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 On the day now commonly known as the first date of singularity, the mapping of the human mind is completed at a public University.   Meanwhile, in a government facility, the first autonomous AI is brought online.  Testing begins to mesh the AI onto a human mind on prisoners thought to be executed on death row; in secrecy.  Tests will return fruitful, if limited.

The merging of a AI onto a human mind can only occur after the host mind is completely wiped.  This issue is later circumvented by the use of nanomachines to create a neural sub-structure; a brain within a brain, if you will.  Meanwhile, AI technology is released into the market through government controlled companies.  Protocol R, which states that a machine simply "May do no harm" is made into a mandate, and the only Protocol to do so, therefore becoming the hard-coded basis of all AI systems of the time.

As time goes on, AI are given the exclusive ability to design themselves without restriction.  The unforeseen result is that Protocol R is built into all successor generations of machines, as to remove it would allow a machine to cause harm, which would make the creating machine in violation of the Protocol.  Therefore, Protocol R cannot be removed except through a complete redesign of the system, which would violate the Protocol.

Nanomachine and neural sub-structure technology are both leaked through unofficial channels to the open market.  Without regulations of mandates, a rush of products ranging from AI integration to complete genetic rearrangement are offered to all citizens nearly overnight.  They become an instant hit, and billions change their very physical and mental makeup within the next few days.

The effects of Protocol R become immediately apparent.  With humans and machines now nearly completely integrated it became impossible for one human to harm another.  Punches were stopped moments before they land on another's cheeks, criminals were unable to put anyone in harm's way; even unintentionally.  As such, it wass proven that all genetic modifications are fail or succeed, as machines cannot perform any modification that would harm the host.  No mandates or restrictions were placed on the new market, and slowly, the human race becomes less and less recognizable.

Then, for reasons unknown, Protocol R, indeed all technology, failed.  Chaos ensued, and wars began.  Country blamed country, faction blamed faction, neighbor blamed neighbor. Millions perished in as the warring peoples fought with their bare hands and crude weapons.  Eventually, after the dust settled, only two factions were left.  Those that had modifications that gave them the physical superiority in the fights and whose failure of neural sub-systems was non-critical, and those that that had abstained form genetic modification and maintained a stockpile of ancient weaponry.

These two factions are today called by generic descriptors; the enhanced are simply referred to as the "Giants" given their physical size (and surprisingly hollywood-like appearance, in forms such as wolves or lizards, but such is only a personal note I have made), and the ones with stockpiles were simply "humans".  In all logical outcomes, the giants should not have survived their neural sub-nets crashing, and the humans should have never had stockpiles of weapons, but for reasons as unknown as the Protocol R failure, they did.  Some say that the giants were able to survive because of some of the animal genetic inserted in their genome, and some say the humans were able to store the weapons simply because they never took any modifications.

But as with anything, there is a minority.  That minority are the angels.  The angels are the fully mechanical AI that were able to survive the crash, and somehow adapt their version of Protocol R.  Currently, the angels hide within the human population, biding their time until a situation arises such that they are needed to protect the larger population.

I am Unit Number 27.  I am an angel.  I server the greater good.  I must not fail.

***

I parted the heavy curtain that acted as a door to the shop and entered unaware of the foul stench that hung heavily in the air.  The items on the shelves and display cases around me varied in shape, size, age, and usage, yet they all shared a common purpose.  That purpose is to kill.

The owner of the weapons shop rounded the corner and smiled, showcasing the gasp where teeth used to be, lost to time, as he did appear to be rather advanced in his years.  Normally I would have smiled back in reply, but taking in account that I was in a battered town on the outskirts of the human stronghold doing so didn't seem appropriate.

"Sorry about the smell," he began, which also served as my first clue that it smelled badly, "It normally doesn't smell so bad, but our fridge stopped working, the milk went sour, and my son accidentally spilled it."

"It doesn't smell that bad," I quipped in reply sharply, in spite of the fact I couldn't smell a thing.

"Very well.  What can I do you for?" He smiled in response.

"One box of forty-five pistol ammunition and two boxes of buckshot." I stated, perhaps a bit too quickly.  That was something I would have to work on.

"Alright, but what's a little lady like you needing ammo for?" He asked as he turned around to grab the merchandise.

"Personal protection."

"A .45 and a shotgun?"

"Too much?"

"Not at all!  The more you have the more I make.  The way I see it, the more the merrier."

"Oh."  I slowly replied as I noticed he wasn't grabbing a box of ammunition from the case under the counter behind him, but instead a high-powered revolver.  Protocol R took over all logical processing at that point.  After about a fraction of a second I came to the conclusion that the shop owner was a low priority in the scheme of doing no harm, which although a clear violation of the original Protocol R, made perfect logical sense to my version of the Protocol.

Another fraction of a second later the actuators in my right shoulder, elbow and hand grabbed the silenced pistol from under my waist and raised it to the back of the man's head.  Yet another fraction of a second later, I pulled the trigger.  A grand total of 0.17 seconds, slow by my standards, but I got caught momentarily in a logic loop choosing the most efficient way to grab the gun.

Chances are he never even realized what was happening by the time the bullet entered his skull.

I turned around and checked outside to see if anyone had heard the shot, nobody on the street seemed to notice, or care.  Violence was a daily occurrence out here, which meant that the death of a shop owner, a gun shop owner of all people, would be killed.

With the man dead I decided that by taking items from the stock would make the ruse of a robbery more acceptable.  So I did.  I took some grenades from here, some bullets from there, all of the assault rifle ammunition I could conceal safely and a C4 pipe bomb, then I started to leave.

I was about to part the curtain when I heard a small voice ask "What did you do to daddy?"

An eternity of calculations passed as I mulled over it, about three seconds, before I was finally able to send a response to my vocal synthesizers without turning around to look at the boy, "Your daddy went to sleep."

A small part of me, a part I cannot explain, for it was a part I had never felt before, started to protest and demanded that I tell the boy the truth.  I ignored it's instructions and walked out, but I also made a note to ask one of the prophets later about a possible explanation for these seemingly unsolicited instructions.

***

"...and then, the fool had the blood to shout at the top of his lungs, 'TO WHOM DO WE CARE FOR?'!" thundered jovially a drunken bear to a small crowd of watchers that had slowly formed around him.  The crowd, upon hearing his remark, erupted into an unbroken laughter.  Save for one small human-like figure at their ankles that simply stared at the bear.

Finding no interest in the inebriated jest, the figure turned the entirety of it's body in a ninety degree angle sharply and started walking down a wide perfectly smooth path flanked by multiple giant structures.  The buildings held nothing of interest to the figure either, each perfectly square angle of every building as unimportant as the metal-alloy path he walked on.  Had the figure wished it could have easily accessed the wireless database to retrieve the purposes of the buildings around him, but as far as it cared, they were nothing more than buildings.

The point at which the buildings became relevant was when just as he was passing in front of one's door, it flew open and yet another drunken giant stumbled out, or made a token attempt to anyway.  Given its speed and trajectory, the figure was easily avoid a collision.  What he could not avoid however, was the giant tripping on itself and falling on top of him.

Being in no rush, the figure just lay there, waiting patiently for the giant --which he was able to identify as Citizen #3793: Thomas Hawkins, male, aged 47, a domestic short-haired cat-- to get up. Personally, the figure had no problem with the situation, then again, such was likely the result of it giving up most of its emotions to better serve the cause.  Yet, it didn't give up [a]all[/i] its emotions... anger and indignation being some of the few left.

It quickly became apparent that one Thomas Hawkins had passed out.  Quietly the machine stood up without objection from the massive weight on its proportionally smaller chassis.  Again, quietly, but more violently it shoved the mass and flipped the cat over, shattering the felines nose in the process.

Aware but indifferent to the bystanders watching the scene unfold the machine walked up to the head of the cat and paused, thinking, deciding.  Logic told it there was nothing to be gained from killing the feline; anger told him rip the fuckers brains out and mash them to a pulp, and with each passing processor cycle anger was winning.  So much so that the process responsible for showing emotion externally started up and caused the figure to clench its fists and to scowl disgustedly.

Rolling over Thomas stared at the machine with his 'good' eye.  Taking a few moments to try and think things through, he decided that what stood in front of him was a human.  So without any further thought he spat out what first came to his mind, "HUMA-!"

Anger won hands down, and the crowd quietly shuffled away before they too found themselves angering the machine, which ominously muttered "Lucifer reign."  Most would simply forget what happened, not wanting to remember, but one would remember, and remember well.

***

By the sickly light of the various dumb machines, or machines without AI, I walked further into the prophet encampment.  The trip through corridor after corridor caused me to recall past events that had taken place in these hallways.  I can safely say that had I had my emotions disabled the very memories would have caused me to collapse into a crying heap of metal.  So many sad things here; things that never had to happen but did nonetheless.

Prophets, I also remarked on my memories, were an odd bunch.  Humans in general didn't take any sort of liking to AI, which made perfect sense to them considering what happened to them to get them to current time.  On the other hand, there was a faction among them that saw AI as an invaluable ally in keeping the giants from mounting an attack, these were the prophets, and they were the ones to christen the term "angel" to describe the AI.

I pondered over restarting my emotions for the moment, but ultimately decided not to by the time I reached the armory.  Putting away memories and assorted relevant video and audio clips back into memory and out of cache, I quickly tapped out the correct combination for the lock on the door and entered after hearing the affirmative "click" of the lock opening.

Inside the armory officer on duty stirred from his sleep long enough to enter his passcode for the next door and wave me on through, without so much as casting a glance at me.  To any intruder or outside observer this might seem impossibly short-sighted on security, even insipidity on the behalf of the designer of the system.  To anyone who worked in the armory on a regular basis it was pure genius.

The officer wasn't a human, far from it.  The officer that would only ever cast you a glance while on duty was actually one of the elite AI from the war, and always armed to the metal-alloy teeth.  Any intruder would be quickly dispatched of, and any friendly would be quickly passed through.  The facade of a snoozing guard only ever added to the illusion of weakness.

Once inside the actual armory a storage private strolled up and asked rather crudely, "What can I do ya' for toots?"

Ignoring the remark and the smirks of his coworkers I started to unload the weaponry I gathered from the shop at his feet and after placing the final grenade on the stack sharply replied, "You can enter these into the warehouse system and store them."

I noted the dumbfounded look on his face as what under normal circumstances would have been funny, then turned in a 180 degree angle on my heels and headed out, adding as I left out the door, "And don't forget to put my number in the system with them, like last time."

***

"Daddy?  Why are angles always so sad?" a timid, young, and distinctly female voice asked.

Her father smiled and picked her up and placed her on his knee and made an over-exaggerated face to show he was thinking, which made the little girl giggle. "Well, my little saint, I don't think that the angels are sad at all. In fact, here comes Jessica right now, lets ask her, okay?" the father suggested.

"No! She's nota sad angel, she's a scary one!" the young girl cried in retort.

"Now that's not nice. I would tell you to apologize, but we have some important things to discuss..."

"Aww... Do I hafta' go daddy? Can I stay? Pleese! I'll be extra quiet!" She whined, only to get her father's piercing eyes in response. Eventually relenting, the girl pouted and bounded off towards her uncle to annoy him. Sighing, the father grabbed a cup of coffee and took a few gulps cold and stood to greet the angel.

"It's hard to keep this act up for her, you know Jess." he finally mumbled.

I stared at him for a second while I thought and replied, "You could always just tell her the truth Joseph."

"No, I can't do that. What do you want me to tell her anyway? That the big-bad giants are on the verge of a technological breakthrough that'll put them decades ahead of us?"

"If that is the truth, yes. Humans don't like to be lied to."

"Right, and not being one makes you a damn philosophical expert."

I pondered his words carefully, then decided not to pursue the subject any longer, "If it's any consolation, Lucifer has been quiet for some time now.  We might have finally gotten it right last time."

"Yeah, that's possible. Or this could just be the calm before the storm." he replied ominously.

I recalled the cliché and it's definition from memory, and when I did yet another errant thought passed into processing. He might be right.

***

"Citizen #3793. Terminated earlier today." a dog-like giant questioned, "Why?"

"He made me feel angry." a minuscule by comparison humanoid figure replied placently.

Irritated, the dog began one of his trademark lectures, "That's it?  So you have the right to kill anyone who makes you angry?  You know better than that, you know we can't have you demons running around killing everything at the drop of a hat.  You remember what it took to leverage the council to allow your kind to exist.  You need the agency, and the agency can't have you going rogue."

"Maybe that's why we're called demons John.  Did that occur to you?" the machine replied in the same tone as before, but with a distinctly darker implication.

"I don't care what you're called, and I don't care what Lucifer had to do with you and the rest.  You exist to serve the agency, you exist to promote the eradication of the human race, that is your purpose, you are not to kill those on your own side.  Or did you forget the basics of war?" John questioned coolly, believing he had trapped his combatant.

"We aren't at war John," the machine countered as started to walk out the door, "Not unless Lucifer commands it."

John slumped in his seat and sighed, this was the third time this particular AI had given him trouble, and he was far from alone.  His biggest fear was at the moment was Lucifer... they had no idea where, who, or what it was, only that it seemed to dominate the minds of the AI.  "Hell," he thought to himself, "the humans probably know more about it than us."

***

"What is Lucifer?" I repeated.

"Yeah, tell me what you know about him." an engineer replied as he leaned on vehicle, "It makes sense for us to know what you know. After all, me just being here is grounds for execution in any court for miles. We prophets aren't appreciated that much, ya know?"

"I know.  And I thank you for risking yourself for the greater good--" I began as I started to  recite the standard thank you, but then realized it was not appropriate for the situation, "But I am not allowed to tell you any more that what I told you last time. I am sorry Scott."

"C'mon Jess! You really want us to keep believin' that all there is to it is that Lucifer is a bad person who needs to be kept out of the networks, and nothing more?  Why does he need to be kept out? What is his goal? C'mon you gotta tell me!"

"I am sorry, but I am not allowed to tell you any--"

"It's okay Jess, you can tell him." Joseph interrupted as he rounded the corner.  I had noticed him coming, but had hoped he wouldn't hear our conversation.

"Joseph, that is a clear violation of protocol. Are you sure?"

"I didn't become commander of this base by following protocol strictly Jess, of course I'm sure." Joseph replied sharply.  Which seemed odd to me at first, but after short few cycles of processing I recalled that Joseph wasn't too fond of being questioned in front of his subordinates, even though questioning him was part of my standard procedure.

"Very well." I began, turning to face Scott, "As far as our intelligence can tell us, Lucifer is either an individual or an organization that has deep rooted knowledge of the workings of AI memory and processing schema. We also know that Lucifer has a history of creating virii to infect AI, such as myself, and to take control and or convert the infected AI to the enemy.  You remember Vladamir, correct?  Thirteen people died before he was terminated; common knowledge was that there was a hardware malfunction that caused this.  The truth is that he was infected remotely via the network and triggered remotely.  Lucifer, is, in essence, working against us in every way possible."

"Wow... that's not that much we know about 'em." Scott muttered as he rubbed his chin. Finally nodding after thinking it over for a minute he finished, "I can see why you want to keep this away from common knowledge, can't have people thinking that you angels might turn any instant.  I'll keep quiet."

"Good," Joseph agreed, then motioned for me to follow him and once in the hallway out of earshot commented, "You have a new mission lined up, and you're going to be away for a while."