Federal Decree number 2761- All the machines dotted with artificial intelligence cannot be considered or treated as human. Any kind of artificial technology such as machines and robots don’t have rights in the established society.

Federal Decree number 2762- The integrity of all the models of domestic or industrial robots is entirely the responsibility of their respective owners and these can have use of their machines in the way they want, providing that they never treat their machines as an equal. Infringing that condition can result in the seizure of the form of artificial intelligence followed by its destruction.

Federal law number 2763-A- Humanoid machines are strictly forbidden. Domestic models can have four members and walk on two feet, but insertion of any other human factor that allows the machine expression or resemblance to the form of a human being will be considered illegal, and will be punished with financial penalty followed by seizure and destruction of the irregular machine.

Federal law number 2763-B- All the humanoid models of androids and robots fabricated previous to the institutionalization of law 2763-A must be destroyed and their respective owners financially compensated.

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“There is no such thing as humanity in robots. They are instruments, utensils. Nothing more than that.”

That was the motto of the federal division where Walter Anderson worked. He, along with everyone else there, was responsible for the administration, seizure and destruction of all irregular forms of artificial intelligence. The division was founded after the murder of Adam Jenkins by his humanoid android for sexual satisfaction, 182717-F, also known as “Sarah.”

Adam’s death inflamed thousands of movements and conservative organizations that were against the “humanization of the machines,” forcing the government to institutionalize laws regulating the situation of all non-human and artificial intelligence, officiating their status as utensils, instruments and denying them any kind of rights.
It was to finish an investigation of acquisition of illegal technology and avoid a possible attempt at the building of an irregular form of artificial intelligence that Walter Anderson was going to Lima Heights, the worst neighborhood in all of Ohio. He had investigated this case for months, and his new mission seemed really simple for him. He just needed to go to Burt Hummel's residence and destroy any model of robot that didn’t attend to the specifications established by law.

It was raining as Walter and his new partner, Penny White, made their way down the streets of that forgotten place. All over the dirty streets were scrapped robots doing the human’s work, not seeming to care about the pouring rain that fell onto their cold metal.
They were domestic robots and walked on two feet, but like all other legal androids they were faceless, looking like the grey ghosts that haunted Walter’s childhood nightmares.

“Walter! Walter! What you think we are going to find in this Hummel house?” Penny squealed, her excitement with her first mission bringing her partner back to reality.

“Calm down, newbie, we probably are going to find another pervert trying to build a cool sex toy, don’t get too excited. It will be gross, I can assure you of that,” Walter assured her, keeping his eyes on the road bored.

The ginger haired girl furrowed her eyebrows in disappointment, crossing her arms above her chest. She knew that Anderson was an old and bitter man even before she met him. All in the division knew his history, but she didn’t knew that he would be that harsh.

Walter used to work in Homicide at the Police Department, and he was the best murder detective in history of the 198th district. But after his elder son, Cooper Anderson, was killed during a robbery, the curly haired man never managed to step onto a crime scene again.

He came to the Federal Division of Technology Control years later, seeking a place where he wouldn’t find anything that could remind him of his son's death. And Walter did find what he was looking for. The only thing he had to deal with there was illegal acquisitions of technology, and sometimes the destruction of irregular forms of artificial intelligence.

“Well, maybe Burt Hummel is a terrorist and is building an android army!” Penny teased, trying to make Walter laugh a little.

“Sure, because they would send an old man and a newbie to fight against a terrorist and his android army!” Walter sarcastically said, rolling his hazel eyes. He probably had pissed his boss off really badly with his comments about weight. That was the only thing that could explain why he had been partnered with the freckled, hyperactive newbie.

“I was just kidding...” Penny murmured, biting her lower lip; apparently getting along well with her partner wasn’t going to be an option.

“I know, I'm sorry, Penelope. I quit smoking yesterday. I think I'm a little grumpy,” the gray haired man apologized, feeling slightly guilty. He couldn’t blame Penny for her excitement. On his first case in Homicide, he had been even more excited than the ginger haired girl was now.

“Give me the nicotine gum out of there,” he asked, gesturing to the small compartment in the panel of his car.

“Who is this?” Penny asked, pointing to a young hazel eyed boy in a creased picture that she found next to the gum. He looked a little like Walter, with curly hair and hazel eyes, but his skin was a different tone. It was olive, not pale like Walter’s, and the boy looked to be shorter.

“My younger son, Blaine,” Walter dryly replied, praying to God that Penny’s questions would end with his answer. He didn’t want talk about Blaine, his happy, puppy-like little boy that used to follow him around saying that he wanted to be just like his “daddy.”

“He lives with you?” The girl inquired, not noticing her partner's clear discomfort.

“No, he lives with his mother.”

Walter had left home a few weeks after Cooper's death. He just couldn’t live in that house anymore. There were too many memories in that place. All over the walls were Cooper's pictures, his room was still messy, and his voice was still recorded on the answering machine. His older son’s presence was everywhere and Blaine kept asking for his big brother, making the guilty feeling that Walter carried bigger and heavier as the days passed.

Walter was supposed to pick up Cooper after school on the day he died, but once again he got stuck at work and had to call his older son, saying that he wouldn’t get there on time. The curly headed man didn’t know that a drug addict would cross his son’s path and stab Cooper, trying to steal his watch to buy his next “fix.” But knowing that now didn’t make him feel any less responsible for his son's death.

It was his job to be there for Cooper, protecting him, but he had been too busy with work, trying to impress his boss and earn a big promotion.

There wasn’t a single night in the past years, which Walter hadn't spent awake, trying to remember his last words to his son. Had he said “I love you,” or “You make me proud?” Walter couldn’t remember, and that was what hurt the most.

“He is cute,” Penny spoke softly, running her pink fingernail above the picture.

“This is just an old picture. Blaine doesn't even look like that anymore. Give it to me,” he said, grabbing the picture out of Penny’s hands and shoving it into his pocket. He was being rude to the rookie again, but this time he didn’t care. She was bringing back bad memories and he didn’t want talk about Blaine, about how he left the boy behind.

“Here, this is the place,” Walter muttered, parking in front of an old building. A broken and almost unreadable sign hanging above the front door said “Hummel Tires and Lube,” and the walls were stained and blackened by moisture, giving the place the appearance of an abandoned building.

“So, let's catch your terrorist and destroy his android army then!” Penny playfully joked, trying to light the mood between them and failing once again.

“Whatever you want, kid,” Walter grumbled, rolling his eyes and taking another piece of nicotine gum.

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Penny rang the doorbell several times, calling for Mr. Hummel. She was amazed by the fact that someone suspected of illegal possession of technology still used such an archaic thing as a doorbell.

“Give up, we are going in,” Walter muttered angrily. He hated when the suspects made things more difficult for him. He was almost fifty years old, for God sake! Kicking down a door wasn’t as easy as it was when he was twenty anymore.

Walter had to kick the door three times before it finally opened, revealing a dark and cramped hall.

“Get your gun,” Walter whispered to Penny, having a bad feeling about that place. Something wasn’t right; all his instincts were telling him that.

“Y-you did say that it would be just a pervert?” Penny inquired, frightened. Yes, she was working in the field where she had always dreamed of working, but in technology apprehension, one would think they usually didn’t have to use guns on the job.

“Just get your fucking gun!” Walter hissed. He wasn’t letting that girl die, not his partner.

They walked through the hall holding their guns and lanterns. Covering the walls were what looked like thousands of pictures. Some of them were of a pretty woman and a man wearing a baseball cap, but most of them were of a pale, blue eyed boy. There were pictures of the boy as a baby, a child and even a teen, but there weren’t any pictures of him looking any older than sixteen or seventeen.

“What did the records say about this Hummel, he has family?” Walter whispered, intrigued by the family pictures in the walls.

“His wife died giving birth to his only son, Kurt Hummel. Kurt died at the age of seventeen in a car crash ten years ago,” Penny recited what she had memorized from reading Burt Hummel's file.

“Lost his wife and son, huh?” Walter murmured, already feeling sorry for this man. He understood that kind of pain, but at least he wasn’t completely alone like Burt seemed to be. He still had Blaine, even if they didn’t talk that much, and he still had a reason to live and not lose his mind, something that he wasn’t sure if Burt Hummel had.

When they entered the living room the darkness still remained, but there was a small light coming from a closed door.

“There…” Penny whispered, pointing with her gun to the door that was the hidden source of the blue light slightly illumining the place.

They walked cautiously, crossing the living room and trying to not step on anything that could make a noise and scare the suspect. When they finally reached the closed door, Walter began counting silently, preparing himself to open that door and motioning Penny to position herself in safe place.

The young rookie nervously counted together with her partner, already feeling the adrenalin spreading through her veins as she tried suppress the fear that grew in her chest.

1…2…3…

Bam! The door exploded inward, being kicked by Walter using all his strength.

“Federal Division of Technology Control, everybody down!” The curly haired man screamed, invading the room. Penny followed him next, angrily yelling that they were in an authorized operation and that all irregular technology should be given to them immediately.

Several seconds later, when the adrenalin rush of the impact faded away, both could look around, noticing that they were alone. The place was huge, a facility that could be easily confused with one of the labs of the Avalon Industries, the biggest producer of robotic technology.
The vast lab contained a big work bench covered with notes and books, and an almost innumerable number of network computers. Some were the most advanced models, while others seemed to belong to the last century, but all them were interconnected, showing in their screens an infinite combination of number and codes. Burt Hummel was probably was dealing with something really huge there. Walter couldn’t remember seeing a place like that in all his years on FDTC. Maybe Penny wasn’t wrong about the terrorist thing after all.

“Penny, call backup,” Walter whispered. “This place seems to deal with biotechnology as well.”

“What?! How you know that?” Penny gasped, tightening her grip around her gun. An illegal lab of biotechnology? That was something huge, way above their jurisdiction.

“You see that door?” Walter murmured, pointing to a metallic door in back of the room.
“That is a door to a cold room. Biotechnology labs usually have those things,” he explained before dropping his voice in a hiss to the obviously frozen newbie. “Penny! Call backup now!”

The girl began to call backup as the older man advanced a few more steps, noticing that there was another door in that lab besides the one that gave access to the cold room door. It was hidden behind two double-sided biochemistry benches equipped with a radioisotope thermoelectric generator, more computers, and some tubes of water, gas and distilled water.

Walter silently walked to the door and before Penny could stop him, he opened the door with one hand, tightly griping his gun with the other, ready to shoot any threat that could be waiting for him inside of that room.

“Stop right there!” Walter screamed, pointing his gun at a pale human figure kneeling on the ground.

“P-Please h-help me,” a cracked voice begged, coming from a boy with unbelievable blue eyes.

Walter stood, shocked by he was seeing, for several seconds. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. In front of him was a blue eyed boy, the same boy that was in all the pictures covering the hall’s walls.

“M-my d-dad isn't breathing, please help me,” the boy pleaded, clutching at the clothes of an unconscious man fallen in front of him.

“Who are you?!” Walter screamed, still pointing his gun at the shaking teen.

“K-Kurt Hummel. Please, help my dad!”
“That's impossible,” Penny murmured, entering the room and standing beside her partner.

“What are you talking about? My dad is dying! Help him! Do something!” Kurt shouted angrily, not understanding why these people are here pointing guns at him and not doing anything to help his dad.

“You can’t be Kurt Hummel,” Penny stated, looking shocked.

“What?! I am Kurt Hummel and this man here is my dad, Burt Hummel. He's not breathing, help him please!” the boy screamed desperately, tears falling down his face.

“You can’t be Kurt Hummel,” Walter affirmed, lowering his gun. “Kurt Hummel died ten years ago.”