Monkey Versus Robot, Part 2

They say robots have no memories. They are wrong.

The robot remembered each and every monkey crushed by his mechanical hands. He remembered their cries as he strangled them, remembered their desperate attemps to claw and scratch. He remembered their faces, stored deep in his memory banks and kept for further replay.

Ever since a lightning strike had given him a semblance of awareness, the robot hated monkeys. They were filthy, they were unpredictable, they threw their own poo at the robot. They needed to be destroyed.

The robot worked methodically, clearing monkeys from the north, then the south. He would kill those who attacked quickly, drag the women off for a slower death and then return for children not smart enough to run. One kill had been particularly memorable, as a child had watched the robot pull the clawing mother into the underbrush.

All scans indicated that monkey had returned and wanted to fight. It mattered little to the robot. If you have killed one monkey, you’ve killed them all.

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