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The room was filled with the faint scent of whiskey and cigar smoke.
General Ross, Chief George, and the Governor sat together around a sturdy oak table, their glasses half-full and laughter echoing across the room. These were men who ruled their worlds — soldiers, politicians, and strategists who made decisions that could change nations.
When Henry, the president of Vanderbuilt Technologies, walked in, all three turned toward him. The easy laughter dimmed slightly, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
"Come on, have a seat," General Ross said, lighting a thick cigar between his fingers.
Henry didn't waste time with unnecessary politeness. He gave a nod, pulled out a chair, and sat down with calm confidence. He didn't act nervous or submissive, nor did he try to appear arrogant. His composed expression carried a quiet defiance — the kind of attitude that immediately commanded attention.
The three powerful men exchanged brief glances.
There was something different about him.
This was not another desperate corporate man trying to curry favor with the military or the government.
Ross smiled thinly. "You probably know why I called you here."
Henry leaned back slightly, hands resting on his knees. "Of course, General."
"Oh?" Ross blew out a slow ring of smoke. "Then tell me — what do you think I want?"
Henry didn't answer directly. Instead, he turned toward his assistant — Izzy, who had been silently standing by his side.
He snapped his fingers once.
Izzy nodded and her eyes flickered with a sudden blue glow. Instantly, the lights in the room dimmed. The lively, smoke-filled atmosphere transformed into darkness, illuminated only by the faint blue light radiating from Izzy's eyes.
Then she raised her right hand.
A pulse of light formed above her palm, and the air shimmered.
In the next moment, the walls around them shifted into a massive virtual screen.
The three men stiffened slightly, watching as reality itself seemed to bend.
None of them expected Vanderbuilt Technologies to have achieved such advanced projection capability. It wasn't just a hologram — it felt real, almost alive.
A virtual presentation began to play. But it wasn't a cheerful promotional film filled with smiling faces or fancy product shots. No, this was something darker — raw, brutal, and powerful.
The first scene showed a city engulfed in chaos. Police officers sprinted between burning cars, exchanging gunfire with armed criminals.
One officer fell, blood splattering across the cracked pavement.
The gunfire echoed through the room, so realistic that Chief George instinctively flinched.
Another scene followed — a firefighter rushing into a burning building, trying to rescue trapped civilians.
But the flames roared higher, the roof collapsed, and his screams filled the air.
The fire swallowed everything.
A third scene emerged — a battlefield.
Soldiers advanced through mud and smoke.
Above them, a bomber roared past, releasing a stream of deadly shells.
Explosions erupted. One soldier was blown apart before their eyes.
The realistic display made even the Governor grip his chair tightly.
Only General Ross remained calm, eyes narrow and calculating.
Finally, the color drained from the scenes. Everything turned gray — cities, people, battlefields — all fading into ash. Then the gray mist tore apart.
From within it stepped a tall mechanical figure — a humanoid robot with red-glowing eyes.
It looked powerful, intimidating, and eerily lifelike.
The light in the room returned, but the robot remained — a virtual projection hovering in front of them. The hologram's crimson gaze swept over the men like a predator scanning its prey.
Henry finally spoke, his calm voice echoing in the quiet room.
"As you can see, gentlemen, whether in the city or on the battlefield, countless lives are lost every year — police officers, firefighters, soldiers. Brave men and women, sacrificing themselves for duty. But tell me…"
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with conviction.
"Is there no way to prevent these sacrifices?"
He paused.
"The answer," he said softly, "is obvious."
He gestured toward the projection.
"At Vanderbuilt Technologies, we have developed a revolutionary solution — a new generation of Modia Units, designed exclusively for government and defense use."
As he spoke, the projected robot rotated slowly, displaying its design schematics and internal components.
"These Modia Units," Henry continued, "come in three specialized models — Police, Military, and Firefighting."
The hologram divided into three distinct figures — one blue, one green, and one red — each standing proudly in front of the men.
Izzy stepped forward to introduce them.
She pointed to the blue figure. "This is the Police Model Modia Unit. Height: 1.9 meters. Weight: 120 kilograms. It can run up to thirty-two kilometers per hour and lift over sixty kilograms with each arm. Controlled by satellite, it requires only one hour of charging per month for continuous operation."
She moved to the red figure. "This is the Firefighting Model. Built with high-temperature-resistant materials, it's designed to withstand extreme heat and collapse environments. Strong, durable, and nearly indestructible."
Finally, she gestured to the green figure. "And this is the Military Model — the most flexible and high-performance version. It's faster, stronger, and equipped for field combat, though naturally, it's also the most expensive."
The three men were silent, watching intently as the holograms demonstrated their features — moving through virtual simulations of crime scenes, warzones, and burning buildings.
Izzy continued, her tone steady.
"These Modia Units have two key advantages over human personnel."
She raised a finger. "First — they never tire. Human beings have physical limits — fatigue, pain, hunger, fear. Once those limits are reached, performance drops and mistakes multiply. A machine has no such weaknesses. It keeps moving, as long as energy is supplied."
"Second," she said, raising another finger, "they are replaceable. Even if a Modia is destroyed, as long as the core processor remains intact, it can be rebuilt at minimal cost. Humans, however…"
Her eyes flickered softly. "A broken limb or lost life cannot be restored so easily."
Henry smiled faintly.
"The logic is simple. Machines protect humans from risk. We send robots into the fire, into gunfights, onto battlefields — not people."
The room fell silent again.
Even General Ross looked impressed, though he didn't show it openly. Chief George and the Governor exchanged glances, their expressions softening into cautious approval.
They could already imagine the implications — a world where the military, police, and rescue forces could operate without losing human lives. No funerals, no grieving families, no media scandals.
After several minutes, the three men leaned together, whispering among themselves. Henry waited patiently, his hands folded. Izzy stood behind him like a motionless statue, the faint blue light in her eyes slowly dimming.
Finally, General Ross turned back toward him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, Mr. Henry," he said, "it seems you've brought us something quite remarkable. But tell me—"
He tapped his cigar against the ashtray.
"—how much does it cost?"
Henry's smile deepened. "I thought you'd ask that."
He reached into his briefcase and drew out a sleek black folder. With a practiced gesture, he slid it across the table to the General.
Ross flipped it open. Inside were detailed specifications, cost analyses, maintenance breakdowns, and projected savings compared to current government expenditure on human personnel. His cigar paused halfway to his lips as he scanned the figures.
Chief George leaned over his shoulder. "These numbers… are you serious?"
"Every line is verified," Henry said smoothly. "The Modia Units can reduce annual operation costs by thirty percent while saving thousands of lives."
The Governor exhaled slowly, looking thoughtful. "If this works as you say… it could change everything."
Henry nodded. "That's exactly what we intend."
For a moment, silence returned to the room. The only sound was the faint hum of the holographic projector as the three robotic figures slowly dissolved into particles of light.
General Ross finally raised his glass of whiskey.
"To progress," he said, his tone half-gruff, half-admiring.
Henry smiled and clinked his glass. "To a safer future."
They drank.
But as the warm burn of whiskey faded down his throat, Ross's expression turned sharp again.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "Tell me one last thing, Mr. Henry. These robots… can they be controlled remotely by anyone other than your company?"
Henry met his gaze without hesitation. "No one but Vanderbuilt Technologies and authorized government command. Every Modia is embedded with a unique neural encryption system. Tampering is impossible."
Ross stared at him for a long moment — then finally nodded.
"Good," he said quietly. "Because if these things ever go rogue…"
He smirked, the corner of his lip twitching.
"…it won't just be criminals they'll be hunting."
Henry didn't flinch. "That's why I'm here, General. To make sure that never happens."
The meeting ended with a deal in motion — a handshake that would soon change the balance of power across the nation.