****Important Note: Been speaking with Galaxy1001D, he has Returned!, so please note, that everything from Chapter 7A onward is a different take on the story. We have decided that these 'Alternate' chapters will not be fillers to his great work. Why didn't I just start over to begin with, well, same reason any FanFic is written. I am as much a fan of his work as I am of the Original Series, I see his work on par with Canon... as Canon, and to start over from the beginning seems like back-stepping.)

The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise and Bandai Visual.
THE BIG O: SEASON THREE, and any new and original characters contained within, were created by Galaxy1001D

THE BIG O:

Act 39A (Alternate)

ROGER THE DOMINEUS: AN ALTERNATE TAKE

Big-O!

Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!

Big-O!

Big-O! Big-O! B-O!

Cast in the name of God!

Negotiator

Ye not the guilty!

Android

We have come to terms!

Butler

Big-O!

Officer

Big-O!

Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!

Big-O!

Big-O! Big-O! -O! -O! Big-O!

Prologue: A Word from Norman Bur….

The old style elevator opens and out steps a tall elderly man who's…Wait a minutes this can't be right... where's Norman?

Exiting the elevator and standing before you appears a bizarre patchwork of a man? A makeshift form of what seems to be an android of some kind, though its struggling movements make it appear more disheveled then any precision controlled machine; even a damaged one at that. His appearance, a conglomerate of metal, wire, flesh and rusted black armor adorned with bolts and rivets.

You find his appearance rather disconcerting. His once mighty hull, a ghost of what must have been an intimidating sight, is now riddled with holes and cracks. Patches of flesh can be made out from small gaps, while larger ones have been hidden with the sloppy wielding of sheet metal. His limbs do not match, one heavily armored leg is finished with a piece of rebar as a foot; almost as if he were a pirate from long ago. The other appears stripped and left as nothing more than gray artificial muscle and carbine tubing. His left arm seems in worse shape, for all that is left is an eerily skeletal limb. However his right arm doesn't seem to match at all. All in all, he appears severely damaged. Though as disturbing as the sight is, one can tell each piece had been part of a uniformed design…. except his right arm. His right arm, a simple limb from an obsolete model of android, almost mannequin like, was obviously a poor attempt at a replacement.

He approaches you. Mid 20s, only half a face can be accurately made through his broken red crystalline visor. Attractive yet hollow, his half expression appearing tired and alert simultaneously; jet black bedraggled hair spill from the broken helmet. He doesn't seem surprised to see you. It's as if he's been expecting you for quite some time.

Before he can introduce himself, a squatty fat figure of a man sitting in a directors chair, balding late 40s and face adorned with large 'coke bottle' glasses, begins barking orders through a Megaphone.

"Wait wait, CUT!, who the hell are you, where's Norman, what are you doing here!, get off my set before I have security remove you!" shouts the little braggart of a man.

"Ah my guest, I've been expecting you." says the machineman to you in a sly eerily peaceful tone, elongating each word while ignoring the Director. He clasp his asymmetric hands, excited by your presence. "Please give me a moment, I'll be right with you. In the meantime, I would advise you to please stay in your seats and whatever you do, do not look offstage. Just ignore the following umm… how do I put this? ...unpleasantries." he finishes in a tone that would send shivers down any spine.

Slowly the disheveled form makes its way past you and out of your vision, never turning or making eye contact.

"Security!, Security, get up here now!, Remove this.. this… 'thing' from the premises!" continued the annoying shouts of the blowhard director as he threw his megaphone down.

There are no replies from the radio. No one shows up.

Slowly the sham of a human makes its way to the fat little man, with each step his form appears to block out more and more of the stage lights behind him. A shadow begins to ascend upon the Director. "SCRUMPTCH" sparks the megaphone as it sings its last note of whining noise having been crushed by the footstep of this strange visitor.

"Stay.. Staaay away from me, who are you, why are you doing this?!" Exclaims the nervous director as the unearned bravado seems to suddenly take leave of his mushy weak frame.

"Who am I...?" replies the stranger in an uncomfortably calm voice and manner. His expression, peaceful, even kind… except the eyes. For his eyes displayed an emptiness no man should bare. It was a stare that seemed void of any and all emotion, one that could only be described as detached… inhuman. He continued forward.

"Hey, hey now, stay away from me." squirms the director in a now much more humble tone.

As the uninvited guest slowly makes his way towards him, the Director stumbles out of his chair and scurries to his feet. He begins back stepping with quivering arms held before him.

However, inching closer, ever closer, step by stalwart step, pushing past empty chairs, stage equipment and scaffolding as if an unyielding tsunami… he approaches. Every step he takes, he takes unblinking, unwavering, and silent except for the horrible scratching sound of his foot; or rather a rusted piece of rebar, as it scraps across the floor. On his face appears a peaceful yet somber smile.

"No..NOOOO Please God No! Stop irck…gag..*cough!" the director begs as his arm and throat are caught in vice like grips.

"Shhhh… it's oh-kay, it will all be alright." calmly yet passionately whispers the patchwork thing as he begins lifting the bloated man by the neck while continually applying pressure to his arm. His grip continues to increase; only slowly, yet ever increasing. On his face appears a smile not that of a mad-man, but that of a loving father.

"… huuhn, oh God.. STOOOOP!, humpf… aaaHarrRG *choke *gasp!" his cries falling on deaf ears.

Elongating each word and spoken as if they were fragile pieces of glass, "Shhh, hush now…., it will be alright…. shhh, you, you need this… you understand don't you?" The machineman continues quietly whispering in his ear as the directors eyes become filled with horror.

"Noo.. ahg.. *huff huff *gasp!" The Directors eyes go wide. "humphhg..wait waaaait! AAAAAAAAHHHRRRRGGG" screams the director, though the screams seem hardly human.

It's disturbing, so disgustingly audible, the sound of bone and sinew being bent, forced ever so slowly yet effortlessly in unnatural ways before finally giving way to sudden pops and snaps. All throughout the process screaming and strange gurgling sounds fill the room. The tearing of flesh, almost like the sound of a zipper, puts an end to the noise. No spoken sounds are heard from the strange guest, not a word. Silence now.

Slowly the powerful, yet broken excuse for a man makes his way to the front of the room, and proceeds to head to a rather archaic machine with a tiny circular screen. It bears a slight resemblance to the first working electronic television invented by Philo T. Farnsworth in 1928. An item you've since become familiar with over the past 10 years. He lays his hand atop the device as he beings to speak to you.

"My apologies, I do hope *SKRIZZZT we won't be interrupted again." the Machineman finally engaging his audience in a relaxed more normal tone.

"I was just going to scare him off, honestly," he teases in a somewhat but not overly playful manner. "But, it's just… when he asked who I was…. I don't like that. You understand, right? He, he didn't know who 'I' was. He had forgotten me, like the rest of the world. I mean, I suppose that's understandable in the City of Amnesia but, I guess I didn't like his tone. In fact I didn't like his being, he seemed against the natural order of things. So frail, so weak, so much nothing yet pretending he had strength; a strength from a position he was probably undeserving of."

"Even his will failed him at the end. Had he shown just a little strength in his character, just some damn tenacity, perhaps I may have spared him. But being that he was an unnatural abomination of order, of natural selection; being that he not only disrespected me but couldn't remember who I was; the very strength that ensured his life and safety. Well hell, he was living on borrowed time anyways, time given to him by the sacrifices I have made. But I digress, you're not here for me, you're here for The Big O so let's get started shall we. Oh but wait, you look a little confused."

"I know, I know what it is! You're asking Where's Norman, right?" he ask as if unaware and ignorant of the situation himself. "Well sorry folks, Alfre….. uh-hum," He clears his throat. "I mean Norman, well, he is just not here at the moment. For the time being he is, how do you say? Preoccupied, yeah, We'll just leave it at that."

"So… where were…were….we…..weeeeeeeezzzkt, *SKRIZZZT," his words escaping in struggling electronic echoes. "Hrm… this is why.. is why *SKRIZZZT *SPARKS, I don't like speaking much."

*CLANG, the sound of a muffled punch can be heard as he slams his powerful fist into a loose plat of steel near his upper chest. After some strange whirling sounds, similar to a failing hard drive, he begins to speak again.

"The author assumes that anyone reading this has watched all twenty-six episodes of The Big O and has read Acts 27 through 39 of the supremely talented Galaxy1001D THE BIG O: SEASON THREE here at this very website. Having been a fan of Galaxy1001D for nine years, the author has decided (to himself at least) that Galaxy's work is the definitive Season 3 and has since made it cannon in his own little human head. Troubled man indeed." He shakes his head.

"However, perhaps unfortunate to some of us, he is left unsatisfied after the amazing roller coaster ride of acts 27 through 39-chapter 6, and is left yearning for more. Due to the endless thoughts, dreams and what-ifs created by Galaxy's work, the author, who has never written anything before in his life, finds his mind flooded with words and images…. If not put to written use soon he will surly go mad, just as a certain former reporter of the Paradigm Press."

"His only goal: to add and expand upon the glory that is THE BIG O: SEASON 3. If he fails, well then, he will be no different than me, another failure. His hopes are only that he will be able to silent the screaming words in his own mind while simultaneously providing some form of entertainment for the few hardcore Big O fans left. The author will attempt to stay true to both the official The Big O, and Galaxy1001D's amazing work. All episodes will be continually re-watched and fanfic re-read to ensure contradictions are not made within this tale. If you enjoy, great, if you think he's an inferior product going against the flow of natural selection, let him know! Who knows, maybe this will peak the interest of the 'real' Director, Galaxy1001D."

"Lastly, if you are not familiar with The Big O or if you're suffering from the same amnesic event that's effecting all these…. these ungrateful sheep, you can find it on Blue Ray. I suggest you buy it, least you will never remember the plight of Paradigm City. If you've never heard of THE BIG O: SEASON 3 by Galaxy1001D, you can find it online here."

"This story will pick up were Act 39 left off, cept we're not going to focus on dear old 'Roger's' flash backs. That's a story that I will not dear interfere with" The strange Cyborg says with seriousness and concern yet quickly his expression turns to that of malice. "Though I do believe I will have some fun with those Caveman from the Union!"

His eyes light up with emotional excitement, the first we've seen from his scrap metal form, as he looks gleefully forward to finally being remembered. "No, we'll be working with the present year at first and figure out just what happened to your precious negotiator after the dock exploded and seemingly swallowed both him and Enoch Browning in a beautiful display of fire and brimstone." As he says these words, his strange arms extend outward as he stares into the ceiling above.

Quickly he straightens his composure. "If you're REALLY interested to see the past, it's going to be through my eyes. And let's just say the creatures that shaped my past are far more nightmarish then I could ever be…."

His face looks somber as he finishes his sentence in a defeated tone. "The Old Ones."

His dour composure changes again, slightly smiling now, almost as if suffering from a form of bipolar disorder. "Let's begin Act 39A (alternate) picking up with an alternate Chapter 7 of Act 39 Roger the Dominues, THE BIG O: SEASON 3" (To avoid confusion, there is a small flashback to chapter 4 to show how these link).

He turns to the old device and flips a switch, adjusting the picture with several knobs until the static begins to clear from the screen, "See you there..."

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

Next: Let us Negotiate.
(Don't worry, there's plenty of Roger & R. Dorothy in the next chapter, this was just a node to Galaxy's original Prologue from 9 years ago)