I. A Job

"I remember you from Dr. Hikari's lab. You were the guy that could cut stuff, you were the first," Blue said.

"Yeah," Cutter smiled. "And I'm the last face you'll see."

With blade in hand, he cut them down. Every service bot turned soldier that crossed his path became pieces of scrap. He wasn’t the most powerful or smartest, but he was the deadliest of the Robot Generals if only because of the body count. He even gave Blue a run for his money before the hero defeated him and took his powers as his own to use against his brothers. He was the most feared machine in the entire War of the Robots and now he’s—

BOOT UP

Cutter’s day started like any other robot’s day, he powered up, but unlike most, he checked his memory banks to see if he had a dream again. None, just his day to day on repeat routines of taking jobs that barely give him enough charge to keep himself running, much less his office. The sign on his office door read Detective Robot: Rank Amateur, and below that in much smaller print, Former Blade Robot for industrial use. The city council made him add that for “legal reasons”, but he figured they blamed him for what happened to Blue.

For the past twenty years since the Blue exploded in Dr. Coyote’s flying castle fortress, Cutter has been trying to operate as a detective robot doing odd jobs for kids that lost their dogs, wives whose husbands have spent to much time having business meetings in the red robot district, and old men that our lost in his building looking for the bathroom, but he wasn’t programmed to be a detective robot so half the time the dogs stay lost, the husbands get away with cheating, and the old man figures out where the bathroom is on his own.

He hated to admit it, but sometimes Cutter missed his old life, not back when he was a tree harvester for the G.U.T.S. Foundation, but being a general in the robot army, sure being an evil killing machine was a bit of a social no-no, but he had the respect of his comrades and glory in battle and all that good stuff. Now he’s, well, he’s just trying to get by.

Cutter sat behind his desk and waited for his phone to ring or a knock on his door.

The phone rang.

“Hello, Detective Robot: Amateur services, how may I be of service?”

“Add the last bit,” A familiar voice said on the other end.

Cutter frowned. “I don’t even work industrial anymore, Doyle.”

“I don’t care,” Doyle said. “You wanna keep pretending you’re a detective robot like yours truly, then you have to present yourself honestly. Let’s try again.”

“We don’t have to—

The line went dead.

Ring…

“Hello, Detective Robot: Amateur services—

“And?”

Cutter frowned. “Former Blade Robot for industrial use.”

“What’s your name Amateur Detective?” Doyle asked in a singsong voice.

“Cutter.”

“Surely not the same Cutter that assisted in the destruction of Rock City’s hero Blue?”

Cutter sighed. “Are you going to toy with me all day or did you have business?”

“That’s terrible customer service, especially since your talking to the guy that set you up in that nice downtown office with charging tube, desk, phone, and such, but yeah, I got a job for you,” Doyle said. “Sent a K-9 case your way. You can expect a call any minute now.”

“Not another K-9 case.”

“You got to start somewhere,” Doyle laughed and hung up.

Cutter didn’t even have time to properly brood over his state in life when the phone rang again.

“Hello, Detective Robot: Amateur Services, former Blade Robot for Industrial use. How may I help you?”

“Can you help me find Buzz?” A child’s voice came across the phone.

Cutter sighed. “Who’s Buzz.”

“He’s my puppy.”

Cutter wanted to hang up right there, keeping charged wasn’t worth this, but the kid sounded helpless enough to make Cutter care, or the robot equivalent of caring.

“Name?”

The Kid sniffled. “I said, his name’s Buzz.”

“You’re name?”

“Shin Kurosawa.”

“Like the TV guy, Akira Kurosawa?”

“That’s my dad.”

Cutter couldn’t help but smile. Akira Kurosawa was the most popular late-night talk show host in Rock City. He was as rich as a banana Sunday with extra caramel and sprinkles on top. After weeks of odd jobs that went nowhere, Doyle had finally come through for him. Sure, he’d probably have to go through every back alley and dumpster in the city to find this mutt, but it's worth the work.

“Are you still there?”

Cutter nearly dropped the phone in surprise, but before the boy hung up he asked. “What breed is the dog?”

“Breed?”

“Poodle, Labrador, Pekingese?” Cutter suggested.

“Oh,” Shin remembered. “He’s a Nickle-Do Model 27.”

“This is a robot dog?” Cutter asked.

“Yes sir,” Shin confirmed.

Cutter grinned as wide as his jaw allowed. Robot dogs had built in tracking codes this would be a cinch, easy credits. All Cutter had to do was find the dog, return him to the kid, and then all’s well that end’s well for old Cutter. Mischievous, but kind, Doyle had really come through for him this time.

“Hello?” Shin said. “Will you help me?”

Cutter smiled. “Of course.”

He got the tracking code and other information. It might just be finding a missing robot dog, no glory or recognition, but a job’s a job. What could go wrong?