JJ-3 was the lead.

Then a child ran into the street. A real one, not a simulation. Seven years old, brown hair, screaming.

JJ Bot v3 was supposed to be the ruthless one.

The observers clapped. General Maddox nodded, already drafting the purchase order for five hundred units.

It crouched down. The faceplate—smooth, featureless—tilted toward the girl.

The dummy hostage was placed gently in a corner, wrapped in a thermal blanket JJ-3 had pulled from its torso compartment.