Part 1: Miss-Fortunate


The room was unusually dark that morning when Shannon woke. Her head felt heavy, as if she didn't get enough sleep. What time was it? She instinctively turned her head to look at the clock on her nightstand. No, it was definitely time to get up. There was a hot shower and a glass of sweet chocolate milk waiting for her: Her reward for accomplishing the task of getting up.

She was vaguely aware of noises coming downstairs. One sounded a bit like her mother. And the other one was definitely dad. His voice sounded… out of place. Distant. Even more so, he sounded mad. The deep, masculine voice was shouting words that Shannon couldn't understand. Were they yelling because she wasn't up yet? No, her father would just come in and wake her. This didn't sound like busy weekday morning shouting.

The anxiety to leave the room filled her like an empty glass. She fumbled with the covers, but she felt like a jellyfish in a net. When she finally got them off her, she caught one word her father shouted: "Mistake?!" before the rest of his words turned to muffled nonsense.

She peered down when her feet hit the floor, and her eyes beheld two tall, perfectly symmetrical legs holding her upward. The shouting downstairs was getting louder, but none of it made sense. Benji. He's gotta be a crying wreck, Shannon thought, head still heavy. I need to get to him. Reluctant responsibility took over, and she made her feet move. The last thing she wanted to do was console the brat, but he didn't deserve to be traumatized.

It wasn't his fault he was everything their parents wanted.

Her mother shouted something that sounded like, "How could they know?!" and the rest was drowned in sobs. What a terrible morning this was going to be. But what were they arguing about?

She kept moving closer to the door, but it was moving further away. It was going to take an eternity at this rate. Why couldn't she think clearly? Everything felt like she was underwater.

That voice. She didn't pick up on it earlier because it was drowned out in the sound of the shouts, but she heard it. The screams. Benji. It was slowly rising and growing louder, louder than her parents. Closer.

The door continued to move away from her, faster now. She picked up speed, but it was like running on a treadmill, the voice of her brother trickling in through the cracks under the door. Benji. Mom. Dad. What happened?

For Shannon, it wasn't the mysterious elusive door, or the abnormal shouting in her home, or the voice of her father, or the screams of her brother, now closing in on her. It was her feet. She couldn't feel either of her feet on the floor. On the carpet. She was running and her feet weren't feeling anything. Neither of them felt the worn-down fibers. Neither of them felt anything.

Her eyes snapped open. Blinding sunlight poured in from the window in front of her nightstand. She forgot to shut her blinds last night and paid the price for it. She closed them again, whispering a curse, and felt for her left leg beneath the covers. Metal. That had been a dream. This was reality.

The once plush, now crusty stuffed animals-remnants of her childhood-stared at her from the corner of the bed lined up against the wall. Always smiling. Always smiling for their mistress. Thinking more, she realized that in her dream, she knew it was time to get up when she looked at the clock, but she couldn't remember the time it read, or if it had numbers at all. A flash image of younger girl's posters of puppy dogs and horses remained as part of the dream's memory of her room when it was younger, but that image was it. No detail. Another flash image of a toy she didn't have anymore. Now obvious of how much more detail there was to observe during her morning routine, it seemed foolish that she fell for this dream every time. She hit her fist against her right knee, only to remember that that knee was the real knee, and cussed in the sudden blast of pain. I could win an award for being so stupid.

She decided to walk off the pain, staring down at her body just like in her dream and trying to embrace the fact that she walked on two very different legs now. The only good thing about a metal leg was that it had no nerve endings. Losing it had been excruciating, from what she could recall after the drugs snatched away most of her consciousness at the time. Now she'd never feel pain in that part of her ever again. At least fifteen percent of her body would never feel anything ever again. Not a scratch. Not a caress. Not a tickle. Not the water splashing against it as she swam in the community pool, or the wind hitting her leg as she biked. Nothing.

Shannon tossed off the covers aggressively and forced herself to stand. The stiff, dirty feel of the carpet on only one set of her toes further proved that this was the beginning of the real day. Her eyes squinted in the sunlight and searched for the calendar she had hanging on the opposite wall. Though she didn't look at it every morning, it was that time of year when she found herself reluctantly crossing off every day, until the fateful morning when it was that date again. The date that everything changed.

Coincidentally, she woke at the hour that the sunlight still creeping in between the blinds hit the bottom of the calendar like horizontal prison bars. Giant Xs were carefully drawn into every box leading up to the day she dreaded the most. There was but the empty squares remaining until Shannon could cross off that day, and go about the rest of her year with nary as much dread. She picked up a marker on her desk and crossed off the previous day, now that it was over, so that only one square remained until it was the date that was invisibly circled in her head. Tomorrow, she told herself. It's not until tomorrow.

Even when she tried so hard to distract herself, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was coming. The anniversary of the day she lost her innocence was only one day away, and the memories always found ways to creep up on her, even when she was on her guard.

After Shannon bathed herself-freezing water to whisk any remaining sleep and the nightmare that came with it-and changed into an absurdly comfortable sweater and shorts, she found her parents-or what remained of her parents-in the kitchen. Talking. Smiling. Her mother sipping coffee and wiping off the counter. Her grandfather drinking orange juice and talking about the latest presidential scandal on the front page of the newspaper, and how each generation was more dishonest than the last. Nobody was shouting, crying, or sobbing. The sun was pouring into the kitchen from the window above the sink, bringing happiness with it. Time had chased away the nightmare and every detail with it. As such, her remaining family had reached a point where they could laugh and converse, and have what were mostly normal days. In fact, from the surface, you'd never know there was anything wrong with her family, other than how particularly and sadly small it was. Neither parent nor grandparent bore the signs of their loss on their skin, and from what Shannon could tell, they weren't still plagued with the nightmares, either. They shouldn't be. They didn't do anything wrong.

"'Morning, shug'," Mrs. Westerburg said, a song in her voice. Her ruby painted lips were pulled in an effortless smile. She was so looking forward to seeing Shannon finally up that it took her a second to notice the way she'd dressed today, at which point that smile did become strained. "Did you see the new clothes I picked out for you? They were on your bed last night."

"I did," Shannon said, reaching into the cabinet above the stove for a bowl, mildly disturbed that she could already reach that high (hence her mother's constant efforts to buy her new clothes). If she kept growing at this rate, she might graduate high school with Paul Bunyan, Bigfoot,and the green leafy dude from the vegetable cans. "I just decided to wear something warmer today." Shannon had seen the mini skirt and ruffled crop tops sitting on her bed, and decided immediately that they were too much effort for her. No point in bringing that much attention to herself. Not today. Not after the nightmare, when she just wanted to shrink away.

"It is chilly out," her mother agreed, rubbing her shoulders. It was cold, even for fall, so Shannon's excuse flew. Neither her mother nor her grandfather mentioned, however, that Shannon was still wearing shorts.

Grabbing the sugar flakes out of the top of the fridge, Shannon set the bowl and cereal down on the counter. A morning like this called for hot oatmeal or pancakes, and the sight of the cold cereal made her feel sick, but if she was going to walk to school, she'd didn't have time to wait for her mom to make anything else.

After forcing down five spoonfuls, just to keep her stomach quiet until lunch, she picked up her books, pencil case and wallet, and headed for the door. Her mother stopped her only to kiss her cheek and run her fingers through her uncombed hair.

Sometimes it was painful to look at her mother. Between a full, round face, even tan and natural poise, it was questionable that they were even related. In photographs, someone might point out their hair and eye color being the same, but for as long as Shannon could remember, she always looked more like her dad. It was Benji who had rocked the eastern seaboard when he was born, inheriting all of mom's good looks with just enough of dad to retain boyishness.

On top of that was her mother's unbelievable resilience. How she managed to wake up every morning for two years now and act like nothing had happened was infuriating.

The walk to school was even colder than she'd thought. Her right leg had been trained to be comfortable with the batter of the wind and the occasional touch of her freezing prosthetic, but her fingers were going numb. She leaned her books up against a tree with her knee while she yanked the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, then resumed the walk. Despite the bright sunlight, there was nobody out but early morning dog walkers and tight-clothed joggers. If she were lucky, sometimes they were 20 something guys with facial hair and visible abs who winked as they went by. Today they were all early to middle aged women, and either way, Shannon wasn't in the mood to be seen by a cute boy today.

The weather kept her at a fast pace, and she made it to Polyneux with over twenty minutes to spare. She sprinted up the stairs to her 2nd floor locker in time to see, through the nearby window, the first buses unload students into the back of the building. Dozens of loud, attention hungry kids shoving their way through the halls, either looking for their friends or on their way to the cafeteria to get some of the school's breakfast-whatever they didn't sell yesterday served with a side of artificial scrambled eggs, served at twice the cost of a regular lunch. Now that's how a public school makes up the difference between this year and last year's budget, she overheard Madman mention proudly to another faculty member.

Complimentary to her room at home, which constantly looked like a tornado had just blown through, Shannon's locker was trashed. She often thought about decorating it with photographs of rock stars, candy wrapper chains and mirrors, like some of the other girls did, but she was wildly uninterested in the work involved. As she crammed her math book into an empty space on the top shelf and hunted for her English book, some of the new voices coming from the stairwell at the end of the hall struck her as familiar. She peeked her head from behind the door of her locker and saw Socks, Mitch, Cubey, and Robot step out from behind the heavy wooden door, all laughing at a joke that Shannon couldn't make out due to the muffled echo of the stairwell. Unlike Shannon, the boys were decked out in heavy pants as well as jackets. All except for Robot, who wore nothing more than he did any other day-just his paint.

"And that's why Sally's mom never buys bananas anymore," Socks told them.

"Was it really that big?" Mitch asked.

Socks held out his hands, so that a half a foot of space was between them. "'Bout so."

"Wow," Robot said, with genuine surprise in his computerized voice.

"I didn't know they even got that big," Cubey said, still chuckling.

While the discussion of bananas had her stomach growling, Shannon's attention was locked on the automaton. It had been an entire semester since the rainy day bus incident, but it felt as if absolutely nothing changed since then. Other than the boys sprouting more facial hair, and the girls sprouting... well, other things, time had drawn to an eerie stillness since the day Robot and Shannon got their first real glimpse at each other for who they were. And Robot had not so much as uttered a word to Shannon since then.

Six months without Robot dogging her. It wasn't the relief she thought it was going to be. While she didn't have to deal with him embarrassing her anymore, she felt like the lonely gaps of her life suddenly ripped open wide. Life her family, it seemed time had healed for Robot what it couldn't for Shannon. Why was it that the more that Robot ignored her, the harder it was to ignore him in return? How come normality had returned to everybody but her?

Then, Robot's head turned to look down the hallway. Shannon made the terrible mistake of looking too long. His eyes met hers from her peeking spot behind the locker door. At one point in time, this was the moment where Robot would become the most human like he could be. His legs would start shaking. His eyes growing larger. His words stammered. And all the while, smiling like an idiot.

But now, it seemed sight of her drained that liveliness out of him. That enchanting smile that he wore when he came through the stairwell fell, so that his face returned to its default flatness. At once, he became a robot again.

He kept walking with his friends, who didn't seem to notice his sudden quietness. It was too late for Shannon to duck and run for first period class, so she stood there and tried to make it look as if she was organizing her locker, waiting for them to pass.

Because Socks was with them, however, there was no chance. "Hey Shannon! Did you hear the score last night?"

She plucked a broken plastic ruler she'd never used from a corner of the locker that she suspected had been there since 6th grade, letting old homework sheets flutter to the floor. "102 to 70. Rainbows did good."

"You weren't there last night," Socks commented, bending over to help pick up her papers. Mitch and Cubey also reached out to help, but Socks had already grabbed them all. None of the boys were watching Robot, who regarded Shannon with the least of concern in his eyes.

"Well, I had homework to do," She said, stuffing sheets back into the empty spaces of her shelf.

"Not makeup work for this junk, right?" Socks commented, holding out a piece of F- math paper that had slid beneath the lockers. Shannon snatched it from him. Her homework grades had stayed afloat since Robot's tutoring sessions had ended, but just barely. And she still bombed every other test. Once again, Robot surprisingly had no comment.

"I'm getting better at it," Shannon snapped, "Unlike you!"

Socks shrugged and rolled his eyes. "You're not lying."

"Hey Socks, gotta meet with a teacher before class," Mitch said. "I'll catch you later?"

"Sure, man," Socks said.

"And I gotta split to get some breakfast," said Cubey, kicking his skates away. "Make sure not to step on any sidewalk cracks or break any mirrors, you guys!" With that, he headed towards the end of the hall after Mitch.

The confusing comment pulled Robot out of his reverie. "I will be sure not to do those specific things," he said, tipping his head, looking at Socks. "But why would I want to do them anyway?"

"It's just superstition," Socks explained. "On Friday the 13th, everybody's extra careful not to give themselves any bad luck."

Friday the 13th. Shannon was so busy remembering that it was the 13th that she forgot what day it fell on this year-a Friday.

"Humans behave differently on Friday the 13th due to the belief that they'll bring themselves bad luck?" Robot said, giving himself a moment's pause to download further information. "Hm... there's no proof to this that I can see, except for a strain of famous circumstances. Conclusion: Another typical human irrationality."

"I wouldn't be so quick to call it irrational, Robot," Socks said, tugging on his collar, eyes darting up to the ceiling and whatever greater power could hear them. "A lotta weird stuff happens on these days, like-"

Suddenly, the shelf that had been holding all of Shannon's heaviest books refused to deal with her abuse anymore, and one of the tiny screws broke. The shelf collapsed, sending nearly everything in her locker falling out onto the floor. Textbooks, old homework, study packs, pencils, pens and other personal items flying onto the floor, just as another wave of students passed. Shannon had tried to catch most of it with her hands, but she couldn't hold it all, and many of it slipped out of her arms, including two heavy science textbooks-one that hit her real foot. She cursed so loud she thought Madman would hear it from his office.

"-like that," Socks muttered with a wince.

A couple of the girls passing giggled as they watched Socks and Shannon bend over again to help pick up her things. Instead of standing by and watching with his blank expression, Robot was now obligated to help, too. He caused the crowd of kids to bend around him, ignoring when they shouted obscenities his way, and picked up the papers that had flown further away, while Socks and Shannon concentrated on the main mess.

"I get the worst lockers," Shannon hissed, trying to control her swearing. "First I get one that sticks, then I get one with a bad shelf!"

"It's not you, Shannon, it's Friday the 13th doing it's thing," Socks said calmly, as if it were fact.

"Or it could be," Robot said, folding his arms, "Because the human overloaded it. But go ahead and keep blaming it as the work of a faulty appliance, or some supernatural force."

It felt like the hallway had instantly froze silent, as there were nobody but Robot's friends to react to that comment. Socks and Shannon exchanged dumbfounded expressions. Snarky comments from Robot weren't unheard of, but directed at Shannon?

What made it worse was that there was not a trace of amusement on his face as he said this, and marched to the end of the hallway to give himself and the humans some space.

As Socks and Shannon slowly pulled their eyes away from the pouting automaton and continued cleaning up the mess, Socks reached for a textbook just close enough to Shannon to whisper in her ear: "What was that about?"

"What are you asking me for?" Shannon asked back quietly.

"I've never seen him mad at you," Socks continued, still stacking papers to look inconspicuous. "What'd you do?"

"Why are you so sure that I did something?" Shannon whispered back, with a defensive tone coming out.

When she reached out far for another sheet of paper, Socks went for it at the same time. The result was that their hands touched-nay, his hand lay perfectly on top of hers. It was so unexpected that neither of them thought to pull away immediately. They made eye contact, and both realized they were being watched. The person who just so happened to look up when he heard both of them pause was Robot, on his knees, looking at them from across the now empty hallway, a stack of Shannon's papers at his side. Now it was his turn for his mouth to hang open.

Socks jerked his hand away, muttering an apology. It took Shannon a few seconds to process everything before she could apologize back to him. Robot's suddenly emotional reaction caught Shannon off guard. Up to now, she was lead to believe that if he ever did have a crush on her, he was over her by now-the snarky comment solidifying it. But that expression when he saw their hands touch…

She had to talk to somebody about this. And unfortunately, the best person to talk to about this was also sitting on his knees right in front of her. "Actually, Socks, I uh," Shannon started, feeling the guilt of something she couldn't quite pinpoint, "I need to talk to you."

Socks handed her the papers, looking even more confused. "Why? What's going on?"

She leaned in close to him and whispered, with a hand covering her lips so he couldn't see. "After first period, meet me in the hallway by the trophy case. I'll explain."

Socks stood up, watching Shannon finally trash all the old homework sheets in a nearby trashcan, and then carefully try to replace the textbooks and writing tools into the shelf-less locker, shoving the broken shelf to the side. His expression was skeptical. "Okay, whatever. See you at lunch, Robot," he called to his robotic companion with a wave.

Robot didn't reply, but his big eyes followed Socks' calm walk to the other side of the hallway, and around the bend. Then his gaze briefly fell on Shannon before he stood up, inserted the homework into another trash can, and walked away calmly, like a child following an invisible parent.


Originally Published January 5th, 2018

Author's Note for the Story:

So this is the first chapter in a series that need to be published in a certain order to make sense. This one refers back to "Now You See Me?", but this is the first one where the "story arch" if you can call it that, really gets set in motion.

This is where I begin to speculate (aka, make up) what happened to Shannon, and upcoming chapters will begin to reveal a bit about Robot, the factory, and his creator, Dr. Jones (who sadly I've been neglecting to go back to with more stories because his backstory is pretty complicated.

Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network