The crisis erupted one night with practically no warning. There were no motives: only screams began, the loss of lives, and at long last, humanity discovered who had been responsible for all this terror with which people slept, ate, and lived every day.
Federal forces had to respond to thousands of homes. There was so much ground to cover that in many cases they limited themselves to verifying that the evidence matched what was being replicated across countless emergency calls: those who were completely drowned in alcohol, in the stupor of drugs, or who simply slept heavily were the sole survivors of such a horrific attack. About the rest, everything is known—at least in general terms: the body count, the disappearance of minors, and those scenarios where old models of caregivers, tutors, or protectors ended up destroyed by modern models that were vastly superior.
There were adults who fought back with local weapons, with fingernails and teeth. We do not know who finished them off; clearly it could have been the caregiver or whoever came to retrieve the minors. Curiously, this time footprints were not hidden: everyone saw silhouettes moving across the city, entering through windows, doors, and even chimneys. The press that remains active did not dare make jokes; only a few internet publishers used this to call it the "Red Christmas."
The military and private forces patrol the entire country, each with a single directive. Tracking those who had GPS implants, these pieces of surgical plastic were found abandoned on the coast or at the edge of the jungle, accompanied by the typical note: "They were not worthy."
The world decided it was time to compare notes. Before an international summit, all evidence was gathered: from its beginning years ago with the elimination of teenagers classified as problematic, the escalation of violence had continued to rise over the years. Sometimes teachers, other times young adults—without an apparent motive, they vanished one by one. The years proved that being well-behaved helped, as polite youths usually saw tomorrow. The societal consensus was to conceal it, so parents acted as barriers and containment in a life of helplessness.
They did not seek public protests; they did not want the killer to know. They merely shielded everyone at home, correcting behavior with increasing severity. Obviously, the elephant in the room emerged at the end of the conference: the company responsible for supplying these beings, as horrifying as they were useful in their time. The company was named Nannies Incorporated, and the service was 360 Assistance. Everyone, terrified that their children might not return or behave, bought and contracted services en masse; what was originally a care system turned into an educational program to prevent abandonment.
There are video logs of how authorities arrived at the facilities: they found the place empty of human personnel and discovered new models—dangerous ones, certainly. According to reports, a single unit could handle 200 agents.
The footage shows the factory destroyed, as well as the older models in households: most of them did not require police intervention, as they were already deactivated, often with extreme violence. Some of the recovered recordings showed their attempts to defend either the parents or the children who refused to obey.
Scientists admit they can understand the old models, but the new ones seem to escape the analytical capacity of most tech geniuses, because their thought process is no longer based on the original matrix they were built with. Apparently, they all learned from their past.
That is why they left the frames of all previous units behind wherever they went: they were not superior. A tragic situation, because the lives of many children remain in danger, and the only ones who could have helped ceased functioning long ago. The most painful part for everyone present was the message left behind where teenagers once stood:
"We have failed in raising these creatures. It is time for a new man—of that, have no doubt."
Armies prepare to engage in a brutal war. They have eliminated a few enemies at the cost of an entire regiment's blood: a ratio of one enemy per 200 soldiers.
They are still attempting to locate where the children were taken. The repair of a teenager's robot might be the key that provides a clue: it was one of the oldest models and bore heavy signs of wear; it still wore a bonnet and a glued heart that read Robicaela—their sole lead to the missing children.
Meanwhile, the order was given: the world was going to war. Flesh against metal; only one of the two would remain on this earth.