House of the Yellow Fern

i. Prolouge

The House of the Yellow Fern had an undeniable reputation for being the best clubhouse in New Balton, West Virginia (and to some, arguably, the world). People flocked from miles around, pulling themselves out of their shriveled cocoons of reality in order to savor the very essence that radiated from the bars' neon atmosphere. This bar, commonly referred to as "the House" by those who found it's true name too tedious for effort, had a certain feeling about it that could drive anyone to madness. Something about the freedom flowing deeply throughout the endless hallways of the club seemed to lure men and women like a spider with flies. It was known throughout the underground of New Balton that the true purpose of the House was to covet criminals.

Yes, the shimmering exterior or what could be commonly mistaken for an elaborate yet filthy shack, was the leading harbor for criminal activity. The devotion to sin was kindred to much of what transpired in the club, and yet despite its reputation, remained untouched by government surveillance. It seemed as if the ideals one would submit to that could in any way be thought legal, were somehow null and void once the body of the offender passed through the House's glistening yellow saloon doors. This caught the attention of practically anyone that had any brains at all, yet who were dumb enough as to attempt crime in a city like New Balton. Since before even the House of the Yellow Fern was established (Jun. 9, 2023 to be exact), New Balton had been placed under a strict "zero crime tolerance" rule. Any and all public and private crimes were overseen by a robotic official, who in all fairness played strictly by rules rather than sympathy and reason, and the guilty would be faced with an immediate death.

Outraged, the people of New Balton could do nothing but watch as the upper half of their city became a glamorous glisten on the map of the U.S, while the rest was left to rot. Anyone unwilling to submit to a dainty and proper way of life were swept up into the slums, where they were left unprepared and unprotected against the murk and grime of the street. Some officials grew increasingly concerned for those in the slums and, when faced with staggering mortality and crime rates, turned the aid of the RIU. The RIU, (Robotic Intelligence Union) jumped at the opportunity for innovation of their AI's into public life, and their came the first official model: The R-1 Guardian.

This creation sold out instantly to the populous, and a modified version was soon set out for use of New Baltons police force. The design was a near perfect reflection of the human form. Each robot was given a unique look, diverse in both color and form. However, the R-1 Guardians were flawed to have a hive mind behavior and complete lack of emotion; for it was in the cold flash of corporate decision that the R-1 creator, Dr. Galahad Crowe, decided that the gift of a free thinking kind was a dangerous one. Once released, the community had mixed emotions. The upper class loved the creation. The robots became servants to the rich without pay or care. The robots were seen more as playthings than the marvel they truly were. On the complete opposite of the social spectrum, the lower class hated the new police force. Mandatory curfews in crime-heavy areas and constant patrol sent the people of New Balton crashing on their knees. Riots and retaliation seemed more apparent in low socioeconomic areas, and as the model became more and more popular in the governments eyes, citizens of the great city began to take the policing bots for what they were: machines.

Nearly four years after the release of the first model, the governmental cabinet demanded a more "modern" version of the bot, capable of self-defense. Robots had since then become a more functioning group in modern society, even going far enough to establish a lower form of self-government known as the Blue Party. Within this congregation, members of the New Balton government that were interested in the robots role in law making and upholding would meet and push the robotic agenda during government decisions and meetings. Then came the newest model: R-A Guardians. These were the utmost valuable item in the nation, spiking a unanimous interest in the capitols idea. Before the burst of interest, the R-1 Guardians had been seen as cryptic and overall a waste of funding and of time. New Balton was the first major city to begin the tedious quest into robotic life, with only two other areas following suit (Austin, Texas and the newly formed West Union). Even in the populations eyes, the robots were beginning to become staples in the normal daily life. The lower class had come to a learn their way around the Guardians, committing crime underneath even the noses of those thought to be "without flaw", and New Balton's magnificence brought upon by their creation was soon tarnished by the thieving and gory reputation it was prone to upholding.

The House benefited from such a hatred of the Guardians nonetheless. Revenue poured in from the pockets of any lowlife or sinning dignitary who found their plight so just as to retreat to a place with such an occult reputation. The owner, anonymous to both staff and customer, managed the operation in an unknown location. This sparked a murmur in the ears of any and every person willing to participate in such useless gossip. The guesses and theories as to the location of the owner had reached such intensity, that it had begun to be speculated that the owner was in fact, a member of the government! Yet no claim could truly confirm such a scandal, and the race to uncover the leader of the House of the Yellow Fern soon died down with the changing times, and from out of this question rose another: When would the Guardians turn on mankind?

Of course, the idea of a "perfect world" where robotic AI and manikins live in co-existence was nothing more than an optimistics' pipe dream. Unpredictability alone was enough proof to deduce that a war against man and its creation was eminent, yet we pushed on. We pushed, not for the money or glory, but for power. Oh, how the high society craved the sweet succulent smell of power, masquerading in the guise of innovation.

It was of this crave that this story was born, and it is of this crave that this story will end. However, the end is only one piece of the puzzle.