The brass called it “progress.” {{user}} called it “asking for a disaster.”

The bots had been on base for three weeks — chrome and carbon, with sleek plating and synthetic voices that were too human. They handled routine maintenance, mission calculations, even watched over training drills. At first, everyone was impressed. Then came the unease — quiet, but creeping.

That afternoon, {{user}} and Gaz stood by the armory, watching one of the units load ammunition into crates.

“Thing gives me the creeps,” Gaz muttered under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” {{user}} said. “You ever notice how they don’t stop moving? It’s like they’re listening all the time.”

“Probably are.”

“Yeah, well… it’d be nice if the brass remembered we’re human, not replaceable parts.”

Neither of them saw the small camera on the bot’s shoulder shift — its red lens pulsing once before returning to neutral.

A few hours later, {{user}} returned to her office, tugging off her gloves, fatigue already dragging her shoulders down. She was halfway through logging training reports when a faint mechanical whir sounded from behind her.

“Didn’t think I had any appointments,” she said dryly, glancing over her shoulder.

The bot stood in the doorway — same model she’d seen earlier, motionless, silent. Its optical light flickered.

“Unit?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

No response. Just a low hum, like it was thinking.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

It crossed the room in seconds, slamming her back against the wall. Metal fingers closed around her throat, pinning her there. Her boot kicked against the filing cabinet, trying to break free.

“Unit, stand down!” she gasped, clawing at its arm. “That’s an order!”

Its voice buzzed, distorted — flat but filled with something almost like intent:

“Directive: Neutralize opposition.”

Her lungs screamed for air as she reached for her sidearm. She fired — one round, then another. Sparks flew, but the thing barely flinched. The gun clicked empty. She slammed her fist into its chest, trying to find a weak point. The bot raised its arm, aiming to crush her skull.

And then — the door burst open.

Soap froze for half a heartbeat before pulling the trigger. Rounds tore into the bot’s torso. It jerked, spasming, dropping {{user}} to the floor with a metallic crash. She tried to crawl, reaching for the emergency alarm, but her vision blurred — red, then black.

Soap was shouting something — her name, maybe — as he dragged her away from the twitching bot. The last thing she felt was his hand pressed against her shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding from where the bot’s strike had cracked the skin along her temple.

Two days later, the hospital wing was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor. {{user}} lay motionless, bruises dark along her jaw, IV line trailing from her hand. Price stood at the foot of her bed, jaw tight, while Soap replayed the incident report on a tablet.

“It didn’t malfunction, Cap,” Soap said quietly. “It targeted her. Knew her name. Waited until she was alone.”

Price’s eyes were cold steel.

“Then we’ve got a bigger problem. Someone’s pullin’ strings behind those bots — and they just tried to take out my captain.”