Beyond the barricaded factory gate rose a red-brick complex with five towering smokestacks.
A rusted steel sign on the outer wall creaked in the wind —
“TERRA MOTORS – PLANT 2.”
June 19, 2032, 21:04.
Across the front gate hung banners reading “Protect Our Right to Live!” and “No Robots in the Workplace!”
Dozens of armed strikers—wielding steel pipes, hunting rifles, and makeshift shields—had taken over the road in front of the factory, facing off against a full company of riot police.
Inside the police safety perimeter, reporters moved frantically, broadcasting live.
On the monitor of the press vehicle Black Car Y, the image of reporter MIKA appeared — a striking woman in her twenties, boyishly beautiful, dressed in tight black leather.
“Fifty humanoid assembly robots, model P-308, are scheduled to begin work on July 1st.
Meanwhile, eighty members of the Terra Motors Union are staging a violent protest, occupying Plant 2, burning nine police vehicles, and detonating propane tanks.”
Dozens of flaming gas cylinders arced through the air toward the police line, exploding on impact.
Officers scattered for cover as Mika’s report continued.
“Protesters are demanding reinstatement of all laid-off workers, a total ban on labor robots, and triple overtime pay.
As we speak, several are emerging with lit propane tanks in their hands—”
Three men with red headbands reading “Rage!” and “Layoffs Are Murder!” rolled burning propane tanks toward the police, shouting:
“We’d rather die than lose our jobs to robots!”
The tanks clattered closer, and fear flashed across the riot officers’ faces.
Then—
Whirr—Chunk.
Through the line of retreating police stepped a towering humanoid, 2.3 meters tall, its metallic frame gleaming under the floodlights.
Its armored body bore countless scars from prior deployments; its helmeted face was smooth except for two short horns jutting upward.
A narrow red visor pulsed across its face — the eyes of PLUTO, a humanoid police robot.
“Police robot PLUTO is now entering the field!” Mika announced.
PLUTO (POL-13: Police Operative Line-13) caught a blazing propane tank in his arms.
Flames roared across his chest.
Behind him, human officers watched as the robot worked alone inside the inferno.
Across his back, the same word was stenciled as on theirs — POLICE.
Automated fire-suppression nozzles extended from his shoulders, dousing the flames.
He twisted the gas valve shut—
and in that instant, a glint from the protester’s side flashed through a telephoto lens.
A 7mm bullet from a bolt-action rifle slammed into the tank.
KA-BOOM.
The explosion hurled PLUTO backward. His body ignited.
Union leader Cho In-chul, a grizzled man in his fifties, smirked behind his rifle.
The fallen robot screeched, metal grinding, and rose to its feet.
Three riot officers rushed in, aiming fire extinguishers.
“Fire contained! PLUTO stabilizing!”
One shouted—unaware that someone had slipped past the police line.
A lone woman stepped forward, screaming:
“Cho In-chul, you murderer! Bring back my husband! Bring back my daughter!”
Protesters turned, puzzled by the deranged figure —
her coat layered and filthy, hair tangled, scarf torn.
She looked utterly mad.
“That crazy bitch again,” someone muttered.
Cho raised his rifle lazily, not intending to shoot, just to threaten.
The woman only screamed louder.
“Bad luck,” Cho spat, gesturing.
A striker lit a Molotov with his cigarette. Others followed suit.
Flaming bottles arced through the air toward the woman.
Fire blossomed around her in bursts of orange and white.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
PLUTO charged forward—
shielding the woman with his own body.
She looked up at him: the red light under his visor flickered silently from side to side.
Molotovs smashed against his back, bursting into flame.
His suppression units deployed again, spraying foam, but the fire refused to die.
Then the strike squad surged forward, swinging hooks and steel pipes, slamming them into his body.
The woman shrieked.
“Aah!”
From her car, Mika watched, eyes narrowing with intensity.
She leapt into Black Car Y.
“Leo, switch lens! 200mm. Closer! Step on it!”
The dashboard bristled with control panels — five LED monitors switching feeds at her command.
The roof-mounted camera auto-swapped lenses.
On the central display, the scene came into sharp focus: PLUTO, the madwoman, the mob.
A red LIVE indicator blinked in the corner.
—
By Sunjae Park
Editor, Korea Insight Weekly
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