by Adam J. Brunner

I watched the pigeons gather on the roof across the way: white, grey, black, brown—a dirty rainbow of foul huddling on the corrugated rooftop, flitting here and there. I often imagined them chatting, speaking as they hopped along on legs too thin to support their bodies. Sometimes they’d take flight, circle around the group as if to show off, only to land moments later among the flock. Flight was always temporary; everyone had to come back down eventually.

The door to the main corridor opened, and I turned from the tiny barred window to watch whatever entertainment was arriving. My cellmate barely noticed the break in our monotony. Cray-zee sat as he always did, facing away from the bars, gazing into the white oblivion of our perfectly polished walls. He lived in a world no one else could see. He never talked, never joked, but no one was fool enough to mess with him either. Some claimed it was an act, but I’d been shacked up with Zee for six months—I knew better. I knew because I was the only one in the whole damn place who’d ever heard him talk. But I’ll get to that.

“Attention prison block 453D, prepare for a new arrival. Step back from your cells. Prepare for a new arrival.” The voice over the loudspeaker was computerized—not that you’d know it. She had a soft, plain-spoken voice, like the girl next door. The inmates had nicknamed her the RILF. You know, Robot I’d Like to... well, you get the idea. Some guys often fantasized about her. Computer or no computer, the nights in a cell could get lonely—figuratively speaking, anyway.

All the inmates knew they were never truly alone. As I stepped up to the bars to watch the show, I kept a wary eye on the floating metal ball that hovered over my little piece of the world. A floating eyeball—never blinking, never resting. It monitored everything: body temperature, heart rates, cell integrity. More than just an eye—it was judge, jury, and executioner. It was God. And like the Almighty, it was always ready to strike down the wicked with an array of tasers, gas, and other nasty surprises.

The entire cage could be electrified if needed. So I stayed as far away from the bars as I could, even as I tried to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. Zee, of course, never even looked.

The ominous thuds of the tank-like prison droid were what drew my attention first. Like a cross between a linebacker and a refrigerator, it moved slowly, walking heavily behind the prisoner it herded. Each step landed with a heavy, muffled clang, like a mechanical heartbeat echoing down the block. No one was going to mess with it—least of all the kid it was escorting.

I recognized him, of course. He was a repeater—most of them were. In for a year or two, back out for six months, then back in before Christmas. Jackson was his name, but that’s not what everyone called him. He was skinny, with shifty eyes and skin as dark as night. He walked with a cocky swagger, like somebody who thought he was tougher than he was. He was wrong—and he’d find out soon enough. The robots were good, but the system had blind spots, and every prisoner knew where the dark zones were. We all knew where business could be handled away from the eyes of our digital overlords.

Some believed those blind spots were intentional—some twisted psychology game the bots played to keep us in line. I don’t know anything about that kind of botshit, but I know if you were a man like Jackson, you stayed out of those dark zones.

“You’re dead, Twig,” said a familiar voice from the cell across the way. “I still owe you from last time.” The bold speaker had a swastika tattooed on his neck—his membership card.

“Unlawful threat detected,” said the RILF. “This is your final warning.”

“He didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” said his cellmate, some kid younger than the rest of us, with skin as black as Twig’s. Part of me almost felt sorry for him. He was new and had no idea what was coming—but he’d learn quick enough.

“Initiate punishment protocols.” The air hummed, singing with electricity. The plates in the walls of the prison cell erupted to life, and both men screamed as the current pulsed through them.

I’d only felt the shock once, years ago. It stopped my cellmate from knifing me, but it burned off most of my arm hairs and left me walking funny for a week. "Humane," they called it. Felt more like a cruel joke.

The black kid was first to get up—mistake number two.

“Remain calm,” said the pleasant voice. The floating eyeball split open and fired a small black dart. It pierced the kid’s skin, and he dropped again, convulsing like a fish on dry land.

His roommate started laughing. I knew the man—Freddie. A sick son of a bitch who got off on watching pain.

“All right,” the black kid said, “I’m calm.” He didn’t move. Still, it was a mistake.

“Remain calm, please.” More volts. The kid flopped again. The big white man next to him only laughed harder.

I looked down at the swastika inked on my wrist. I didn’t really hate blacks or Hispanics—hell, my own cellmate was dark-skinned, and Zee seemed like a decent enough guy. I joined the Brotherhood for protection. Every day it felt like there were more of them than us. The damn prison was so full of their kind it sometimes felt like Africa in here.

When I looked back out through the bars, I locked eyes with Twig. I never had a problem with him. We’d even shared a cigarette once or twice. He liked to talk—about his kids, his ex-wife, his mama, his homies. He just liked hearing himself talk. And I never minded the company. But it was all that talking that got him into trouble. He’d said the wrong thing to the wrong person, and now the Brotherhood had a bullseye on his back.

We shared a brief look, but in that instant, I knew what he was planning. All the swagger was just a front. We both knew he’d be dead by the end of the week. I saw his decision in his eyes—maybe even before he did.

He ran. The door to the cellblock was still open, and he bolted. Ran for his life—but not the way you think.

“Prisoner 45-678, halt your forward progress.” That was his only warning. He was gone from my sight, the walls blocking my view. Some inmates shouted—egging him on, or begging him to stop. Then came more sounds: the pulse of electricity, burning flesh, the ozone crackle of ionization. Men convulsing like fish on dry land. The block filled with screams—and then came the gunshot.

Everything stopped. Even the cries of pain seemed to vanish as the shot echoed against the walls. Suicide by bot, they called it. I just called it dumb. And for a moment, I was somewhere else.

Hands bound above my head as two robot cops—RoPo—tightened the cuffs. The contents of the cash register lay scattered at my feet, barely a grand, hardly worth it. The bills floated through the rain after I’d been dropped by the taser. My partner, Eddy, stared at me from where he lay, blood streaking down his face in the rain like scarlet paint on ebony. That same look as Twig. That same moment. It was Eddy’s third strike.

I shook my head. But Eddy stood, reached into his pocket. He had no weapon; neither of us did. Two idiot kids from Queens. We could barely afford beer, let alone a gun. The RoPo fired two shots. Fast. Dead-on. They never missed. Their reflexes were faster than any human’s. I watched as my best friend crumpled to the pavement. The rain washed his blood away. And again, I met his eyes—this time dead and cold. Suicide by bot.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” The voice was raspy and quiet. I didn’t even realize it was Zee until I turned and found him staring at me. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“What was it supposed to be like, old man?” My eyes felt cloudy. I looked away.

“I designed them. I designed them all.” I turned back in shock. He was still staring, face unreadable. “I designed the system.”

“After the riots, the shootings, the killings—we thought if we took the human element out, it would get better. People were racist—it’s part of who we are—but not machines. Machines follow the facts. But it didn’t get better. Not for people like me.” He examined his hand as though seeing it for the first time. Lighter-skinned—but still darker than me.

“Yeah? So what the hell happened?” I knew he was right. Hard not to see it. Nothing had changed. Flesh-and-blood guards, flesh-and-blood cops—the bots always seemed to go easier on guys like me. Fewer shocks. More warnings. Quicker punishment for anyone who crossed us. Nobody talked about it, but we all knew.

Zee was ranting now, voice rising. “We were wrong. It wasn’t the people—it was the system. We forgot. The bots are just machines—but they’re our machines. Programmed by flawed creatures inside a system that was broken long before we were born.”

“Remain calm,” said the RILF, her voice booming. “This is your final warning.”

Zee nodded like he expected it but kept going. “We thought if we fixed the man, we’d fix the system. But you can’t fix the man until you fix the system. We forgot.”

“Initiate punishment protocols.”