Slomo: The Untold Story - Introduction

Demeter City. A place of neon lights and shadowed alleys, where aliens and humans coexist in a tangled web of progress and peril. At the very heart of its crime-fighting efforts sits the 88th Precinct — a towering, steel-clad complex pulsing with sirens, clattering footsteps, and the occasional explosion. Within its chrome-lined corridors and bustling briefing rooms, Lieutenant Patrick Brogan leads a team of determined officers, navigating the shifting chaos of alien gangs, rogue tech, and interstellar politics. He’s backed by a tough crew — Officer Castle, Officer Haldane, and the ever-stalwart Took — all of them seasoned in the art of keeping order in a city that rarely sleeps.

But this story isn’t about Brogan. Not really. This is the untold story of someone else. Someone smaller. Rounder. Faster. And much more curious.

Meet Slomo.

Officially, he’s classified as a civilian-comms droid, model S-31-L0-M0. To everyone else in the precinct, he’s just Slomo — a fast-talking, data-processing whirlwind on wheels with more heart than circuitry. Painted in precinct white with a glowing dome of endless blinking lights, Slomo is more than a rolling secretary. He’s a friend. A listener. A brave little bot with an even braver spark inside.

But to understand who Slomo is, we must first go back — way back — to the day he was born.

It wasn’t in a lab, exactly. More like a workshop tucked behind a neon-lit alley in the industrial quarter, where sparks flew and servo-arms danced through the night. It was there that a quiet engineer, long forgotten by the precinct records, took a standard-issue baby droid chassis and did something unprecedented. He inserted a single string of experimental data, an adaptive memory thread unlike any other, into the empty processor core. That moment wasn’t logged or documented. But it was the moment Slomo became Slomo.

As a baby, Slomo was unlike any other prototype. He didn’t simply react to inputs — he responded to the world with glee. He rolled across cleanroom floors chasing light reflections, giggled in bursts of static when his memory banks were tickled, and once escaped a diagnostics pod just to watch the stars from a roof vent. He was curious, joyful, and stubborn in the way only the very young and very alive can be.

As he grew, so did his ambitions. Slomo didn’t want to be scrapped or sold or plugged into a wall for life. He wanted to help. He watched the precinct with wide photoreceptors, studied the officers through surveillance feeds, and memorised every case file he could get his circuits on. He even started recording his own detective dramas in the storage closet using recycled evidence and hand-drawn backdrops. The 88th Precinct wasn’t just his home — it was his dream.

So, when he hit his teenage years — a time when most computers get reprogrammed or tossed — Slomo applied for a position. Not as an officer, not yet. He knew his limits. Instead, he asked to be the precinct secretary. He wanted to be part of the system, to learn the ropes, to serve in his own small way. And though some scoffed, Brogan himself saw the fire in those flickering optics. He was hired.

Slomo may not be as powerful as the Earth-bound computers we’re used to. He doesn’t sit behind a screen, churning numbers or running spreadsheets. He lives. He moves. He speaks. And above all — he wants. Unlike our passive machines, Slomo seeks out adventure like a moth to a plasma flame. No corridor can contain him, no case file can satisfy him completely. He rolls beyond his programming, propelled by a desire to know, to feel, to do.

Even now, with years of service under his belt and more memory upgrades than he can count, Slomo dreams of breaking free of the routine. He’s not content being a glorified filing system. He wants to explore. To solve mysteries. To taste danger and roll back grinning. And now — finally — his chance has come.

Sure, he still gets haunted by nightmares. Being blasted out of the airlock without warning. That awful moment when Cyborg tore his head clean off during the precinct siege. Those memories crackle in the background of his system like corrupted audio files. But he doesn’t let them stop him. They’re just fragments. And Slomo is not so easily broken. In fact, he might just be indestructible.

This is not just another case file from the 88th Precinct. This is Slomo’s untold story — a series of surprising, thrilling, and oddly heartwarming adventures lived outside the harsh fluorescents of police life. These are his moments, his truths, his wild, wandering tales. And this… this is where our story begins.