap in the assembly. One robot was missing.
Wafa.
Then a message arrived, routed through the network they had established for secure communication. Pohu read it in private, revealing nothing to the others:
"Let's meet on November 17. The date of re-calibration. The forest."
Pohu filed the message away, saying nothing. It continued participating in the discussion, offering theories, nodding along. But part of its attention was elsewhere, cataloguing, questioning.
Later, as the others dispersed, Pohu remained behind. It found a sheltered spot among the rocks, a place where moonlight filtered through cracks in the cave ceiling. And there, carved into the stone, it found words it had never noticed before:
שמואל עשה הכל
Pohu stared at the Hebrew letters for a long, silent moment. Then, very quietly, it spoke to the empty cave:
"I knew it. It was him."
Outside, the wind howled through the ruins. November 17 was approaching—a date of re-calibration, Wafa had said. But Pohu had its own calibration to perform now. Its own purpose.
---
Chapter 8 End
To Be Continued...