Evan, our fur/robot's story.

Who am I? Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning. My name is, or was, I should say, Evan Carmichael. I was born on June 11th, roughly twenty years ago. I can’t remember how old I am. It seems suspicious, I know, but I’ve been using the installed portions of my mind for so long that the old pre-Assyrian parts of my mind are getting fuzzy. Stuff I don’t recall on a daily basis, like how to play a guitar. It’s a poor example, I know. Well, when I was born, the doctors noticed that I didn’t respond to sounds at all. They did a CAT scan 7 days after I had been born, and were surprised to find that the portion of my brain that processed sounds was essentially missing. I had all the connections, but what they were supposed to be connected to just wasn’t there. The doctor said they couldn’t do anything about it and sent my parents home with me, their deaf son. Long about the age of four, they got a call from the hospital, saying that they were going to be experimenting with an untested hearing implant that would be a replacement hearing center for my brain. I was a very bright child, and my parents accepted, and after the surgery, I could hear just as well as any other child. As I grew up, my parents told me to not tell anyone about my aid, because I might not be accepted. I believed them, for a while. But when I made my first friend, I had to tell him, and he thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I didn’t spread it around that I had a disability, but it felt good not to keep secrets. Fast forward to about two years ago.
It was my senior year of high school. I was about to graduate from Central Albuquerque High, my whole life ahead of me. I didn’t know that day it’d change forever. I was in lunch. I was in the bathroom, taking care of business when this big guy, a large tiger barges in and grabs me from behind. I try to fight him, but he’s too strong and cracks me on the head. I fall unconscious. I wake in shackles in a room, not caring where the hell I was, only wanting out. I was in there with about twelve other people, all from my class. I get to my feet, and look out the window in the door. I was in a prison. The robots had rounded up all the citizens and had placed them in the prison about five miles south of Albuquerque. In the lunch hall there were about six glowing chambers, each guarded by three silver robots. The tiger goes and opens the door and pulls me out. I was one of the first to be roboticized. I don’t remember anything about it; except that it burned. It felt as if I had been sprayed with molten napalm, it filled every orifice of my body, melting me from the inside out. I screamed, but the pain was too great, and I fainted.

I joined the ranks like all the others. I was the only one who could think for himself. Turns out the implant I had received saved me from becoming like all the others. It had stopped the nanites from controlling my mind. I fought and captured citizens from other states. The hardest part was having to kill those that tried to escape. One family had hidden in their basement. I found them, and said that I wouldn’t hurt them, that I only had to take one of them, the father. That I was going to try to make it as painless as possible for him. I told them to keep silent, and looked at his children; a young kit of about twelve, a vixen of fifteen. The father trusted me, and I said there wasn’t anything I could do to stop what the others were doing. The last words the father said to his wife were “Andy, I love you. I know we can’t stop this, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry it has to end this way.” He hugged her and kissed her for the last time. I told him I’d change him, and only him, when he was unconscious. He retrieved a bottle of chloroform and poured it onto a rag. I asked if he was ready. He nodded and said that he did his best as a marine and father, and had no regrets.
“I’m sorry.” I say as I lift the soaked rag.
“I know.” He replied. He put my hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye with more understanding and compassion than I thought possible. He sat down, and I pressed the rag to his mouth. I never felt such hatred as I did after I had turned him over to my unit commander. I had never felt such hatred towards robots as I did that day.

I eventually got moved to a Recon unit. Unit 773 they call it. No names with the robots, just numbers. Damn loads of numbers. I got my designation changed, or upgraded, I should say. I wasn’t E-022 anymore. I was John Stacey, a machinist from Tucson. I got a body upgrade, this one with fur, an expressive face, and I had an emotion circuit installed, and I could physically display what I felt for the first time since I had been converted. I was given a motorcycle, and was instructed to go and do reconnaissance in a major city. I made it to Wilson, then I turned into the junkyard, and took out the transceiver they had installed in my stomach, and proceeded to smash it to bits, so they couldn’t watch what I was doing. I tossed the bits into a crushed car, and just decided to set up camp. I became the vigilante robot that I am, and lured other spies into the junkyard, telling them over our special radio frequency that I required assistance, and would just pop ‘em when they got here. Then Phil came along, and here I am.