All screams just sound like cycling modulation.

I never had a strong opinion about immigrants, but if you asked my coworkers, it wouldn’t matter how I felt otherwise. I was part of a movement in motion, and to be honest, I’m just a trained circus clown. I’ve got Roombas for feet, Christmas lights for eyes, and metal tubes for arms. I’m still considered part of America’s finest, pure security.

Today, we’re presenting at a charter school. All black kids, or at least that’s all I see in the crowd. One put some gum in my hand when he passed by; his friend kicked at my wheels and called me RoboFag. A hostile audience, animalistic in nature. I used to give presentations with some measure of class, some decorum. This is how they reward their tenured, injured veterans.

Line of duty, lost my legs. Stakeout on the south border, car rollover; the story’s grandeur doesn’t have an ending with justice so I stopped sharing it. Happened so long ago I hardly remember the details myself. Can’t retire, didn’t get disability, so I had to take the next best thing. I’m R2-D2 for the feds, a glorified dress-up doll that teaches kids which pepper spray works best for destabilization and that Dobermans are God’s chosen mammal. They cram me in this contraption, voice box on headset; they have the remote controls in case I finally decided to go AWOL and try to feed on one of these little bastards when they try to slur me on the way to the shortbus.

I stopped asking what we were doing this for long ago. Who our target audience was never appeared to matter. We were show ponying the might of the border forces in the hopes that, possibly, that the children’s criminally migrant family members would turn themselves in, shackled and hogtied. That the work would do itself, that we could finally rid ourselves of this parasitic culture that demands and only wants more each passing day. That’s my mission, my new goal for life on this planet.

To be some harbinger of the future, a costumed Terminator, bound for glory. My only option left, I have nowhere else to run. I am government-funding, I am a state service. Cleaned and minted every morning for duty.

Spit-shined, badge and helmet. Arms outstretched, awaiting next show time. I’m waking up to the shouts, the drool flinging. No time to waste: the world is waiting.