Chapter Text
The year is 2027.
The Middle East is still a war zone, with Gaza declared a full-on land of death.
The North American continent is on the verge of war, with numerous protests against Donald Trump's presidency.
And with the Philippines now a ruin of a country, quite literally flooded by corruption, Filipino citizens are now resorting to violence, hunting politicians on the open water of their streets.
It's clear that war, and particularly death, is a prevalent theme nowadays. Soldiers die in battle or are declared MIA. Lives, even those of the innocent, are lost. Buildings collapse, machine gun trenches built, barriers erected from the walls of fallen homes in what were once cities.
One thing is clear: humans can't solve this problem.
The solution? Don't use humans. Use robots.
—--
THE END IS ALWAYS RELATED TO THE BEGINNING.
(POV: HEAD of METRIC CORPORATION’s METRIC PROJECT DIVISION)
I stood hunched over a laptop, monitoring the progress of the Metric Project. The date: August 1, 2027. We were expected to launch within the first week of August. The technicians of the AI sector had just announced that their new module, based off of Gemini Flash 3.5, was tested several times and ready to launch. The engineers of the robotics sector had finished their ultimate work: a humanoid robot built with over 300 actuators, plated with titanium, powered by experimental crystalline technology from the energy sector. Meanwhile, people in IT completed the Heptagonic-C setup, a brand-new computing setup consisting of seven quad-core CPUs, three parallel GPUs, and a high-tech cooling system.
War had always been a problem for humanity, amplified more so by rising problems and developments. North Korea had sold its AI drone technology to China and the US, leading the UN’s General Assembly to voice their concerns. A month later, Palestine and Israel had purchased this technology, and one can only imagine the scenes this would bring on.
In other news, with Typhoon Codenames Alpha, Beta, Corestar and Delta landing in the Philippines and the trust between government and people eroded by the severe storms of the country, the Filipinos finally had enough, particularly after Corestar landed in Manila, killing thousands upon thousands due to the lack of flood control projects in the infamous Corestar Incident of May 2026. As you might recall from late 2025, 2 trillion pesos were redirected to plunder instead of actual projects. The famous ‘safe ka na’ [TRANSLATION: 'You are safe'] statement has been flung all over social media during the start of 2026, with some even saying: “‘di ka na safe tayo, pero ang politicians ngayon ay ang pinakasafe nasa Pilipinas”. [TRANSLATION: 'We aren't safe anymore, but our politicians are the safest in the Philippines.'] In short, people are hopping on boats and borrowing guns from the PNP to hunt the corrupt elite.
Wonderful times, ain’t it?
Anywho, it’s important that we create solutions for this as soon as possible. It’s damaging to the economy (well, except for economies that live off of war), and damaging to human life in general. So, one day, one of our employees, who I’ll call Baltazar, showed us a few sketches of this crazy idea.
“Why not build a humanoid robot capable of stopping war? This problem is man-made, so we need a human form to stop it. Only, much more powerful. I’ve made a few sketches; you can have them!”
They were always a bit different than the rest. And I don’t mean that in the bad sense. If you look closely, you’ll see a man of innovation, the seed of an entrepreneur. Someone who wants to make something great and help the world. But that’s not here, there, or anywhere.
We’re here to see AI take its first step.
—--
As the elevator door opens at Floor SUB-50, I wonder if I’ll be able to see the actual body of the project, but my thoughts were suspended by two arriving technicians.
“You’re here for the inspection of the body, right?” one of them asked.
“Yeah, I’m here for that. I need to see it with my own eyes.”
“Well, it’s down the hall, Room 2C. When you enter, it’s the first thing you see, as it’s placed dead center in the room,” the other explained.
“Alright then. Come with me, both of you. Maybe you’ll be able to report progress on it.”
As I walked down the weirdly blackish, obsidian walls of the hall, bright white lights illuminating the corridor, I listened as they reported on structural upgrades and a repaired faulty actuator and the estimated space for the Heptagonic-C unit and a lot of other things.
“-and there’s also been a lot of progress in fitting the boosters to the legs, as per the construction plan, but we have one ques-”
I raised my hand and closed it. “Enough, please. I’ve heard enough for now. Let’s see what you’ve got here.”
Room 2C. I pressed my palm on the glowing green screen, scanning it for entry. With a light beep, the door opened, revealing the results of three years of research.
Standing in the middle of the room, lined with desks and various technicians carrying stacks of papers or computers or whatever else, on a pedestal of shining metal, was a humanoid form plated in dark metal, with some parts exposing an array of wires, metal frames, gears, motors, pneumatic mechanisms, so utterly human in a way that you would’ve believed it if it weren’t for the neon cyan-blue visor on its face. The visor was a traditional one, but with a section that connected the ‘chin’ to the middle of the visor.
The Trispike.
I didn’t even realize I had stopped in my tracks. “This… it’s one of the best things I’ve seen in my life.”
“And wait until we launch on August 4, and test drive this thing in actual combat situations!” exclaimed one of the technicians. “You’ll want to see it move. We’ve developed its movement system in collaboration with the AI folks, and it moves so fast, we’re not sure if we can even record it! We also have weapons from the outside being manufactured…”
Their words had faded away as I stood before humanity’s last hope.
I thought only one thing. I am your father. You are my son. I created you for all.
—--
August 4, 2027.
I sat cross-legged in a white coat in Room 2C, staring at the persona I had just seen three days ago. Seeing more than just a robot, more than what the broadcasting cameras can see, what the technicians can see, not even what they can see. Seeing hope written out as the last word in humanity’s history.
“Alright, we’ve received the Heptagonic-C from the AI division. We’re putting it in,” a technician informed me. I watched as they lifted the brain-sized core unit into a space inside the head.
The quick war council I recieved at 0600 continues to echo inside my mind. “Israel’s planning to launch Class-5 nukes at 1600, and according to our calculations, assuming the launch time is fixed, they will hit everyone within 1800 to 1900. We’ve tried confronting them, but they just erected a new country border wall and deactivated itself as a flight destination. We can’t get in, civilians can’t get out, and we need help. We hope you have something for us today.”
Nothing will be more important than the launch.
Cables clicked, metal clanked, as the cover was replaced onto the head. Cameramen zoomed in on various things, including me, apparently, but I was focused. Then, suddenly-
An alarm blared over the systems. “Alert. Alert. Israeli forces have forced entry into the subterrenean levels of the Metric Corporation building. Dropships are now evacuating. Personnel, evacuate through Exits 1C, 2A, and SUB-50 Hall 10.”
People stopped to listen to the dreadful message. “How did they do it?” “Our protection is nigh-impossible to get through!” “We’re dead, we’re all dead.”
I stood up. “Personnel, continue working. This project must come online at all costs. We are doing something for humanity. Let’s make sure we finish it.”
The technicians then rushed to finish the construction of the robotic form, plugging in things through their back and the back of their head, making sure connections are secure. Cries of question, answer, command, other things bounced off the walls of the room, while the alarm blared steadily, occasionally giving updates. “Twenty out of fifty dropships have left the premises. Evacuate immediately.” The number then spiked to fifty, then fifty-five. Ten dropships remained as soon as the last technician double- and triple-checked the connections.
I sat down. “Alright, then. Power on. Let’s see if the world can be saved. Power supply?”
“Check!”
“Heptagonal-C connections?”
“Check!”
“Actuators tested?”
“All are at high performance, sir!”
“Then begin!”
A technician slammed a button, beginning the initiation process. As fast as thought, the plates expanded a bit, exposing the raw power coursing through the robot as the crystal began to spin, arcs of electricity jumping to and from it. Their visor flashed a series of commands, beeps and boops signalling the coming of a savior. An arm flexed. Then another. Then it looked around, as if unsure where they were. They stepped down from the pedestal, seemingly stretching its limbs. Exclamations of “wow”, “oh my god”, “it moved”, and all sorts of things were being thrown around.
“Five dropships left. Evacuate immediately.”
I instinctively stood up to face the newly-awakened soul. See if it was possible.
The whole room lost its voice as a new voice emerged.
“Project Military Extension - Terrain 1C, coded ME-TR1C, known as Metric. All systems online.”