Author: Ninja
One: It doesn't matter what people think. Two: Never go the minimum speed limit. Three: No hitch hikers. Four: Looking back is just asking for a punch in the face.
These were just some of the words Gunmax lived by.
Yep. If anyone could write a manual on life tips and tricks, it would be the Motorcycle Detective. Maybe Shadowmaru could co-author it, being a rather worldly and experienced robot himself - and Gunmax supposed the ninja was also marginally cooler than everyone else, also much like yours truly. Actually, maybe Shadowmaru could type it out, because Gunmax couldn't be bothered. Eh, never mind. The world hadn't earned it. If someone wanted to learn something about life, then they could learn it the hard way - just like Gunmax did.
Rule Five: If everything's easy coasting then it means you haven't crashed yet.
"Hi, Gunmax!"
The visored Brave tucked his chin in acknowledgment when Drill Boy passed him in the hall. "Hey," he replied with scarce a backwards glance.
The more colorful soccer enthusiast continued his prance toward the Decker Room. Gunmax reflected on the encounter as he usually did (that is to say, not at all) while he made his way to the repair bay. It was pouring outside and the steady drum of rain on the precinct roof was becoming more discernible.
"Oh, Gunmax!"
Eh?
Gunmax glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Soccer Detective backtrack to catch up with him. Drill Boy beamed openly when he caught pace with the biker bot, who had, against his better judgment, come to a stop. "You know," Drill Boy began, "the other day..."
"'The other day'?" Gunmax repeated and felt a sense of trepidation as he did. What a weird emotion; trepidation.
"Yes, the other day!" Cue pout. It was not super effective. "That's when you promised to play soccer with me. Remember?"
Gunmax did not remember such a promise. In fact, Gunmax was pretty sure he would never, ever make such a promise unless certain outrageous threats were involved - and that was stretching it. Strangely, Drill Boy had ways of recalling people saying things they had no recollection of. Mysteriously, these recollections always seemed to involve soccer.
No dice. "I think you've got the wrong robot, kid."
That's when the former patrolman's vision filled with paper. "Eh-?!" Gunmax jerked back and scowled.
"You're on the list!" Drill Boy declared with an indignant pout and both hands on his hips. A sinuous third 'arm' snaked from a compartment in the front of his chest. In its tiny, mechanical pincers it waved a piece of paper. On said paper was a list of names in ink. The biker recognized Power Joe's messy scrawl and McCrane's precise, compact signature. What?
"Unbelievable," Gunmax groused before snatching the paper out of the orange kid's grip. The errant limb zipped back inside the Soccer Detective's plating with a triumphant click. "Don't they tell you not to whip that out in public?"
"See?" Drill Boy smacked the paper with a finger, clearly ignoring the comment. "It's right there!"
Gunmax's gaze fell down the list.
Dumpson. Deckerd. Power Joe. Power Joe. Shadowmaru. McCrane. Deckerd. Shadowmaru. Power Joe. G-
No. It couldn't be. Yet there it was; penned flawlessly with meticulous attention to Gunmax's own handwriting, with every stroke accounted for: Gunmax.
"Ah, what good is this to me?" Gunmax complained with a flick of his wrist that made the Soccer Detective dance in place to snatch his paper back before it sailed down the hall. "A bunch of names doesn't mean anything." And there it was again: trepidation.
The shorter mech managed to snatch the paper back after his first attempt missed. When he did, Drill Boy held it up again as though it were a holy grail, only this time, he defiantly pointed his finger at the large type at the top that came before the list of names. Gunmax had purposefully avoided reading that bit... until now.
DRILL BOY'S SOCCER SCHEDULE. SIGN UP FOR PLAYTIMES.
Gunmax stared.
"See?" Drill Boy prodded at the headline several more times. He beamed again. "As soon as the sun comes out, we can go to the park!"
Gunmax waved the paper out of his face and resumed striding toward the repair bay. "Tch! I'll think about it."
"Jerk!" The Soccer Detective huffed but didn't follow.
The bay door was open when Gunmax arrived. Beyond the open threshold fell a gray veil of rain. A large, purple shape lay thoughtfully by the doors with its attention turned towards the downpour. One of Shadowmaru's pointy ears swiveled when Gunmax entered grumbling.
"Things got a little noisy back there," Shadowmaru observed, his snout resting on two crossed paws.
"Some moron put my name on the list," Gunmax grunted. He imagined the rain was the only thing that had kept Drill Boy from bodily dragging him from the building. A sense of inevitably fell upon him. The rain would not last forever. The sun would come out, and then he would have an obligation... apparently.
Shadowmaru swiveled another ear toward him. "List?" he inquired, not turning around.
"The List," Gunmax clarified. He snorted. "Some joke..."
"Sounds like you were volunteered."
There was something in Shadowmaru's voice that made Gunmax pause. The amber-eyed biker squinted at the innocuous-looking canine lying primly on the bare concrete. "Anyone ever told you that you look suspicious?" Gunmax asked him while feeling distinctly suspicious himself.
Shadowmaru looked at him. The nerve of the ninja to actually maintain eye contact when he stated, "Oh, I don't know. I can't recall," was actually impressive.
The Motorcycle Detective flopped on the ground next to him: "You just wait."
"It was only a matter of time," Shadowmaru assuaged. "Besides, who's to say the person whom volunteered you did so out of malice?"
"Ha! Tell me more."
"Of course. Consider this: Perhaps it was done to spare someone of authority noticing the lack of green on the list, thus provoking a rousing speech about teamwork and duty."
"You're still not off the hook."
Gunmax could almost swear he saw the purple canine's muzzle plates twist in a cheeky grin.
They sat there for what felt like a long time. Gunmax retrieved a canister and nursed it for a few minutes while they watched the rain. Sitting around wasn't exactly his favorite pastime to be sure, but what the hell. There was something to be said for a bit of peace and quiet. He'd be missing both of those things soon enough.
Besides, Shadowmaru always seemed to get heavy when the sky put on waterworks. The ninja's thousand mile stare off into the gray skies outside said enough about where his mind was; definitely not in the present, that was for sure. It was a habit of his and one of the few things Gunmax was a little tactful about.
Gallantly betrayed or no, Gunmax didn't mind providing a little bit of company, even if it was to a big purple traitor.
The biker huffed and kicked back to brace himself on one hand. "What's up?" he prodded when the silence had gone on a little too long for his liking.
"Thinking," was the reply.
"Heh." Gunmax took a sip and threw back his hand with dry laugh. "That's a shock."
"You don't seem concerned."
"About what?" Gunmax grinned and waved a hand. "Running around and kicking an inflatable sack? I'm stuck either way." Drill Boy would never let it go.
Shadowmaru made a thoughtful noise. Gunmax kicked back farther and relaxed.
"Don't worry about things you can't change," the Motorcycle Detective continued. "Sixth rule of the road. Remember it."
The ninja made an amused sound: "So Drill Boy isn't the only one with a list..."
"Keh! Mine's cooler." Gunmax shot the ninja a finger gun salute. "It's going to be a book. You'll be writing it for me."
"Will I?"
"That's right, pup. This time you're the one getting volunteered."
Shadowmaru laughed, and just like that the gig was up. The rain had started to abate. As the clouds began to part, Gunmax felt a faint twinge of dread.
"I will think of you," Shadowmaru informed him when the first rays of sun hit the concrete outside.
The bay door flew open to the sound of an exuberantly yelling drilltank. Gunmax grimaced.
"I'm up," Gunmax groused while Drill Boy ran laps around him while pinging a soccer ball off the floor. He hauled his chassis off the floor with a groan. "Feh! I'm up!"
Drill Boy wagged his arms. "Yay! Yay! Yay!"
Rule seven: Never show weakness.
"Ugh."
"Yay!"
... Or something like that.