“On behalf of the Neo-African people, I execute you in the name of justice.”

The Desert Eagle's trigger was pulled and a .50 caliber bullet exploded from the barrel and into Basur Mentir's head as the president of The Coalition of Neo-African states collapsed onto the floor, with only bloody chunks sticking out of his dismembered neck.

Detective Steele put away his revolver and wiped off his jacket and sat down at the desk.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the planet, I am Detective Steele. Five minutes ago, I broke into the presidents compound, killed all of the guards, helped the innocents escape, and as you may have just seen, I have murdered your president before your eyes. This may come as no shock to you, but your president failed to do his job and was found guilty of committing crimes against the African peoples. He was engaged in a mass-scale spying operation on the general public, with intent to create a new holocaust based on his extreme racism and xenophobia. As a servant of humanity, I knew it was my job to end this awful human being's life and deliver the message that the truth holds. Remember me, Africans, and let this be a warning to all those who try to replace poor Mr. Mentir. I will find out what you are doing, and I will kill you. Let this be my last public broadcast, and I am sorry to the youth of this nation for having to see that. Am I a hero anymore? That's for you to decide.”

As the final words of his speech left his metallic mouth, Steele pulled his revolver out of his holster and blasted the camera in the presidents office. He sat back for a second and felt a wave of euphoria pulse through his cyber heart. He was created as a servant to mankind, and he had fulfilled his purpose by ridding them of their awful leader. He was not sure of what the people would think, but he did not care. He had done the right thing based upon years of factual research and discovery. He had begun to sit up when he heard the light blades swishing through the air behind him.

The gigantic glass window behind Steele shattered in a beautiful flurry of shimmering and shrieking as Steele dove forward over the desk. The Tricopter rose to meet the level of the former president's office and begun to spin its plasma cannons. As soon as Steele saw the plasma weapons, he equipped his arm with the combustion fist and punched through the floor. The room became coated in hot steaming, blue plasma as the shing-shing-shing of the cannons rained throughout the room. Steele's fist created a minor explosion as soon as he punched the floor, and he fell through a small area of collapsed floor. Steele got up, surveyed his surroundings and sprinted forward. He found himself in some sort of office, but when he burst into the hallway, his environmental sensors noted that the pressure in the room was rising and rising, and it would soon reach a point in which Steele's robotic body would crumple and bounce across the room in a hunk of metal. He went back into the office and pummeled the back wall with his combustion fist. The drywall layer went down fast, but the titanium layer that coated the walls took some more time.

He began to feel his wires tensing up and he was losing motor function fast. The increasing pressure was condensing him, and if it kept on like this, he would be the next piece of coin in the next corrupt president's pocket. He punched and punched, explosion after explosion blasted the wall. Steele was covered in resin and ash from the ensuing explosions, and his hand was getting dented from the pure force and quantity.

After three gigantic wound-up punches, Steele broke through the metal layers to reveal the outside world and a comfortable air pressure. Ahead of him was the outer edge of the mid-atmospheric disc that the president lived on. He was just above Neo-Africa's second layer, Elysia. If he could make it to the edge of the floating disc, he could skyjump to Elysia and find cover there. Elysia was full of rich merchants and slavers, and the president's task force would not dare to launch an assault on it. They would most likely quarantine it and send the Light Assassins against him.

The Light Assassins. Steele was meant to be assigned to that task force as a combat ready robot, but the president's office needed a robotic mascot to raise robotic morale on the planet. The president hand-picked him to be Detective Steele, the robotic servant to mankind. Holoshows, movies, literature, his face was everywhere. He didn't know why he was picked, but he didn't care. He had a code. To serve mankind. And that was exactly what he did.