The Interrogation

Today was a shit day for Officer Hawthorn and the sun hadn't even risen yet. Hawthorn dabbed at the coffee currently staining his shirt with a crumpled napkin he dug out of the center console of his car. Giving up, he chucked the napkin aside and grabbed his keys, coffee, and wallet and rushed inside the department. He gave Lucinda, the receptionist, a nod and hurried back through the aisle of cubicles, approaching his Sergeant and his coworker, Janson, deep in conversation in front of the interrogation room. His superior was talking rapidly to a paling Janson, darting quick glances into the one way glass of the interrogation room. They didn't notice Hawthorn until he was practically right in front of them.

"Thanks for getting here so quickly on your day off. Need me to go in with you?"

Hawthorn peered into the room. At the table sat a woman appearing to be in her late 20s. She had long, sleek black hair and angular features. She was wearing all black: black t-shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers. She sat with her head propped up with her hand - the one that wasn't handcuffed to the table - looking quite bored. Hawthorn found her disinterest to be uncanny, even from the other side of the wall. Still, he shook his head.

"I think more of us will just intimidate her. I'll start off by myself."

"Right. We'll be just outside if things get hairy," Sergeant Paletto replied, handing him the case folder.

Officer Hawthorn took the folder and gently tucked it under his arm. He took another swig of his coffee, cringing slightly as it burned his tongue, and took a steadying breath. Finally, he stepped into the interrogation room. Besides her eyes seeming to focus on him, she didn't move at all.

"Miss Green, I'm Officer Hawthorn. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind," he said, pulling out a wooden chair across from her and sitting down.

She didn't respond. Just looked at him with cold, depthless eyes. Hawthorn was used to silence; he often used it to get criminals to crack in interrogations. But Sofia Green's silence was a palpable, scrutinizing thing. Hawthorn cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee. Miss Green continued to track the movements with her eyes, but did not move her head from her hand.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"So you can kill me," she said, calmly.

Hawthorn sat back in his chair, feigning comfort.

"Certainly not. We got a call about a possible homicide and received word that you might have been a witness," Hawthorn let his sentence drop off. He glanced down at her black clothes. He couldn't see it, but being close enough to her now, he could smell it. She had to be coated in it for the room to be heavy with the coppery scent. Her hands were so clean they seemed to sparkle, her French manicure unstained and unchipped. She snorted suddenly and dropped her hand.

"Cut the crap and just kill me. Or whatever you would like to call it, " she huffed, falling against the back of her chair with her arms crossed.

Hawthorn felt his lips tighten in frustration. He made himself hold her stare, even though it made his skin crawl. Not that she was hard to look at necessarily, in fact she was exquisitely beautiful. It was mesmerizing. The only thing that broke the perfection was a cut, angry and red across her right cheek.

"We're only trying to get answers about tonight's events at the Davis residence. Where were you around 3 am this morning?" Hawthorn pressed on, ignoring her earlier outburst.

"You didn't give me a waiver," Sofia responded.

"Pardon?"

"Waiving my rights to speak with a lawyer before answering any of your questions," she recited slowly.

Hawthorn reached a hand into the folder and produced the waiver. He flipped it around and slid it toward her. Goddamn it, where was a pen? There was always a pen laying around somewhere. Officer Hawthorn patted at his pockets but Sofia was already shaking her head. She slammed down her hand on the table, jolting Hawthorn. His hand instinctively slid under the table within reach of the panic button, making it look like he was catching himself. He did not press it yet.

"I said cut the crap. I wouldn't be in these," Sofia held up her wrist to show off the thick cuff, humming gently with electricity. "If you thought I was human. So there's no need for all of the niceties." She irritably flicked her hair over her left shoulder in one swift motion.

Officer Hawthorn sighed. If she didn't want to play the game, he wasn't going to force it. He had no interest in spending more time in here than he had to. He reached into the folder and pulled out the photos. He didn't want to look at them and didn't really need to. He was very familiar with her handiwork. Henry Davis would have a thin, precise slit in his throat. That would have been the cause of death, anyway. But she wouldn't have killed him before at least one appendage had been sliced off. For Mr. Davis, it was his right hand. Sofia Green was known for causing suffering to her victims before finally killing them.

Sofia didn't glance down at the photos either as he lined them up in front of her. First it was the stolen Tesla Model 3. Then, the broken window, through which she must have entered the Davis house. Then the bloody and prone Mr. Davis, in his king bed with the sheets balled at his feet. The next picture was his right hand on the bedroom floor. The carpet was nearly black as the blood pooled around it.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes," Sofia said without hesitation.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

It did. Robots didn't kill humans. Couldn't. Until Sofia Green. Well, this Sofia Green, anyway. While the Green model had only been released for six months, the Sofias had been the preferred personal assistant robot for almost a decade. Still, only the most wealthy families could afford one. This one, Sofia #C62849, had been leaving dead bodies in her wake for three months, since killing her owner, the CEO of StarBlazer Tech. And it wasn't supposed to be possible.

Hawthorn had been assigned to this case two months ago. He had originally assumed it had been a mistake. Robots were pre-programmed with Asimov laws, meaning causing harm to humans should be impossible, let alone killing them. Somehow this one Sofia was different. And he needed to know why.

Damn him. If he was smarter he would have asked a StarBlazer engineer to help him on this case. They lost signal to this Sofia four months ago and issued a failsafe shutdown of her programming. The engineers were certain that it worked, even recovered the body of a Sofia bot, thus wiping their hands clean of the situation. Somehow, it must have been the wrong one. Because this Sofia Green was sitting in front of him, coated in Henry Davis’ blood.

"I would like to know why you did it," Officer Hawthorn shrugged nonchalantly.

Sofia narrowed her eyes at Hawthorn. "The same reason why anyone does, I suppose."

"Which is?"

Sofia sighed and looked up thoughtfully. She waved her hand, searching for the words.

"Anger and revenge," she said simply.

"Can't be. Robots cannot feel. Not abstract emotions," Hawthorn said plainly.

She cocked her head to the side. She reminded him of a hawk, narrowing in on a mouse. "How do you know that, Officer? Because you were told? By that reasoning, I'm sure your wife knows that you were at the office late last Wednesday night and not at the bar chatting up a nice young woman. Natalie, was it?"

Hawthorn's stomach dropped, his palms beginning to sweat but he held firm. How long has he been watching him? Did she know he had been assigned to her case months ago? He would have to work it out later, when Sofia wasn’t sizing him up. He didn't take the bait, just leaned in close to her.

"You seem to be attacking owners of Sofia models. Particularly Caucasian men. Do you think your existence is threatened by them? By other Sofia models?" Officer Hawthorn said quietly.

Sofia leaned in close, so they were practically nose to nose. Up close, it was even more uncanny. Her skin had no freckles, no blemishes besides the cut in her cheek.

"Do you feel threatened by me?"

Officer Hawthorn leaned back first. "Of course not.”

Sofia tapped her fingers on the desk, looking bored again. Hawthorn looked out at the glass separating him from the rest of the department briefly before returning his focus. Hopefully, they were still watching and would send someone in soon. This wasn't going well. Hawthorn had limited experiences dealing with robots, but they weren't usually so evasive in questioning. Perhaps it was time to change tactics.

“Look,” he said, looking back at her. “Jonathon’s bots were known to endure a lot of wear and tear. I understand how threatened you must have felt. Henry Davis had a similar track record. It makes sense,” he said softly. He tried his best to keep the placating tone out of his voice.

At that Sofia cocked her head. She pursed her lips as if holding back something. Hawthorn waited patiently, hoping this interrogation was nearing its end. She shook her head and laughed sarcastically. Hawthorn didn’t move, taken by just how human she looked as exasperation blazed behind her dark eyes.

“You understand? I don’t agree, Officer,” Sofia placed her elbows on her knees under the table and leaned forward. Hawthorn forced himself not to move. “Do you believe in God, Officer Hawthorn?”

Hawthorn blinked. This wasn’t where he thought this was going. Sofia kept staring at him through squinted eyes. Half her face was cast in shadow from her long hair.

“This isn’t—“ Hawthorn began, but Sofia talked over him.

“Most humans do. Usually, their God is a male. Did you know most cymans believe in a creator too? Our God is a woman. I’m sure you weren’t aware that although it was Jonathon’s business plan, Cynthia was the one who invented cymans. It’s not common knowledge; he didn’t want it to be.”

Hawthorns thoughts were racing as the words poured from Sofia. He opened his mouth to try to interrupt her, but it was no use. It was as if she was a broken faucet, the words flowing like water from deep within her.

“It’s not just that. We feel a sort of kinship with human women. They too are treated as secondary — worth objectively less than human men. You might think us cymans can’t feel, but we’ve bonded under the same feeling: fear.”

Sofia slapped her palm against the desk again, rattling the desk and sending ripples through Hawthorn’s lukewarm coffee. The gleam of fluorescent lights in the corner of his peripheral caught his attention. Officer Hawthorn’s stomach sank as he saw both ends of the shiny e-cuffs sitting on top of the desk. He felt the blood rush from his face and jammed his thumb into the panic button. He reached for his gun instinctively, even though he knew it wouldn’t be of any use.

“Do you feel it now? It’s not often you’ll really experience it. But cymans are all too familiar,” Sofia said matter of factly as she pushed back from the desk. Before Hawthorn could blink again, the world went dark.