Chapter 1.

MIRVIN

Mirvin lowered his shotgun as the scavengers body slid down the fuel station door and slumped on the ground.

Until this unfortunate encounter Mirvin had been having a most satisfactory day. His lurching stride had been carrying him along at an average speed of four point six miles per hour. His optical readout had recently flashed across his field of vision informing him that his power cells had dropped to eighty percent charge. Well within acceptable parameters. The sawn-off Winchester twelve gauge shotgun that had replaced his right hand was oiled and loaded and the mechanism bolted to his arm that fed shells into the firearm was likewise oiled and fully stocked. All in all, most satisfactory indeed.

He had spotted the fuel station in the distance as he scanned the horizon and immediately turned and began heading towards it. Mr Frank had told Mirvin that places like this could hold good materials for salvage and since Mr Frank had never told Mirvin to stop gathering useful supplies he had been compelled to investigate.

The reflection upon his owner immediately caused a small square to superimpose itself in the lower left corner of the Protectron's sight.

+Possible Relevant Memory Detected. Play?+
+Yes?+
+No?+

Mirvin selected yes. The square remained blank for a second before the image of a frail, sickly looking old man laying beneath a frayed blanket filled the box. Mr. Frank. The robot continued it's slow, plodding approach towards the station as the image began to move as the memory file played. Mr. Frank turned his sunken, tired eyes towards the small screen, appearing to look directly at Mirvin, exactly the same way as he had the day Mirvin had recorded the old man's message.

It had taken Mr. Frank several attempts before he actually managed to speak, each time he struggled to get out more than a couple of words before his chest began heaving and rattling as another coughing fit overtook him. Mirvin's owner was terribly sick. Old age, dementia and radiation sickness in constant competition to be the thing that eventually killed the elderly man. But after a few minutes, his breath steadied to a slow, labored wheezing and Mr. Frank managed to tell him, "I gotta thank you for all you done for me Mirvin. You're a good man, but you can't do any more for me. I want to be alone for a while. You should go on, get out of here and make a life for yourself."

Mirvin had simply stood there. The order didn't really make sense. "Where should I go?" he asked, his voice a hollow, synthetic rasp.

"Anywhere son.” Had been the weak reply. “Just away from here. Take the shells, ain't no use to me anyhow. You got your gun, so you can take care of yourself. Just get on and try to find other survivors. Settle down, be part of a community, that kind of thing. Just don't come back here." The command still made little sense, but as this was a direct order from his owner, Mirvin had been compelled to comply. On the screen, the robot's left arm suddenly loomed into view and began gathering up the shells before the image abruptly froze.

+Memory End. Play again?+
+Yes?+
+No?+

The Protectron selected noand continued to lurch towards the fuel station. As Mirvin approached, the door opened quietly and a young man stepped through, pointing a laser pistol at Mirvin's chest. "That's close enough." He said. "Place is closed, I'd turn around and [censored] off if I was you."

Mirvin halted, "Of course the place is closed for business, my good chum." Mirvin's synthetic voice rasped. "A thermo-nuclear exchange took place several years ago, destroying, to my knowledge, almost all of the continent of north America. However commerce is not the reason I have come here. Mr Frank informed me that monetary transactions are irrelevant nowadays and we must salvage through the ruins for anything we deem useful. Therefore I am here to look for anything I can use on my journey, primarily energy cells."

"Too late man." he scavenger replied. "We're already here. We got us a life and we don't need no robot picking through our stuff."

"You have a life here? Mr Frank told me I must find a life. May I ask, how does one make a life for themselves? Mr Frank ordered me to leave him before I could ask him. May I remain here and share in your life?"

The scavenger almost doubled up laughing. "A robot...Ha..'Live..Haha...Stay here." Eventually the man regained his composure "[Censored] no you can't stay here. Things like you don't have lives, that's like my old toaster asking to be part of the family. It's kill or be killed now, survival of the fittest. Now get the [censored] out of here before I blow you to pieces."

"Well I regret to inform you sir that of the two of us I am the one who would be deemed 'The fittest'. My bodywork is in the best condition that Mr Frank could manage with the resources I could bring to him, while you appear to be rather emaciated and suffering from minor radiation poisoning. I would advise against the course of action you appear to be proposing."

"I've got you in my sights. I'll shoot you before you you can even aim at me."

"Certainly. I estimate you will have sufficient time to fire two to three shots before I am able to bring my weapon to bear. With a Wattz laser pistol this would cause significant aesthetic damage. However the damage would be neither irreparable nor detrimental to my performance. During this time I would be able to fire one shot with my own weapon, which as you can see is a shotgun. At this range I calculate that a shot striking your body would have an eighty seven percent chance of instant fatality."

"There are others inside.” The scavenger tilted his head in the direction of the door behind him. “Ten of 'em."

"Unlikely, if that were true then I surmise that more people than just yourself would have confronted me. Furthermore I surmise that the laser pistol is the most advanced weapon in your group's possession as you would have bought the best weapon to intimidate a potential threat. I have encountered similar situations in the past while collecting parts for Mr Frank. I'm afraid my orders are to gather supplies and to find a life for myself, if you continue to hinder these orders, Mr Frank has told me that initiating violence is an acceptable course of action."

As Mirvin spoke the young man's eyes grew wider with panic, he fired. The first shot scored a large burn across Mirvin's left shoulder and the second struck him directly in his faceplate, leaving a small crack in it. Mirvin's shotgun boomed in response. The shot struck the young scavenger high in the chest and slammed his body into the dirt.
A scream erupted from the doorway of the station as a young woman charged out screaming obscenities and brandishing a sledgehammer. The shotgun barked again, the shell hitting the woman in the face. Her head erupted as the impact of the shot carried her body backwards, slamming it back into the building's door.

Mirvin lowered his shotgun as the scavengers body slid down the fuel station door and slumped on the ground. Mirvin waited for a few seconds to see if anyone else was going to attack him, looking at the bodies as he stood there. It was a regrettable resolution to the confrontation, but he had his orders. When he reached the conclusion that there would be no further hostilities Mirvin opened the door and stepped through.