Mike handed Robby a pistol.
Despite popular belief, holding a gun didn't really bother a robot. Robby considered it a machine, like himself, which operated on fairly simple principles that Robby could completely control.
Guns don't kill people. People with guns kill people.
If Robby had wanted to (or could, as the case may be) kill people, there were much simpler methods not requiring extraneous tools of any sort. Humans were pretty squishy after all.
He examined the device, peering down the barrel.
John hastily nudged the barrel towards the ceiling. "Careful there bud."
Mike chuckled, "Don't worry, ain't even loaded. Think I'm nuts handing a loaded weapon to a robot?"
"I still think it's a stupid idea to bring a gun.", John said grumpily as he pulled a heavy workshirt on.
"Well I think it would be stupid not to bring one." Mike tapped on his quite large skull. "The brilliant part is the robot will be carrying it, so if the cops show up they'll be shooting at him while we duck out the back."
This seemed quite unfair to Robby. "I think you are a penis Mike."
"You mean dick."
Robby cocked his head. "I think you are a penis Dick."
"No I mean, my name is Mike, and I'm a dick."
"Yes, you are a penis, a very large one."
Mike blinked, "No...the saying goes...nevermind, what am I arguing with a robot for?"
"Because you are a large penis." Robby was quite enjoying these humans. "A very flaccid one."
Mike's face turned red.
He started to lunge for the robot, before John interceded. "Calm down Mike! I think he's intentionally pushing your buttons."
Mike spat, "He's the dick."
Robby turned away from the pair of humans, examining himself in the mirror.
He had tried to dissuade John from applying the slightly shoddy paintjob he now wore by hurling a nearly constant stream of similar invectives, but John had proven to be much more difficult to manipulate. Robby's chasis was now covered in construction orange, strips of yellow and black hazard tape and a printed logo declaring Robby "The Property of Feinman Construction, LLC".
The pistol was quite dashing though. Robby posed with it in a fashion he'd frequently seen in the Crime videos.
Mike's still cloudy expression broke, becoming a gap-toothed grin. "He thinks he's a gangster!"
John finished putting on his own workman ensemble and joined Robby at the mirror. "Put that thing away robot."
"My name is Robby."
The man glanced at the machine before looking away a little embarrassed. "People call all robots Robby."
"I know, it is quite confusing when many of us are present. It seems terribly inefficient to designate all of us with the same descriptor. Still, I do not think a human could remember my 16-digit serial number."
"Alright, alright...um...Robby." John looked back at Mike who was similarly outfitted for construction work. "I think we're ready."
The trio got into a beat up panel van parked in John's garage and outfitted with a Feinman sticker matching Robby's chest. The humans sat in the two front seats, Mike driving, while Robby hunched in back holding onto rails affixed to the ceiling and wall.
John turned in his seat to address them both. "Everybody know what they're supposed to do?"
Robby began to replay a recording of the previous two hours. John's own voice played, "So I'm thinking we run the old work crew dodge. I can spoof an email to the bank manager from the building management telling them to expect a work crew to..."
"Alright, shut up! You recorded what I said, but did you understand it?"
"I believe so John. I am to pose as a construction robot in a simulated work crew and follow your directions."
John nodded. "Good. Emphasis on following my directions. What about you Mike?"
"Keep my trap shut and let you do the talking."
John smiled. "Alright, maybe this won't completely blow up in our faces. Both of you follow my lead and don't do anything stupid."
YOU ARE READING
Robby the Robot Bank RobberScience Fiction
Robby was just another robot, doing his job, when he encounters the wrong sort of human who sends him on an improbable adventure as a wanted criminal.