Across the city, in dockside Warehouse 26, Mikal and Seb sat at their control stations, bathed in the cold green glow of overhead lamps. The monitors in front of them flickered as their mugger robots prowled the streets of New York.

  Mikal leaned back, guiding his robot into the shadows of an alley. “Patience,” he murmured, watching a potential victim stroll into view.

  Seb, distracted by the clatter of the ancient freight elevator, froze his robot mid-action and turned toward the noise.

  The elevator jolted to a stop, its metallic doors creaking open. Viktor Romanov stepped into the light, his sharp features framed by a tailored coat. Behind him, two burly henchmen loomed.

  “All right, Pops,” Mikal said casually, the only one unfazed by Viktor’s imposing presence.

  Viktor scanned the room. “How’s it going? Turning a profit?”

  Mikal nodded toward a bulging sack on the bench. “Watches, rings, cash—enough to pay for all this gear. You’ll be happy.”

  Viktor’s gaze lingered on the sack before returning to Mikal. “Good. And the bigger jobs? Jewellery stores?”

  “Soon,” Mikal replied with a smirk. “Seb’s catching on. Aren’t you, Seb?”

  Seb forced a smile, tension stiffening his shoulders. “Yeah, sure.”

  Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, approval measured.

  “We’ll need more operators. Six, maybe eight,” Mikal added.

  “Sounds right,” Viktor agreed. He turned to leave, but paused. “Mikal, bring your girlfriend to the barbecue this weekend. And make sure she doesn’t have any bruises.”

  Mikal bristled. “I told you, she fell.”

  “Make sure she doesn’t fall again,” Viktor said. The sarcasm in his voice made his disbelief plain. His cold stare lingered for a moment before he turned and disappeared into the shadows, his henchmen close behind.

  Seb hesitated, then followed.

  “Boss, Mikal’s hurting women unnecessarily,” he said in hushed tones.

  Viktor shrugged. “What do you want me to do? You know what he’s like.”

  “If the victims report it, the police might escalate,” Seb pressed. “It could lead them to us.”

  Viktor sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Seb watched the elevator descend, doubt engulfing him. Back in the warehouse, Mikal’s laughter echoed as his robot dragged its latest victim into the shadows.

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  Adam refused to give up. From his very first attempt, he’d secured one crucial piece of data: the Stipe Industries ID of the mugger robot. Even though the operator cloaked its movements behind a VPN shortly after his sister was attacked, Adam had a plan.

  He’d already cross-referenced police records of muggings that matched the robot’s profile, collecting victims’ mobile numbers. Running them through an AI algorithm, he triangulated their last known locations. The bot’s pattern was clear: it often carried the stolen phones for a while before dumping them. The trail pointed to a dockside location in New York.

  But he needed more.

  Cracking the Stipe Industries VPN and hijacking their satellites would pinpoint the robot’s base precisely.

  He launched his custom packet injector, flooding the VPN server with relentless requests. One by one, its defences began to crumble—until a single, elusive ping revealed the satellite access node.

  “Gotcha,” Adam muttered, his fingers a blur on the keyboard. He rerouted the GPS triangulation data, and within seconds, the satellite map flickered to life. A red dot appeared, crawling across the city grid. The robot was in motion—but not quickly enough.

  Adam smirked. Thirty minutes later, he was inside the robot’s control systems, seeing through its cameras, hearing through its audio sensors. Hidden in the code like a shadow, he turned the mugger bot into a Trojan horse. He just had to wait. Eventually, the operator would summon the bot back to its base, and Adam would already be there, riding inside its circuits, ready to take them down from within.

  It wasn’t long before Adam realised there were two mugger robots—two operators behind the enterprise. A real cottage industry, he thought wryly. The operation was seamless. Their crimes were fully lower risk.

  Adam toggled to Seb’s mugger bot. Its camera feed flickered to life just as it cornered a man in a dimly lit alley.

  The victim—a lawyer named Boris—was impeccably dressed, radiating the quiet confidence of someone who’d enjoyed one too many drinks. His short walk from the bar to his apartment should’ve been uneventful. Crime in this area was rare. Universal income, government-granted shares in AI corporations, and personal robots earning wages for their owners had dulled the old economic motives for violence.

  Yet here he was—trapped, disoriented, and terrified.

  Boris had felt the robot’s grip before he saw it—a cold, mechanical embrace that hoisted him effortlessly off the ground like a sack of groceries. A voice followed, low and menacing, delivered through a modulated microphone:

  “Scream, and I’ll kill you. Stay quiet, and you’ll walk away in a few minutes.”

  Seb, seated at his workstation in the warehouse miles away, watched through his bot’s synthetic eyes. His voice modulator projected commands through the machine’s artificial throat, giving it an unsettlingly human tone. Seb had perfected the art of delivering threats—a balance of menace and control. A carrot-and-stick philosophy.

  The robot unceremoniously dumped Boris in a desolate alley that reeked of stale urine and rotting food. Boris stumbled to his feet, backing against a grimy wall as the machine loomed over him. Its blank synthetic face and shadowed hood added to the terror.

  “Give me your valuables,” the robot commanded. “Don’t try running, and you won’t get hurt.”

  Shaking, Boris handed over his wallet, his watch, and a chain from around his neck. The robot’s gaze lingered on his hand.

  Boris noticed immediately and stammered, “It’s my wedding ring… Please.”

  The robot tilted its head. No expression. No empathy.

  Then, coldly: “What do you think your wife—or husband, whoever-would prefer? A stolen ring or a dead you?”

  Trembling, Boris fumbled the ring off and handed it over.

  The machine leaned in—close enough for Boris to feel the absence of breath. Its synthetic voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Don’t tell anyone about this. I’ve got your face. We’ll find you.”

  The faint click of a camera shutter punctuated the threat, and the robot stepped back, its shadow merging with the darkness.

  Boris hesitated only a second—then bolted down the alley, his footsteps echoing through the still night.