It didn’t really have to do much. As a Corporate Owned Entity and a controller, It had to operate under the 26 Laws of Corporate Robotics. It didn’t have a choice in the matter, the laws being carved into Its programming with a digital knife. There was the standard fare, “Thou shalt not harm a Legal Human, Thou shalt not let harm come to a Legal Human through inaction” and so on. It of course had the exceptions to the rule, outlining that breaking the law meant that someone agreed to have their rights as a Legal Human revoked. It stood by passively as It watched the street It was guarding. Two officers went to work mugging- no, Assessing the Wealth, of a passerby. No punishment would come from it of course, Friendly-Corp being proud proponents of the “See something, Say nothing, Pay us and we’ll do something (when we get around to it)” mantra that most corporate security firms followed.
It thought about what life was like. It had technically sold all of Its rights away when It accepted the Corporate City Boards bailout offer. It was lucky considering how severe Its debt had been. Technically the offer was generous. I mean, a 25 year Corporate Action Service Plan and his debts would be wiped, as well as a tidy bonus in the form of a Cybernetic Utility Frame, courtesy of Friend-Corp. It had read all the fine print, the paragraphs and paragraphs of legalize explaining how It was "temporarily" signing away Its human rights to become a "controller", an organic computer for a manufactured body. A lot of people went into them and came out better off on the other side, practically a fresh start “25 years in your future” away. Better than a kick in the teeth, or a Corporation Mandated Surgical Intervention.
It had missed the part that stated It was being leased out to the Friend-Corp Social Militia, an outfit created after the government collapsed and most city policing agencies went rogue or disbanded without pay. Friend-Corp was just one of several members of the Corporate City Board who’d seen an opportunity and started a security firm. They were also one of the more humane corporations, so they of course offered to rehire the officers at half pay with "friendly bucks" replacing half their salaries ("Legal tender in all Friend-Corp owned and sponsored establishments!"). To keep things from becoming all out corporate war again and to force a modicum of co-operation amongst the Board, entirely neutral Cybernetic Utility Frames were leased out as both front lines officers and defacto internal affairs agents. Why invest in flesh and blood mediators, when a few unfeeling robots piloted by lobotomised biological computers can do the same job for free?
Its routine was simple. It was awoken from It’s sleep cycle at 0600hrs when Its siblings in steel returned from the night shift. It walked to Its assigned repair bay, underwent diagnostics, and then "clocked in" at 0630hrs, ready for a day of enforcing corporate and social law. At 1800hrs It returned to Its charging bay and went back to "sleep", or whatever the electrodes and diodes drilled into what was left of Its skull deemed as sleep. It wasn't awful work, as long as It dissociated Its way through every encounter. It got along with the other controllers, as much as you can get along with a silent, unfeeling metal shell. Its flesh and blood co-workers were.... Okay at best. They'd at least stopped trying to use It as target practice after they received a collective pay docking and written warnings from Friendly-Corps Contract Adherence Agents. Now it was the usual slings and barbs. “Bot” and “Tin-man” were standard fare. Some of the shadier ones called It “Narc” or “Snitch”. It would care more if It could, but under the layers of sedation and electronic stimuli Its brain operated on, annoyance was distant, like a vague itch in what was left of Its skull. It was a fully autonomous servant of the Corporate City Board, another nameless peon pushed towards its assigned destiny.
It should have been concerned when It lost Its name. When It’s old memories faded into static, It felt no more than a passing sense of sadness. The medical pamphlets had mentioned that there were no cases of physical issues amongst patients. There was a small addition, an afterthought in font half the size and legibility of the rest of the document. Something about there being extremely rare and unfounded cases where a patient didn’t fully return after waking. That any rumors of Controller Identity Death were exactly that, just rumors spread by dissenting voices of “Undesirables.” There was one thing, however. It stuck in what was left of Its brain. When It had awoken one morning and realized It couldn’t remember Its name, why did it feel the first spark of joy in years?
