Robotic Assassin

The Midnight Article "Robotic Assassin On The Loose" was written by u/NotReadyForThisPaper and posted to r/MidnightPaper.

The text of the post and Article was as follows:

Why me?

Look, I'll ask it again: Why me?

I had the perfect life balance of work, home, and play. Sure, my work isn't the most legal of things, but it pays well and I'm damned good at it. And I was content, happy even. And then this... this cursed paper showed up on my doorstep.

It was midnight when the thing came, though I suppose if you're reading this you already know that. Of course I noticed it, most of my work is third shift and even without it I'm a chronic insomniac, so someone rapping on my door at that time isn't going to go unnoticed. When I opened it and there was no one there, just a black paper tied with a string. I thought it was someone playing a prank on me, or worse, someone trying to get the drop on me, so I just left it there. Why bother bringing in unwanted trash? Or to play into whatever prank someone had planned? I'm not so stupid.

That was four weeks ago, on Thursday. The next Saturday it happened again. And then every Thursday and Saturday since.

I don't know what made me pick it up this past Saturday but I wish I hadn't. I tossed it onto my coffee table and sat on the couch, glaring at it. My skin had crawled as soon as I had touched it. Poisoned, perhaps? Something that would seep through the skin? I felt no ill effects now, so whatever it was must be slow acting. I peeled on a pair of black work gloves and pulled out a switchblade, oddly eager to see whatever threat was lying within this wretched thing.

Suffice to say I didn't expect it to be a fucking newspaper. Nor it unrolling itself for me, giving me gooseflesh as it did.

Me. Gooseflesh.

I can't even begin to explain how irrationally angry that makes me even now. What the fuck.

It proclaimed itself to be The Midnight Paper, and I almost put my blade into it, but something stopped me. I don't know what, just another weird feeling, like a snake slithering up my spine. Whatever this paper was, it was unnerving me in ways I hadn't felt since I was a kid. I carefully put the blade away, and picked up the paper, sitting back to read. If someone went through this much trouble to fuck with me, I might as well figure out why.

ROBOTIC ASSASSIN ON THE LOOSE

All area residents are to be on the watch for a strange humanoid individual, reported to be a roughly six feet tall male with a fair complexion, sharp green eyes, and short black hair. Several murders within the larger █████ █████████ city area are attributed to this individual, who attacks without remorse.

All of the victims fit into a specific profile: Males with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, an athletic build, wearing dark clothing. Age, height, hairstyle, and skin color seem to be irrelevant to the murderer. All readers matching this description are advised to wear light clothing until the criminal can be brought to justice. If such a thing is impossible, it is theorized that the dyeing of hair or wearing of colored contacts may also work. If all else fails, readers are recommended to put on several pounds and stop working out.

So far █████ █████████ city police have no leads as to the origin or current whereabouts of this killer, focusing their efforts on the city blocks between ███████ and ███████████████ streets, and between ████ blvd and ████ █████████ street, where 87.8664791% of cases have occurred.

Witnesses say that its movements appear stilted or jerky, despite displaying considerable speed and strength. The individual also does not blink or appear to breathe at all, causing several people the Paper spoke with to refer to it as an android or robot, with a small handful of witnesses using the words 'monster' and 'abomination'. It kills using some form of bladed weapon, slicing its victims into several pieces within the blink of an eye.

If you see an individual matching this description, please inform police right away and do not engage.

I chucked the paper onto the table again with rage. What the hell kind of joke was this? It was pretty clear this paper was a threat, someone targeting me. Why else would the 'victims' match my description? And the amount of whited out letters match my city name? I could even tell what streets and boulevard it referred to, my house landed smack dab in the middle of them.

Whomever had sent this, I was going to find them and make them wish they'd never attempted to threaten me.

But whatever, it would wait until tomorrow. I knew from experience I didn't think my best when I was angry, so devising a plan of attack was going to have to wait until I'd calmed down.

I laid back against my couch still steaming and took out my switchblade again, flicking it open and closed several times in rapid succession. Maybe it would be a good idea to let this whole thing draw out anyway. I'd catch them next time they tried to threaten me with one of these papers, assuming they didn't stop with the one now that I'd read it.

For several minutes I sat there stewing and playing with the switchblade before I finally snapped it shut and pocketed it once more. Fuck this. I had work to plan, I couldn't let myself get drawn into thinking about something like this right now.

Still, it lingered in the back of my mind for the rest of the night, and before I went to bed I found myself drawing the curtains shut in my bedroom. The rational part of my brain was yelling at me, but I just couldn't shake a feeling of unease.

I can't recall the last time I slept that shitty, tossing and turning all night.

When I woke the next afternoon, I went straight for the paper only to stare blankly at the coffee table where I'd left it. It was gone. A feeling of dread crept down my spine once again and I immediately grabbed the two closest weapons I had, holding them defensively as I slowly crept through the house. I checked all doors and windows, all still locked with no signs of a break in, and I thoroughly checked every room for intruders.

Nothing.

Had I hallucinated the whole thing? Perhaps the paper I grabbed last night had been laced with a psychoactive agent of some kind, and it had hit me as soon as I touched the thing, dreaming up the contents in it based on... on what, my own guilty conscience? Bull.

I unlocked the front door and looked out at the stoop, no sign of the paper.

Frustrated, I stormed over to my computer and sat in front of it, needing to check my files. All of my research from last night was intact and just as I remembered it. And a quick internet search turned up nothing about murders in this area matching that description.

The next several hours were spent combing over my apartment again for any trace of the paper, hoping maybe I had stashed it somewhere in a barely awake stupor as I tossed and turned the previous night. I checked all of my shelves, drawers, cabinets, the trash bins, under my bed, I even checked the fridge. Nothing was even so much out of place from where I'd expect it to be.

Except that news page, it was nowhere to be seen and I felt like I was going crazy.

Maybe I wouldn't have wasted all that time if I'd had the thought to google The Midnight Paper, but I didn't. Ultimately I had to force myself to forget about it, stressing over the damned thing was doing me no favors and I had a deadline to keep. This paper was upsetting my careful balance, and throwing myself into work seemed like the best idea for now.

The next two days were uneventful, filled with research and planning. On Monday evening I went to work.

Nothing outside of my expected parameters happened and I fulfilled my contract with ease as I always did, weapons cleaned and stowed before I left the premises, leaving no trace of myself behind. It was a little past midnight on Tuesday as I headed home from the job, a spring in my step. I rarely accepted jobs so close to home due to the risk, but I'd made an exception this time. And I liked it when nothing went wrong, it was a pleasant reminder of why I was so good at what I did.

I'd managed to all but forget about that black page, I wish things had stayed that way.

I was passing by the park about three blocks from my house when I saw it. It was standing perhaps a hundred yards away from me by the big park entrance. Immediately the words of the paper rushed back to me, like they had somehow been engraved into my very being. The man-- or thing-- standing there matched the description I had read to a T, its eyes almost glowing in the street lamp it stood beneath. It took a step toward me, its movements immediately registering as inhuman.

You know that thing called Uncanny Valley, where you see dumb robots made to look human but something's just... off, and it's fucking unnerving? Well I was feeling that, and a shit ton of it while looking at this thing. Stationary it looked human, but the second it moved the illusion shattered.

I darted to my right, into the park, and I could see it heading toward me. I never walk around unarmed, but I was grateful this had occurred while I was returning from work. My two best blades were already in my hands, and I spun on my heel as it approached, blocking its attack. It darted backward and again I parried as it came at me, evaluating it as it continued its attacks.

It was as though it had lost its momentum after the first strike, and I supposed I understood. If indeed this thing had been killing people who looked like me, it was unlikely most of them had the skill to defend themselves. I was fending off every attack, and though it was faster than me I could see where every attack would land, its movements had too much predictability, too much follow through. It completed all of its actions before beginning another, and while that might be great on a ballroom floor, this wasn't the right kind of dance for that.

Finally I'd had enough, and I dug my heel into the dirt, springing at the creature. It was clearly an unexpected movement, and my first blade drew across its right arm, the second cutting upward and slicing into its chin. It stumbled backward and I lunged again, planting my foot into its chest and knocking it to the ground, its blade spinning away from us. Before it could react I was kneeling on its chest, one hand restraining its arms, the other pressing a knife to its throat.

Not that I knew if that would be a threat, but my very posture was threat enough.

"The fuck do you want with me?" I said, my voice coming out in a deep growl.

It stared up a me, unblinking, but I could read confusion in its features. It didn't speak, I wasn't even sure it could, but in that moment I could tell it was reevaluating this entire situation. And that cut I'd made to its jaw? No blood, nor from its arm. But I could see through the flaps of skin that now seemed too loose that there were strange mechanical workings underneath. Definitely an android of some kind, and I didn't know how that was possible. Such feats seem like they should be many years away still. And why would it be coming after me?

I dug my blade into its throat a little harder now, and it tilted its head back slightly and grimaced, though I doubted it felt pain. "Who made you? Who sent you?"

More silence, but it had gone oddly relaxed in my grip, no longer fighting against me. I stared at it for several more second before I spoke again, "Whatever man. You're not a threat to me, and if you're not fighting back any more I've stopped giving a shit." I let go of his arms and pushed myself off the android, grabbing my second blade as I moved away.

It stayed on the ground for a few seconds before leaping to its feet in an inexplicable, inhuman way. Bodies just shouldn't move that way, okay? It dusted itself off before picking up its blade again, what looked from where I stood to be a relatively simple short sword. My hands tightened around my own daggers, expecting it to attack me again, but those strangely luminescent green eyes only looked at me in curious silence for several seconds before it dashed off, almost too fast for my eyes to track. I watched it until I could no longer see it.

Only then did the tension in me start to wind down. What the fuck, man?

I returned home, checking over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure I wasn't followed. When I was finally inside my house, door locked, I finally let my guard down. There was no way I was hallucinating again. I went around and carefully checked over every room, window, and door again, making sure everything was still locked tight and there were no hidden intruders. Then I took a shower, a blade on the shower caddy, just in case.

Overly paranoid? Maybe. But you try being attacked by some weird android that seems to have it out for you, for people who even passingly look like you.

I barely slept that night, I was constantly on edge, sharpest blade I owned under my pillow. Every creak of the house, every snap of twigs or sound of movement outside had me tensed up and ready to defend myself. I don't know what I was expecting, for the thing to just crash in through a window and slice my head off?

The reality turned out to be so much more bizarre and unnerving.

It was around 1pm when someone tapped on my door. I'd managed maybe an hour of restless sleep at that point, and had pulled myself out of bed about an hour before, drowning myself in coffee. No human should consume two pots of coffee in an hour, but I had. I was on edge enough to grab a blade, hiding it up one sleeve of my robe, but I didn't expect to have to use it.

Well, when I pulled open the door it was standing there, staring at me unblinking. I stared right back, my hand tightening around the hilt of my knife. "The fuck?" I said, already wishing I'd grabbed a second one. Its skin was still hanging loose from its face where I'd cut it, its eyes lacking any trace of glow in the brightness of the daylight.

"May I come in?"

I almost dropped my blade right then, its voice sounded pleasant, human, but as stilted as its movements, like it didn't know how to be human. I stared at it for another several seconds before silently shutting the door in its face.

It knocked again.

For forty-six minutes I ignored it, and it rapped lightly on the door every two minutes, exactly. Like clockwork. I intended to leave it out there until it went away, but luck was not so kind to me. You see, I live my life in a very secluded way. Despite living in the middle of a city, I try to be as invisible as possible, to never draw attention to myself. The very nature of my work requires secrecy, and I like it that way.

So when I walked past a window a little past the 45 minute mark and saw a couple of my neighbors from across the street standing and talking, gesturing at my house and presumably the thing on my stoop, I ran to the door as it knocked once more, ripping it open. "GET. INSIDE." I knew my voice was dripping with anger, but its face twisted into something I can only assume was an attempt to smile.

I moved aside and it moved past me in that fitful way that made it instantly recognizable, I could see its blade stashed inside its jacket as it passed, though it made no movement toward it. I shut the door as quickly as possible, then pushed it into the spare bedroom and shut the curtains, no prying eyes.

It occurred to me in that moment that perhaps wasn't my smartest move, but I did say I don't think well when I'm angry.

I guess it doesn't matter, it didn't attack me, it was just watching me. Finally I rounded on it, "What do you want with me?"

Silence reigned for several seconds, and I had no idea what was going through its mind. Finally it tilted its head slightly to the side, "I have decided I would like to stay in your residence and learn from you. You are unusual, and more skilled than I."

The words stunned me, it was as though all of my thoughts ground to a halt. I'm not sure how long passed before I was finally able to speak, "What the fuck makes you think I'd agree to that?"

"I will be useful. I can do menial tasks, such as cooking, cleaning, laundry, repairs. I am also good at research, analysis, budgeting, defence, I require no sleep, and I can be very persistent."

It was the last statement that got me. I knew immediately what it meant, and it knew I realized it by the small, unnatural smile that appeared on its face. Damn it. Damn it all.

"Fine. You don't get a room if you don't need sleep, and I expect this place to be fucking spotless for me having to deal with this shit. Find a way to fix your skin, I don't want you drawing attention. And learn to blink, your stare's damned creepy, man." I paused, grimacing slightly and not really wanting to ask, but I had to. "What do I call you?"

"My assigned serial is E-one-one-I-zero-T."

Yeah, that took a few moments to process, and I finally said, "Elliot's a fuck ton easier. I'm going to go with that."

"What should I in turn call you?"

I hesitated, not sure I wanted it to know my name. But whatever, not like it couldn't glance at my mail at this point if it really wanted. "Scott."

It nodded and turned to leave the room, "If you have not had breakfast, I will prepare a meal. You may go about your day." I didn't respond, so it took that as a sign and left the room, heading toward the kitchen.

Several minutes passed before I finally left the spare bedroom and walked to my laptop sitting on the coffee table. I kept kicking myself, I should have killed it last night, cut its head off, stabbed it until it stopped moving, whatever. Now it was going to cause me who knows how many problems, and I still didn't know why it was really here. I'm not sure it would tell me even if I asked directly, and kicking it out wasn't an option.

I picked up the laptop and poked at it blandly for several minutes, no longer sure what to do. Finally I thought to look up The Midnight Paper, see what the fuck this shit is.

That's what brought me here. I spent hours going over the articles posted in this place, and I don't know what to think of any of this.

I slept like shit last night because of that robot being in my house. It really can cook, by the way. And it knows how to clean. I can't knock it for that, but it's still creepy as fuck. Even when it speaks it seems unnatural, like it doesn't know how to properly move its lips to the rhythm of the words coming out. I have no answers to the thousands of questions going through my mind, though from looking up that black paper I know that it's probably a product of me reading about it. Or maybe it doesn't work like that for everyone. I don't know. I don't like not knowing.

So that's it. I'm not picking the fucking thing up again, let me tell you. No more Midnight Paper for me, they can stop sending it to my door.

Right, like that's going to work.

And you know the worst part about all this? About that thing living in my house now? It's not that I know I'm not going to get a good night's rest anymore, or that I'm constantly tense, or that I'm worried about my neighbors seeing its weird movement or hearing it speak.

Whenever I turn my back on it, I can feel those fucking green eyes staring at me.

Description:

The "Robotic Assassin," (E11I0T) is an Object-Type Oddity. It is an android (a robot with a human appearance) that presents itself as an athletic man "roughly six feet tall...with a fair complexion, sharp green eyes, and short black hair."

Targets:

The Robotic Assassin appears to be programmed to eliminate a very specific kind of human being. The Article describes its targets as "males with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, an athletic build, wearing dark clothing. Age, height, hairstyle, and skin color seem to be irrelevant to the murderer."

In fact, the Assassin's programming parameters are so strict that any deviation from this preset target appears to result in it no longer seeing an individual as marked for extermination: "All readers matching this description are advised to wear light clothing until the criminal can be brought to justice. If such a thing is impossible, it is theorized that the dyeing of hair or wearing of colored contacts may also work. If all else fails, readers are recommended to put on several pounds and stop working out."

It is unknown why the Robotic Assassin was programmed to target such a specific set of characteristics.

Origins:

The origins of E11I0T are entirely unknown. As an android, the Assassin must have had a creator. In fact, it is commonly theorized that a robot sophisticated enough to pass as human must have several creators. Indeed, there are three key factors that come into play in creating an android that appears to be human. First, a robotic body must be manufactured, one sophisticated enough to perform the same functions that human body is capable of. Then, a synthetic (or organic) set of skin and muscles must be created, one that is detailed enough to pass as human. This set of skin and muscles is then grafted onto the robotic body in such a way that the body can move the muscles of the face in order to create expressions. Several organs must also be created in order for the android to pass as human, which include eyes and a tongue. It is also necessary to create teeth and hair. After all this is grafted onto the body, the next, and perhaps the most difficult part, must be achieved: the creation of an artificial intelligence. The Robotic Assassin displayed not only intricate problem solving capabilities, but also the ability to analyze its environment and find its targets.

It is likely that two teams worked on E11I0T : one team for the hardware (the body), and one for the software (the mind). Given the current limitations of technology, these teams must have contained either the most skilled engineers and programmers of our time, or engineers of the future.

Theories:

It is possible that, given the incredibly advanced technology that had to go into creating E11I0T, the Robotic Assassin comes from a timeline different from our own. The highly specific nature of its programming parameters supports this theory, as E11I0T could have been sent back in time to eliminate an individual that could only be identified through photographic evidence. E11I0T's programmers could then, have sent him to a specific time and location in order to eliminate anyone who shares the physical characteristics of this individual. This explains why the target's clothing is important, as a person who has been photographed in a specific time and place would likely be wearing the same clothing all day long.

It is likely that the online poster who shared the Article was the intended target, as he was highly skilled and could even defeat E11I0T and gain its respect. Who wanted the OP dead, and why, is a mystery.