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Frederick's feet lifted up and down in almost perfect tandem against the granite path, swatting away a lone fly from his face.

Recently, suspicions were growing surrounding the Galga Islands, in the Pacific Ocean. Something about it being seized, he didn't care about the specifics. He was just in Geneva to inspect the new robots being built to investigate the anomaly.

His directions told him to take a left turn after passing the former House of Commons, which had been converted into a museum a long time ago. They must have been outdated, then, because his destination was right next to the museum.

The facade to the Technical Institute was not at all impressive. It was built out of concrete, and given a light glossy polish which had started to fall away. The place was another of Geneva's tendency to keep ancient architectural ideas in circulation. But even though the Institute may have been at risk of structural instability, he would attend the inspection, regardless.

Some other fellow trying to climb up the stairs slipped and fell. Looking away, Frederick grabbed a standing handrail and approached the sliding front doors.

Because they were automatic, he didn't have to worry about bumping into them. Heading towards the reception desk, he took in his surroundings. The lobby was drab and dull, clearly not having been painted in years. Only a few red stripes running from floor to ceiling stood out.

He pulled his card out from one of his coat pockets, presenting it to the person sitting opposite him. "Mr. Meyer, Department of Foreign Defence." The lady told him to go to room 16 on floor 7. With a quick turn and a dozen steps, he was at the lift.

It took two minutes for him to get to where he was supposed to go. He opened the door, and sat down in one of the chairs in the room. The sky outside was a dull medium grey, with a dash of white on the horizon.

Then, another man walked into the room. He locked the door behind him, and sat on another chair.

His hands were bony and thin, and he looked as if he had been losing sleep for years. A pair of small glasses laid on his nose. "I'm Diego Palvarado." The Spaniard outstretched an arm to his visitor. Fred took the handshake half-heartedly. He didn't have time for greetings.

"So, eheh..." He clasped his hands together. "Out of the Probotector units the FED commissioned, as it turns out - We're only able to supply two of them in workable condition."

"At the rate they've been building them, no wonder you've only got two to present."

"Quality over quantity, Meyer. You should know this, considering your position."

"Quit with the meandering and show me the products." Diego hit a rectangular yellow button next to the door. The two locking bars slid out of the way, with the first of the usable units standing deactivated in the open doorway. "That's in good condition? What makes it different?"

"RD008 isn't suffering from the same critical motor failures the rest of his series had, and I guarantee you that those working joints will make all the difference out there." It was painted a creamy white, with red trims.

He lifted the floppy head with his hand. "These eyes have X-ray vision, ultraviolet vision, infrared vision, enough to see nearly anything." He whistled out into the hallway.

Then, another Probotector was wheeled into the room. "Here's the other working one: RC011. The guys working on the RC-types funnelled the best stuff into this one, so none of the others are really complete enough to deploy." The metal of the unit reflected the dull ceiling lights.

Fred wondered to himself. How did this man get to be so high up in such an important project? "Maximum speed capacity?"

"Mach 3."

"Mode of fuel?"

"Self-sustaining electric!"

His hand was planted on his face. "Do away with the self-congratulating - Do you have any clue how you're going to get them to the Galgas?"

"I do, actually. Come," Diego said. "Let me show you the transportation in the hangar."

"You have a hangar in this place?" Diego nodded. It was an odd choice of sector to have, but if they needed somewhere that big to conduct testing, then so be it. They walked out of the room, Fred following the engineer.

The hangar was, to his unsurprise, on the back end of the Institute. It was mostly empty, except for one aircraft positioned at the far end with two racks of missiles mounted, one under each wing. Diego's arms spread wide open as he announced the jet's name.

"Falcon-II! The zenith of the aerial research efforts!"

Frederick pointed at it. "That thing is the best this place can do?"

"Of course! It's the very best! All twenty square feet of it!"

"Auuurgh... Where's the approval form?," Fred bemoaned.

Diego retrieved a sheet of paper from one of his pockets. "Right here!" Fred took out his pen and signed it half-heartedly.

The Foreign Defence ambassador immediately proceeded to make his way back out of the Institute without uttering a single word. A shame, Diego thought. If he hadn't been so willing to rush everything, perhaps they could have gotten along. He walked over to the Falcon-II and began adjusting the wings.

--- A few days later... ---

"Falcon-II self-piloting systems are online. Initiating takeoff sequence."

Nearly everyone involved with the Probotector project watched over the hangar as the massive shutter at the far end rose up, a torrent of rain seeping in. Four people in padded suits, equipped with lifters on their arms, carried the two units into the fighter jet.

Yellow lights began to glow along the ground, flashing rapidly. The cockpit of the Falcon-II was designed specifically to be unmanned, performing commands entirely through a fast calculation. The cargo movers walked back out of the hangar and into the main building.

A robotic voice, monotone and sterile, recited lines buried deep within its scripting. "Please keep the takeoff zone free of debris and obstacles that may interfere with launch sequences."

"T-Minus ten seconds." The hatches of the jet closed up.

"T-Minus five seconds." Three red rings of fire burst out from the back thrusters.

"T-Minus three seconds." The landing gear folded away into the lowermost insides, covered by sliding panels.

"T-Minus zero seconds." The jet flew out of the hangar in a scant few moments, tilting upward and soaring out of Berne's airspace.

The Falcon-II began to approach the target, far away in a dark ocean. It passed over neon-lit cities and oil-rich deserts almost unnoticed, except for a single room of trackers in FED HQ. As it crossed the Indian Ocean, a light in RD008's eye began to glow dimly.

The visor was filled with a faint light, the functions of the Probotector turning on. It became aware of where it was, why it was there, what it would investigate.

Soon enough, the Probotector unit was fully awoken from slumber. Half a dozen straps keeping it in place retracted into the inner workings of the storage capsule. Slowly and cautiously, the white robot reached forward and pushed open the sliding glass doors keeping it from falling onto the plated jet floor.

It could see another capsule on the opposite wall, identical to the one it had been stored in. The capsule opened, followed in short order by the other completed Probotector unit. With the exception of the blue trims adorning RC011, their appearances were identical.

Their equilibriums self-righted as the jet tilted and moved. There were rows of small windows on the back end of the Falcon-II, which only showed black air.

A row of service rifles adorned the ceiling. 011 reached up for the barrel of one, pulling the weapon down. The trigger fell within the reach of its right hand as it spun the rifle around.

008 armed itself with another rifle, and they both stepped to face a large panel marked with hazard stripes. The panel began to retract, sliding beneath their feet and revealing the target. A chain of tropical islands, the largest of them home to a snowfield and mountain that towered over the jungle at its foot.

The Probotector duo leaned out of the Falcon-II's side. The winds were strong now, which was abnormal weather for the region. As they stared out to the vast jungle ahead, the radio static faded into commands from headquarters.

"Objective copied. Secure the Galga Islands, over."

008 nodded at 011 briefly. The two robots held up their rifles. The twin thrusters on their backs flipped out and roared with fire. In a matter of seconds, they were out of the jet and into the murky night.