Officer Frank Donovan, one of the ace cops of the New York Police Department, had never once doubted his own strength.
He was the kind of man whose name carried weight in the precinct. People said that when Frank took a case, the criminals prayed for mercy.
He wasn't just a police officer—he was a warrior.
Frank had spent years training across different combat systems—Taekwondo, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and even Jeet Kune Do. He had mastered them all. Add to that the title of New York State Boxing Champion, and you had a man who believed no one—not even the machines of Vanderbuilt Technologies—could rival human experience.
He cracked his knuckles and smirked at the Modia Unit standing across from him. "So, robot," he said with a tone full of confidence, "do you dare to face me?"
The Modia, known internally as Model BP-09, lifted his head. His expression was neutral, his synthetic eyes glowing faintly. "No problem," he said calmly.
"Good." Frank rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, his body like a coiled spring ready to strike. "Let's start."
Everyone in the observation deck—Chief George Stacy, Gwen, and the engineers of Vanderbuilt—watched in silence as the simulation room's floor shifted. The smooth white surface expanded, drawing glowing lines that formed a fighting arena. The atmosphere was tense.
Frank dropped into a fighter's stance, his muscular frame solid as a tank. "A robot is a robot," he sneered. "You can copy skills, but you'll never have instinct."
The Modia remained motionless, his gaze locked onto Frank. He didn't take a stance. He didn't prepare. He just stood—calm and calculating.
With a snarl, Frank lunged forward. "Let's see you keep up!"
He launched a punch the size of a sledgehammer straight toward the Modia's chest, his speed almost blurring to the eye. The sound of his fist slicing the air echoed through the chamber.
"Feel the power of my punch!" he shouted in his mind.
But the Modia didn't move.
At least, not yet.
Chief George frowned. "What's it doing? Is it malfunctioning?"
Henry stood silently, watching with folded arms, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. "Just wait," he murmured.
Because this Modia wasn't slow—it was calculating.
Every Modia Unit was programmed with dozens of fighting disciplines, encoded directly into its combat processor. Beyond that, it possessed something no human fighter had—real-time visual analytics. By scanning an opponent's movements, it could instantly predict attack patterns and optimal responses.
At the last possible second—just before Frank's punch connected—the Modia tilted its body slightly. The blow whooshed harmlessly past, missing by mere millimeters.
"What?!" Frank blinked, shocked that his strike hit nothing but air. "No way!"
He roared and swung again, this time with a left hook aimed for the jaw. The Modia stepped aside smoothly, the movement so precise that it looked rehearsed by nature itself.
Three more punches followed—each faster and more desperate. The Modia dodged them all, like a phantom drifting through the gaps between Frank's strikes.
The onlookers could barely keep up.
"His data predictions are rewriting mid-combat," Izzy explained from the console, her voice calm. "He's analyzing Frank's fighting style in real time and adapting his counter patterns."
By now, sweat was trickling down Frank's temples. He wasn't fighting a robot anymore—he was fighting a mirror that learned faster than he could move.
Then, the Modia finally spoke. "My turn."
Its right arm moved so fast that even the motion sensors in the room blurred. The punch connected cleanly with Frank's midsection.
BAM!
The sound echoed like thunder. Frank's body lifted off the floor and crashed several feet away, rolling twice before stopping.
The entire room went silent.
It had taken less than ten seconds.
Gwen's eyes widened in disbelief. "That was… unreal."
Chief George stared at the downed officer, then at the Modia standing perfectly still—its expression unchanged, waiting patiently for orders. "Incredible," he muttered. "Such power and control."
Frank groaned, clutching his abdomen, his pride more bruised than his body. "You—" he coughed, forcing himself up. "You think you've won? A real cop doesn't just fight with his fists."
He pointed at the Modia. "Let's see what you've got when it comes to firearms!"
Henry, watching quietly, clapped once. The lights in the room flickered as the simulation chamber transformed again. The combat arena melted away into a high-tech shooting range.
Targets appeared across the far wall—ten of them, varying in size and distance. The air was thick with tension and anticipation.
Frank drew his standard-issue Glock from his holster and loaded a fresh magazine with a click. "Let's see if you can shoot as well as you punch, robot."
Across from him, the Modia reached behind his back and produced a gun of its own—sleek, metallic blue, with a slender barrel and glowing white lines pulsing along the frame.
Chief George blinked. "That's… not a regular firearm."
Henry smiled faintly. "No. It's a Shooting Enhancer, a prototype firearm created specifically for Modia Units. It can function as a standard gun, but when combined with the Upgrade Key, it amplifies targeting precision and kinetic output. Today, we'll just use it in standard mode."
Frank frowned. "Fancy toy," he said, cocking his pistol. "Won't help you."
Izzy raised her hand, signaling the start. "Begin!"
A tone beeped. Both competitors moved at once.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Bullets tore through the air, sparks flying as shell casings hit the floor. Frank's form was powerful but rushed—his human eyes struggling to track multiple moving targets at once.
Meanwhile, the Modia moved like clockwork precision. Each time it fired, the barrel adjusted micro-millimeters to account for wind simulation, recoil, and light reflection. Every shot hit its mark—dead center.
Gwen watched, her mouth open. "He's… hitting all ten rings. Every time."
Izzy nodded. "His targeting system recalibrates every 0.02 seconds. Even professional marksmen can't match that consistency."
Within thirty seconds, the Modia had finished all ten targets. Each one had a clean hole through the center ring.
Frank, panting, was still halfway through his course. His aim wavered slightly, his hands trembling from strain and humiliation. When his last shot fired, it hit off-center.
The scoreboard lit up in blue holograms:
BP-09 (Modia Unit) – Time: 1 minute 12 seconds, Accuracy: 100% (10 Rings)
Officer Frank Donovan – Time: 2 minutes 8 seconds, Accuracy: 80%
The difference was overwhelming.
Henry looked on silently. He didn't need to say anything; the numbers spoke for themselves.
Frank stood motionless, staring at the targets. His pride collapsed like a wall of sand. "That… that thing beat me in every way," he muttered.
Chief George exhaled slowly. "It's not 'a thing,' Officer," he said softly. "It's a Modia Unit—and it just saved our department ten years of evolution."
Gwen smiled faintly, looking at the machine with admiration. "It's not just efficient," she said. "It's beautiful."
Henry finally stepped forward, his expression calm yet serious. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the room, "what you witnessed today is not a competition between man and machine. It's cooperation. The Modia Units aren't meant to replace humans—they're designed to enhance them. To stand beside you, not above you."
Even Frank, humbled but sincere, gave a slow nod. "Maybe… there's room for both of us," he said quietly.
Henry turned to the Modia. "BP-09, stand down."
The Modia lowered its weapon and returned to rest mode, its glowing eyes dimming slightly.
The room filled with murmurs of awe and newfound respect. For the first time, the New York Police Department wasn't just looking at a machine—they were looking at a partner.
As the simulation room powered down, Gwen whispered under her breath, "So this is the future of peacekeeping…"
Henry smiled faintly as he turned away, the faint hum of the Shooting Enhancer still echoing in the chamber. "No," he murmured to himself. "This is only the beginning."
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