vive la revolucion - chapter one.

chapter two - project x.

The lights of the place were garish, yet it was bustling with excitement. The Round Table was one of Prion's secret meeting places. It was a hub of revolution, due to the fact it referenced the forbidden book Sir Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

Britannia was sitting by herself at one of the many tables, waiting for her drink to arrive. Unlike the robots of the past, she was able to digest some foods like a normal human being, and all her systems were hydropowered. Her dark eyes bored through the large windowpanes. Steven stumbled through the front door, huffing and puffing. His hair was a sandy blonde, ruffled by the wind and rain outside. A red scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, and he was wearing a black leather jacket. Olive green eyes scanned the crowd for her, and his prominent cheekbones raised with a smile when he found her. "How's it going, Britannia?" His voice was pleasant, a low mid-tone. "May I sit?" Steven's hands, roughened from years of engineer work, gestured towards the empty seat next to her. Britannia swallowed and nodded. His countenance always had that effect on her - he was one of the few "perfect" humans in her opinion. But then again, most females seemed to swoon the minute he entered the room.

"Bitter weather outside, no?" he queried. "When isn't it bitter, Steven?" His melodious laugh filled her ears. "Touche, touche. I expect you want the information, no?" Her head bobbed up and down. "Indeed. So what I know is that Project X is designed to work much like you physically, but not mentally. It will be programmed with more weapons, and won't have the emotional component installed at all. Therefore it will not be able to feel pain or the loss of its comrades. Basically, it's a fighting machine that's a disgrace to you and every other robot we've made. However, they're still your enemies and we can't take them lightly. We might have to take you for reprogramming and build you more weapons. You'll have to not only be able to stand up to them, but be able to win. I know you don't like it, but trust me, it's necessary. Because you are our only hope, Britannia. You aren't suspected. You're programmed not to feel remorse, and that's a good thing, because trust me. Guilt is one of the most corrosive emotions on the spectrum. It could drive you insane. It's almost as bad as love." Steven's tone was somber.

"Steven, I wanted to hear the actual parts of the machine, not another lecture about emotions." Britannia was frustrated - it was so easy for him to get off topic.

"First however, let's have some dinner. The waiter's coming towards us now."

He was young with an acne-riddled face and blond hair, shiny as an oil slick - clearly an awkward adolescent. "What can I get you?" His voice broke on the last word. Britannia ordered first, the same thing she always ordered: a pizza leggera, which was pizza with its middle cut out and salad in its place. Steven was next: a pizza with sauteed mushrooms, pineapples, tomatoes, bell peppers, and onions. The boy set down Britannia's water and moved on to the next table.

"You were saying?" Britannia pressed.

"600 gigabyte mental capacity, even though they honestly don't need that much. AK47 guns concealed in their forearms. Their appendages can be used as miniature bombs. Their legs can become rifles if need be. Jetpacks are attached to their backs. Their eyes act as spycams and automatically report anything suspicious. Obviously they look more metallic, and have a more military appearance, whereas anyone who just looked at you would think you are a human." Steven concluded.

Britannia nodded, trying to process this. These were well equipped units, and it was going to be hard for her to be able to have weapons like that while still maintaining her cover. Hopefully the geniuses at Prion had an idea of how things were going to happen.

The pizza came shortly after. Her tastebuds were merely rudimentary, because honestly, she didn't need them for more than show. At least Steven looked like he was genuinely enjoying the meal, because she wasn't. The news settled heavily. The salad was crisp and crunchy, the thick crust of the pizza chewy. She almost considered using a fork, because the feeling of oil on her fingers was irritating, but decided against because it would considerably slow down the pace of her meal. She needed to get out of there fast too, because curfew was fast approaching, and she couldn't have any suspicions laid upon her.

As soon as she'd inhaled her meal, she got up. Steven followed her and opened the door. The cool night air was striking in comparison to the heat indoors. "C'mon, I'll walk you home." Her hair was whipping around in the wind, and she hoped it wouldn't rain again because she was idiotic enough to forget her raincoat and her umbrella. Britannnia kept having the feeling Steven was staring at her, but mostly he was keeping up his unimporant animated chatter about new projects they were beginning at his work. She smiled. He never noticed she wasn't paying attention to his words, but simply listening to the sound of his voice. At last they reached her "home." He smiled. "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite!" "Are you implying my house has bedbugs?" Britannia eyed him sternly. "Haha, of course not. Sweet dreams though." "Night Steven." She watched his form retreat into the darkness, then opened her door. The warmth flooded around her like a childhood blanket. She was ready to sleep.