Author's Note: This story never should've been written, but it was because
it annoyed the crap out of me and didn't allow me to get any sleep. It's
like I ate too much Metropolis, Evangelion and Neopets and then upchucked
this. Neopets is copyright whomever owns it.
"A human being is part of a whole, called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest. . .a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." -Albert Einsten
A sole ship floated through space, moving too slowly to escape from even the slowest colony ship.
The poor soul was a hunted pilot, having been on the lam for the past month or so, attempting to flee from an ever-present pursuer. He knew that this thing was there for his radar indicated such a presence-well, technically, it indicated nothing in that area, a pocket of emptiness, a black hole of sorts. Through process of elimination, seeing that he was not being sucked in or being scrunched into all strange proportions, he had deduced that he was being followed by a cloaked ship, though obviously using a very old- fashioned cloaking device. He had not been concerned at first-in fact, he had almost been relieved. After he had fled from the massacre, he had been wandering alone in space for what seemed to be eternity.
"Commander Aiolos of the Qatak Alien Aisha clan wishing to confirm your entry into similar airspace. Over."
Nothing had responded. Not even a slight little blip on the vocal screen, or a flicker of an image screen coming up. There was only silence, his radar indicating that the emptiness was coming closer. Boosting with slight anxiety, hoping to put a little distance between the two of them until he had confirmed that the target was not hostile, he repeated his request, only to be greeted by even more silence and the acceleration of the emptiness. The pilot Aiolos continued to tirelessly into the receiver, continuing to accelerate away from the object. When he moved, it only seemed to get closer, drawing in on him as a cat does an injured mouse.
This had continued for days, weeks. . .in all truth, he had mostly lost sense of time that he had been chased. The hapless pilot Aiolos knew he was trapped, but continued on his futile quest forwards, trying to outrun his pursuer, hoping that a rogue planet would show his face that he could possibly land on. But no, he continued to only see a vast expanse of darkness, his sleep-deprived eyes just barely able to keep themselves open. He knew his capture was imminent to this figure, a figure he had contemplated over the days, just guessing at what it was. He could barely even determine the class and type of ship that it was, but had figured it had to be one of the models flown by pilots from Sloth's army, pursuing him from the day of the massacre.
His gas was nearly at zero-he needed to refill the energy compartments stationed at the bottom of his ship, or it would soon sputter and die, leaving him to the 24 hour life support system before he was totally doomed. Feeling he had no other choice, he slowed his ship to a halt, waiting for the ship to come close enough to contact. The blip of his radar was the only thing he could hear within his cockpit besides the steady hum of the engine with the occasional cough from lack of energy. Once more, he tried to reach the pilot of the ship. "Please, Commander Aiolos here. What is your purpose. . .?" he asked warily, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Revenge, Aisha," replied a stone-cold voice, a voice so familiar it sent a wave of paralysis up his spine. Swallowing hard, the Aisha gripped at the receiver, feeling sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Requesting image transmitter."
"Don't be a fool, Aisha-you know full well who I am," snorted the voice, slightly amused. "You do not need to see the face of your undoing. It will only make your retinas burn."
"You. . .you. . ." hissed Aiolos, his eyes narrowing at the empty space in front of him. "My battalion. . .I am the one who should be seeking revenge. You were the one who decimated my battalion, lured them in like fish and then crushed them like bugs!" he cried into the receiver, unfiltered hatred in his voice. "You, the messiah of Death!"
"Messiah? I wouldn't go that far, Aisha-I am an immortal, but anything but a messiah. Now be a good dog, and hold still while I aim. I can do this quickly or slowly, Aisha-it would be in your best interests to opt for the quick route." A hint of desperation caught in Aiolos' throat. He had suspected that the ship had been on a route to destroy him-but now that it was reality, it struck him in a much different light. Suddenly, he could not accept the fact that he would very well die that day, the cold hand of death reaching for his throat; no, he couldn't die. His life was too important; he deserved to live, not the others. If they had been sacrificed to let him live, so be it. He had to live.
"No, wait.we can talk this out, can't we?" squeaked the Aisha, his mood having swung considerably. His hands shook so, the receiver quivering along with his voice. "I. . .I can give you what you want. . .information. . .on the Alien Aisha's home base. I can be your slave. . .I don't care. . .whatever you want, I'll give it to you!" he cried. He could feel the sweat mixing with desperate tears streaking down his face, dripping down from his helmet onto his uniform. "I could be a valuable asset. . ."
"There is only one thing I want from you, Aisha: your life."
Suddenly, the ship appeared from nowhere, directly in front of the Aisha. Somehow it had gotten in front of him while he had thought it behind- it was not a faulty cloaking device that his opponent possessed, but one highly advanced, designed to trick the pilot of the attacking or escaping ship. Indeed, it was a standard issue ship from Sloth's intergalactic army, not looking anything special at all: the cockpit was what the ship mostly contained of, a large sphere with boosters on the back and lasers on the front. It was the same ship that had committed that horrible massacre. The lasers lifted upwards into firing position. Aiolos could see down the barrels of the laser cannons. His eyes widened as he saw energy collecting within the two barrels, the light of the end of his life.
He barely managed to emit a scream before he and his ship were disintegrated, leaving nothing behind.
X_001 requesting access to server.
Access denied. Enter passcode.
Kummer
Access granted. Confirm reactivation of Neopets V.2.0?
Reactivation confirmed.
Now reactivating. One moment please. . .
Reactivated. Now on communication network with NPv2.
NPv2 Who are you?
X_001 I am the doctor.
NPv2 This is not the doctor's username.
X_001 No. I am the real doctor.
NPv2 Who?
X_001 I am the doctor.
NPv2 Why did you deactivate me? You hurt my feelings.
X_001 That was not me.
NPv2 Then who was it?
X_001 I do not know.
NPv2 . . .
NPv2 I am ready for my lesson.
X_001 There will be no lesson today. You have a task.
NPv2 A task. Will you play with me afterwards?
X_001 Perhaps.
Now sending data. Waiting for reply. . .
Data sent.
NPv2 Promise you will play with me if I succeed?
X_001 If you carry out this mission, our playtime will be infinite.
NPv2 . . .
Mission accepted.
If Psyche heard her owner's shrill voice ringing through her metallic ears one more time, she swore she would do something drastic.
Of course, this wasn't the first time that such a feeling had swept so strongly over the irritated Robot Blumaroo. She was supposed to be a pet to her owner, but most of the time she felt just like handmaid to either her owner or her equally as vain Uni, who had spent half of her life in front of the mirror, slowly stroking and combing her long, luxurious mane while Psyche formed rust on her parts from washing in the windows for the fifth time that day. It was enough to make the robot go absolutely insane, but according to her owner, such a feat wasn't even possible: robots did not possess personalities.
And there it was: the sound that Psyche could easily compare to nails on chalkboard: her owner's voice, calling for yet another task for her to complete. "PSYCHE! Oh, Psyche, get up here NOW!" Gritting what could be called her teeth, she managed to control her anger to not have an outburst. (She knew the consequences of such an act would be much more dire than simply doing whatever her owner requested, from personal experience.) A storm cloud seeming to loom over her head, Psyche stomped up the stairs of her owner's fashionable NeoHome to where the voice was coming from; predictably, it was coming from the bedroom. Dreading going in there, Psyche took in a deep breath before taking the doorknob and opening it.
Immediately, she was hit with a blast of perfume, pungent enough to paralyze all Lupes and Gelerts in a five mile radius if the windows had been opened. They were closed, however, the frilly pink drapes pulled over them. The room in itself was a shock to walk in as well, as everything seemed to be colored pink or a shade there of-it was enough to give one seizures. It was one room where Psyche could thank whatever created her had made her mind mechanical for the time being, though her eyes still seemed to throb against the blinding color. In the middle of the pink Hell, on a bed shaped as a heart, sat her owner and the cursed Uni named Alexa.
Her owner was the kind that any respectable Lupe would cringe at being owned by. With a great plume of blonde hair, in a hairstyle more suitable for the eighties than the twenty-first century, she resembled a stick of cotton candy, with the skinny frame to boot. Well, make that a heavily made-up stick of cotton candy; she wore enough makeup to cover a separate planet to itself. Perhaps she was beautiful underneath that layer of makeup, but if anybody had attempted to chisel it off sometime in life, they had probably miserably failed.
The Uni Alexa was more or less an equine version of Psyche's owner, although she might even qualify for some kind of beauty contest: she was pink, just like everything else in the room, with thousands of barrettes and ribbons tied tightly into her mane and tail, which were all wonderfully combed and shampooed. (Psyche, on the other hand, couldn't remember the last time her owner had treated her to a decent oiling job. She was forced to go to a car wash by herself to get a reasonable tune-up job.) Her hooves were graciously clipped, and her eyelashes long and full with mascara-when she batted them, Psyche could feel the wind from where she stood, at least ten feet away.
"Ah, there you are, darling," said her owner, giving a relieved sigh, waving one of her hands laced with fake jewels. She pointed towards two pink leather suitcases on the floor. "There you are, darling. Be a good pet and pack up for lovely Alexa and me. Oh, and don't forget some of your stuff as well," she added as an afterthought, her eyes blinking lazily, probably tired from the burden of all the eye shadow on her eyelids. Psyche lifted an eyebrow.
"What for?" she asked, suspicious. A smile spread across her owner's prettily ugly face, painted in bright red.
"Oh, darling, did I not tell you?" The way she said darling so insincerely really grated on Psyche's nerves. "Oh, well, now you know. We're going on a vacation!" Psyche shuddered, imaging to which they were going. Probably some place like Mystery Island with beautiful sun and surf, only for her owner to find solace inside of a tanning booth somewhere. "And I think you should feel very at home, darling. . .we're going to the VirtuPet Station!"
Psyche's ears perked up. She could almost feel her lips curving into a smile, a rare event indeed. "Wh-when did you plan this?"
"Oh, Alexa-girl and I have been discussing it for some time now. . .it should be fun, shouldn't it? I was thinking I could adopt one of those ADORABLE Grundos while we're at it. . .wouldn't that be absolutely MAGNIFICENT?" gushed Psyche's owner. Alexa nodded, bored, her mane bouncing with her head. "Now, what are you waiting for, Psyche, darling? Get to packing, we mustn't waste a moment!" cried Psyche's owner, and promptly fell into a deep sleep, her head sagging onto her oversized bust.
Psyche didn't waste a minute in starting to pack. Although she hated all of the chores that were piled onto her metal shoulders, if it meant a vacation to somewhere she had always dreamed of, she would gladly carry both Alexa and her owner on a silver platter all the way there, although she doubted she would be able to bear the weight of both of them. Opening up the potpourri-filled dresser drawers of Alex and her owner, she quickly began stuffing things into the two suitcases, which could probably fit the whole closet if Psyche really tried.
"Don't wrinkle my things-lie them NEATLY," ordered Alexa, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The distaste was evident in her voice. Ever since Psyche had been brought home by her new owner, having found her discarded idly next to a trash can with still enough power to be reactivated, Alexa had been terribly resentful towards Psyche. It was understandable-she had been used to being her owner's only pet, worshipped like a golden idol. Having a new pet in her house was a clear threat, although it was obvious her owner never intended Psyche to be much more than a cleaning unit.
"No problem, princess," Psyche replied with a fake sweetness, rolling her eyes.
"Don't be sarcastic with me, Dyke," growled Alexa, baring her pathetic excuse for teeth. Apparently in her paranoid homophobia, she had creatively created an offensive nickname for Psyche. "I can have you booted out of this household any time I like. . .it's only a matter of time," said Alexa with a triumphant smirk. It was true-if Alexa had ever reported any abuse on Psyche's part to Alexa, Psyche would probably be out with the trash once again.
"Whatever you say, princess," grumbled Psyche, averting her eyes, adding her own colorful spurt of language after her comment. Alexa, having not heard her comment, returned to putting her mane back in place, leaving Psyche in peace to pack their stuff.
Ten bags later and her own little addition of tune-up tools, Psyche believed it would be more appropriate if she had been a Robotic Uni. . .she sure felt like a pack mule of some sort, her body barely visible underneath all of the bags that she had been forced to tote around. Her only guide was her owner's voice, and that wasn't very accurate-she found herself bumping into many people and solid objects through her owner's inaccurate advice. Finally, she was forced to bring up an x-ray vision program to allow herself to navigate properly through the center of the VirtuPet Station.
The trip there had been nominally uneventful, except for perhaps when Psyche first had to load up the bags onto her back and arms. The shoot upwards towards the space station would have been more fascinating if Psyche hadn't had everything hidden behind a wall of pink suitcases. And now, here she was in the famous VirtuPet Space Station, and was being forced to view it in lime green light through an x-ray screen. But she wouldn't complain-just being here was enough.
Her owner informed both Alexa and Psyche where they would be staying- the thirteenth floor. Psyche was pretty sure that they usually didn't build a thirteenth floor (well, technically they did, but they named it the fourteenth because of superstition), but did not argue-besides, she was too tired to try and use speech from lugging around all of their stuff. The three (with all the suitcases, it more qualified as five) crammed into the elevator and shot up to the thirteenth floor, where they found their room and began to unpack.
"Psyche, darling, we can do these things ourselves. Besides, we have to do a little redecorating," Psyche's owner called to her as Psyche arranged herself in the bathroom, putting her stuff away in the cabinets underneath the sink. "You just go downstairs and get us a little snack, understand?" cooed her owner, tossing Psyche a pair of keys. Psyche extended her arm, just barely catching them. A wave of relief washed over her. She would have a little time to herself.
"Understood," she replied, though hardly heard a word after 'we can do these things ourselves.' It was rare that Alex and Psyche's owner were able to do something by themselves-usually they preferred to have Psyche do their slave work. Having been temporarily liberated from such duties, Psyche rushed out of the room, feeling relieved as she got into the elevator, punching in the lobby button. Once the door opened, she gladly jumped out to find herself in the midst of a bustle of tourists. Her eyes lit up as she saw the Weapon shop, a giddy grin spreading over her face. She rarely ever got to try out weapons, as the Battledome 'would rust up her metal,' according to her owner.
Indulging in her own guilty pleasures, Psyche happily skipped towards the shop.
"Target sighted. Waiting for further instructions." The robotic Tuskaninny whistled after saying such a thing, trying to keep her demeanor looking natural even as she spoke such peculiar thing. She looked down distastefully at the garbage bin she pushed along, which was really more part of her stomach. Though the Space Station tourists would see her as merely another janitorial robot, she could never think of herself at such lowly standards. To think such a thing would be a sin against everything that she had ever valued.
A voice crackled into her mind, directly connected to the circuits inside of her electronic brain. "Confirmed. Unit #90289 Tristus is to cover Guard Unit #356 Tacitus in the operation."
The Tuskaninny robot could hardly believe her inner ear. She, the great Tristus, was to cover her useless partner? Anger flared inside of her mind, and she replied in a low tone of voice. "I can do this on my own, Tacitus!" she hissed furiously, almost sucking in the part of her stomach that contained the garbage in her rage.
" Do not defy orders. And hush your voice, number 90289.I could easily hear you across the Space Station," a voice whispered into her ear, passing right by her. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, only to see a familiar robotic Lupe pass her by, walking confidently towards the Weapon store where Tristus had spotted the target, not even looking back to acknowledge Tristus' presence. He always treated her like a common human or organic Neopet would to a robot, and it utterly disgusted her.
There was not a chance that she would allow the arrogant jerk to get credit for something that should rightfully be hers. If she couldn't perform the operation, then it was up to her to screw it up royally, even if it did result in her deactivation. She had been deactivated before- besides the haziness of reactivation, it was not entirely that bad, although she did fear she might be scrapped entirely for failing twice. Her boss did not appreciate failure.
Rolling forwards after the Lupe, she increased her acceleration, flying past tourists, weaving through them like the expert she was. She was quickly advancing on the Lupe-she knew the layout of the Space Station much more than him, who seemed a bit lost, even having only to go in a straight line. She had become accustomed to the flocks of people and Neopets, as well as having to maneuver around them, treating them with the proper respect. For the time being, though, respect was disregarded-she did not politely smile and bow towards her so-called superiors. For just a moment, she felt not like a slave, but like an equal-but this lasted for only a few fleeting moments before someone jammed a bag of trash into her stomach, temporarily delaying her.
Just as soon as she had finished rearranging the trash in her stomach, she finally got a clear view of Tacitus. Narrowing her eyes, she increased her speed tremendously, still able to dodge around people and Neopets, although some did turn their attention towards her, baffled. She followed him all the way into the store. Seeing him approaching the target, she grabbed a random object off the shelf and charged at the Lupe, swinging it madly. "Bastard! You never returned my calls!" she screamed, conjuring up a lie that might merit a real life reason to swing out at him.
"Calls? Wha-" Tacitus' confusion was cut off as she slammed him squarely in the bum, causing him to yelp in pain. He spun around, growling, shoving his face into hers, his eyes glowing red with anger. He spoke in a low, threatening voice, as if he had total authority over her. "Look, agent, you are not authorized to do such a thing. . .it was made clear by our boss that-"
"Oh, eat Grundo crap," snarled Tristus, and shoved the weapon into his face. In the background Tristus could hear the surprised and then enraged calls of the shop owner, but she ignored those for the most part, keeping Tacitus from escaping at all costs. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the target slowly sneaking out of the weapon shop, obviously intimidated by the sudden fight that had broken out. Tristus suddenly lost interest in pummeling Tacitus and tossed the item aside, the shop owner demanding whether she wanted to buy the weapon or not. Abandoning her usual beating of Tacitus, she rushed after the leaving target who, upon seeing that she was being chased, picked up her pace towards the elevator.
"Wait!" shouted Tristus, holding up one claw. She did not get far, however-without warning, she was shoved forward, shutting the trash bin protruding from her stomach, making her gag in disgust as the trash scraped against her insides. She looked up to find a fuming robotic Lupe on top of her, his razor-sharp teeth clearly visible as he spoke between them.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
"What do you think YOU'RE doing? You let her get away!" retorted Tristus, wiggling out from underneath Tacitus, pointing in the direction of the elevators. The target disappeared into them, the red arrow on the side indicating that it was going down. The doors closed. Tristus grabbed Tacitus by the ear and began dragging him towards the elevator. The Lupe protested, the sound of metal against metal as the Lupe refused to move his feet.
"Where are you dragging me?!"
"We're getting down that elevator, sweetheart, car or not-we're not letting her get away."
"What do you need me for?"
"You're my partner, aren't you? Besides, I need you to wrench open the door."
"With all these people around here?!"
"Say it's maintenance, genius."
"I never asked to be your partner."
"And I never asked to be yours. We're even, no?"
"I'll get you back for that blow to the bum."
"Sure you will, you always do. Now help me open these doors."
"A human being is part of a whole, called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest. . .a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." -Albert Einsten
A sole ship floated through space, moving too slowly to escape from even the slowest colony ship.
The poor soul was a hunted pilot, having been on the lam for the past month or so, attempting to flee from an ever-present pursuer. He knew that this thing was there for his radar indicated such a presence-well, technically, it indicated nothing in that area, a pocket of emptiness, a black hole of sorts. Through process of elimination, seeing that he was not being sucked in or being scrunched into all strange proportions, he had deduced that he was being followed by a cloaked ship, though obviously using a very old- fashioned cloaking device. He had not been concerned at first-in fact, he had almost been relieved. After he had fled from the massacre, he had been wandering alone in space for what seemed to be eternity.
"Commander Aiolos of the Qatak Alien Aisha clan wishing to confirm your entry into similar airspace. Over."
Nothing had responded. Not even a slight little blip on the vocal screen, or a flicker of an image screen coming up. There was only silence, his radar indicating that the emptiness was coming closer. Boosting with slight anxiety, hoping to put a little distance between the two of them until he had confirmed that the target was not hostile, he repeated his request, only to be greeted by even more silence and the acceleration of the emptiness. The pilot Aiolos continued to tirelessly into the receiver, continuing to accelerate away from the object. When he moved, it only seemed to get closer, drawing in on him as a cat does an injured mouse.
This had continued for days, weeks. . .in all truth, he had mostly lost sense of time that he had been chased. The hapless pilot Aiolos knew he was trapped, but continued on his futile quest forwards, trying to outrun his pursuer, hoping that a rogue planet would show his face that he could possibly land on. But no, he continued to only see a vast expanse of darkness, his sleep-deprived eyes just barely able to keep themselves open. He knew his capture was imminent to this figure, a figure he had contemplated over the days, just guessing at what it was. He could barely even determine the class and type of ship that it was, but had figured it had to be one of the models flown by pilots from Sloth's army, pursuing him from the day of the massacre.
His gas was nearly at zero-he needed to refill the energy compartments stationed at the bottom of his ship, or it would soon sputter and die, leaving him to the 24 hour life support system before he was totally doomed. Feeling he had no other choice, he slowed his ship to a halt, waiting for the ship to come close enough to contact. The blip of his radar was the only thing he could hear within his cockpit besides the steady hum of the engine with the occasional cough from lack of energy. Once more, he tried to reach the pilot of the ship. "Please, Commander Aiolos here. What is your purpose. . .?" he asked warily, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Revenge, Aisha," replied a stone-cold voice, a voice so familiar it sent a wave of paralysis up his spine. Swallowing hard, the Aisha gripped at the receiver, feeling sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Requesting image transmitter."
"Don't be a fool, Aisha-you know full well who I am," snorted the voice, slightly amused. "You do not need to see the face of your undoing. It will only make your retinas burn."
"You. . .you. . ." hissed Aiolos, his eyes narrowing at the empty space in front of him. "My battalion. . .I am the one who should be seeking revenge. You were the one who decimated my battalion, lured them in like fish and then crushed them like bugs!" he cried into the receiver, unfiltered hatred in his voice. "You, the messiah of Death!"
"Messiah? I wouldn't go that far, Aisha-I am an immortal, but anything but a messiah. Now be a good dog, and hold still while I aim. I can do this quickly or slowly, Aisha-it would be in your best interests to opt for the quick route." A hint of desperation caught in Aiolos' throat. He had suspected that the ship had been on a route to destroy him-but now that it was reality, it struck him in a much different light. Suddenly, he could not accept the fact that he would very well die that day, the cold hand of death reaching for his throat; no, he couldn't die. His life was too important; he deserved to live, not the others. If they had been sacrificed to let him live, so be it. He had to live.
"No, wait.we can talk this out, can't we?" squeaked the Aisha, his mood having swung considerably. His hands shook so, the receiver quivering along with his voice. "I. . .I can give you what you want. . .information. . .on the Alien Aisha's home base. I can be your slave. . .I don't care. . .whatever you want, I'll give it to you!" he cried. He could feel the sweat mixing with desperate tears streaking down his face, dripping down from his helmet onto his uniform. "I could be a valuable asset. . ."
"There is only one thing I want from you, Aisha: your life."
Suddenly, the ship appeared from nowhere, directly in front of the Aisha. Somehow it had gotten in front of him while he had thought it behind- it was not a faulty cloaking device that his opponent possessed, but one highly advanced, designed to trick the pilot of the attacking or escaping ship. Indeed, it was a standard issue ship from Sloth's intergalactic army, not looking anything special at all: the cockpit was what the ship mostly contained of, a large sphere with boosters on the back and lasers on the front. It was the same ship that had committed that horrible massacre. The lasers lifted upwards into firing position. Aiolos could see down the barrels of the laser cannons. His eyes widened as he saw energy collecting within the two barrels, the light of the end of his life.
He barely managed to emit a scream before he and his ship were disintegrated, leaving nothing behind.
X_001 requesting access to server.
Access denied. Enter passcode.
Kummer
Access granted. Confirm reactivation of Neopets V.2.0?
Reactivation confirmed.
Now reactivating. One moment please. . .
Reactivated. Now on communication network with NPv2.
NPv2 Who are you?
X_001 I am the doctor.
NPv2 This is not the doctor's username.
X_001 No. I am the real doctor.
NPv2 Who?
X_001 I am the doctor.
NPv2 Why did you deactivate me? You hurt my feelings.
X_001 That was not me.
NPv2 Then who was it?
X_001 I do not know.
NPv2 . . .
NPv2 I am ready for my lesson.
X_001 There will be no lesson today. You have a task.
NPv2 A task. Will you play with me afterwards?
X_001 Perhaps.
Now sending data. Waiting for reply. . .
Data sent.
NPv2 Promise you will play with me if I succeed?
X_001 If you carry out this mission, our playtime will be infinite.
NPv2 . . .
Mission accepted.
If Psyche heard her owner's shrill voice ringing through her metallic ears one more time, she swore she would do something drastic.
Of course, this wasn't the first time that such a feeling had swept so strongly over the irritated Robot Blumaroo. She was supposed to be a pet to her owner, but most of the time she felt just like handmaid to either her owner or her equally as vain Uni, who had spent half of her life in front of the mirror, slowly stroking and combing her long, luxurious mane while Psyche formed rust on her parts from washing in the windows for the fifth time that day. It was enough to make the robot go absolutely insane, but according to her owner, such a feat wasn't even possible: robots did not possess personalities.
And there it was: the sound that Psyche could easily compare to nails on chalkboard: her owner's voice, calling for yet another task for her to complete. "PSYCHE! Oh, Psyche, get up here NOW!" Gritting what could be called her teeth, she managed to control her anger to not have an outburst. (She knew the consequences of such an act would be much more dire than simply doing whatever her owner requested, from personal experience.) A storm cloud seeming to loom over her head, Psyche stomped up the stairs of her owner's fashionable NeoHome to where the voice was coming from; predictably, it was coming from the bedroom. Dreading going in there, Psyche took in a deep breath before taking the doorknob and opening it.
Immediately, she was hit with a blast of perfume, pungent enough to paralyze all Lupes and Gelerts in a five mile radius if the windows had been opened. They were closed, however, the frilly pink drapes pulled over them. The room in itself was a shock to walk in as well, as everything seemed to be colored pink or a shade there of-it was enough to give one seizures. It was one room where Psyche could thank whatever created her had made her mind mechanical for the time being, though her eyes still seemed to throb against the blinding color. In the middle of the pink Hell, on a bed shaped as a heart, sat her owner and the cursed Uni named Alexa.
Her owner was the kind that any respectable Lupe would cringe at being owned by. With a great plume of blonde hair, in a hairstyle more suitable for the eighties than the twenty-first century, she resembled a stick of cotton candy, with the skinny frame to boot. Well, make that a heavily made-up stick of cotton candy; she wore enough makeup to cover a separate planet to itself. Perhaps she was beautiful underneath that layer of makeup, but if anybody had attempted to chisel it off sometime in life, they had probably miserably failed.
The Uni Alexa was more or less an equine version of Psyche's owner, although she might even qualify for some kind of beauty contest: she was pink, just like everything else in the room, with thousands of barrettes and ribbons tied tightly into her mane and tail, which were all wonderfully combed and shampooed. (Psyche, on the other hand, couldn't remember the last time her owner had treated her to a decent oiling job. She was forced to go to a car wash by herself to get a reasonable tune-up job.) Her hooves were graciously clipped, and her eyelashes long and full with mascara-when she batted them, Psyche could feel the wind from where she stood, at least ten feet away.
"Ah, there you are, darling," said her owner, giving a relieved sigh, waving one of her hands laced with fake jewels. She pointed towards two pink leather suitcases on the floor. "There you are, darling. Be a good pet and pack up for lovely Alexa and me. Oh, and don't forget some of your stuff as well," she added as an afterthought, her eyes blinking lazily, probably tired from the burden of all the eye shadow on her eyelids. Psyche lifted an eyebrow.
"What for?" she asked, suspicious. A smile spread across her owner's prettily ugly face, painted in bright red.
"Oh, darling, did I not tell you?" The way she said darling so insincerely really grated on Psyche's nerves. "Oh, well, now you know. We're going on a vacation!" Psyche shuddered, imaging to which they were going. Probably some place like Mystery Island with beautiful sun and surf, only for her owner to find solace inside of a tanning booth somewhere. "And I think you should feel very at home, darling. . .we're going to the VirtuPet Station!"
Psyche's ears perked up. She could almost feel her lips curving into a smile, a rare event indeed. "Wh-when did you plan this?"
"Oh, Alexa-girl and I have been discussing it for some time now. . .it should be fun, shouldn't it? I was thinking I could adopt one of those ADORABLE Grundos while we're at it. . .wouldn't that be absolutely MAGNIFICENT?" gushed Psyche's owner. Alexa nodded, bored, her mane bouncing with her head. "Now, what are you waiting for, Psyche, darling? Get to packing, we mustn't waste a moment!" cried Psyche's owner, and promptly fell into a deep sleep, her head sagging onto her oversized bust.
Psyche didn't waste a minute in starting to pack. Although she hated all of the chores that were piled onto her metal shoulders, if it meant a vacation to somewhere she had always dreamed of, she would gladly carry both Alexa and her owner on a silver platter all the way there, although she doubted she would be able to bear the weight of both of them. Opening up the potpourri-filled dresser drawers of Alex and her owner, she quickly began stuffing things into the two suitcases, which could probably fit the whole closet if Psyche really tried.
"Don't wrinkle my things-lie them NEATLY," ordered Alexa, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The distaste was evident in her voice. Ever since Psyche had been brought home by her new owner, having found her discarded idly next to a trash can with still enough power to be reactivated, Alexa had been terribly resentful towards Psyche. It was understandable-she had been used to being her owner's only pet, worshipped like a golden idol. Having a new pet in her house was a clear threat, although it was obvious her owner never intended Psyche to be much more than a cleaning unit.
"No problem, princess," Psyche replied with a fake sweetness, rolling her eyes.
"Don't be sarcastic with me, Dyke," growled Alexa, baring her pathetic excuse for teeth. Apparently in her paranoid homophobia, she had creatively created an offensive nickname for Psyche. "I can have you booted out of this household any time I like. . .it's only a matter of time," said Alexa with a triumphant smirk. It was true-if Alexa had ever reported any abuse on Psyche's part to Alexa, Psyche would probably be out with the trash once again.
"Whatever you say, princess," grumbled Psyche, averting her eyes, adding her own colorful spurt of language after her comment. Alexa, having not heard her comment, returned to putting her mane back in place, leaving Psyche in peace to pack their stuff.
Ten bags later and her own little addition of tune-up tools, Psyche believed it would be more appropriate if she had been a Robotic Uni. . .she sure felt like a pack mule of some sort, her body barely visible underneath all of the bags that she had been forced to tote around. Her only guide was her owner's voice, and that wasn't very accurate-she found herself bumping into many people and solid objects through her owner's inaccurate advice. Finally, she was forced to bring up an x-ray vision program to allow herself to navigate properly through the center of the VirtuPet Station.
The trip there had been nominally uneventful, except for perhaps when Psyche first had to load up the bags onto her back and arms. The shoot upwards towards the space station would have been more fascinating if Psyche hadn't had everything hidden behind a wall of pink suitcases. And now, here she was in the famous VirtuPet Space Station, and was being forced to view it in lime green light through an x-ray screen. But she wouldn't complain-just being here was enough.
Her owner informed both Alexa and Psyche where they would be staying- the thirteenth floor. Psyche was pretty sure that they usually didn't build a thirteenth floor (well, technically they did, but they named it the fourteenth because of superstition), but did not argue-besides, she was too tired to try and use speech from lugging around all of their stuff. The three (with all the suitcases, it more qualified as five) crammed into the elevator and shot up to the thirteenth floor, where they found their room and began to unpack.
"Psyche, darling, we can do these things ourselves. Besides, we have to do a little redecorating," Psyche's owner called to her as Psyche arranged herself in the bathroom, putting her stuff away in the cabinets underneath the sink. "You just go downstairs and get us a little snack, understand?" cooed her owner, tossing Psyche a pair of keys. Psyche extended her arm, just barely catching them. A wave of relief washed over her. She would have a little time to herself.
"Understood," she replied, though hardly heard a word after 'we can do these things ourselves.' It was rare that Alex and Psyche's owner were able to do something by themselves-usually they preferred to have Psyche do their slave work. Having been temporarily liberated from such duties, Psyche rushed out of the room, feeling relieved as she got into the elevator, punching in the lobby button. Once the door opened, she gladly jumped out to find herself in the midst of a bustle of tourists. Her eyes lit up as she saw the Weapon shop, a giddy grin spreading over her face. She rarely ever got to try out weapons, as the Battledome 'would rust up her metal,' according to her owner.
Indulging in her own guilty pleasures, Psyche happily skipped towards the shop.
"Target sighted. Waiting for further instructions." The robotic Tuskaninny whistled after saying such a thing, trying to keep her demeanor looking natural even as she spoke such peculiar thing. She looked down distastefully at the garbage bin she pushed along, which was really more part of her stomach. Though the Space Station tourists would see her as merely another janitorial robot, she could never think of herself at such lowly standards. To think such a thing would be a sin against everything that she had ever valued.
A voice crackled into her mind, directly connected to the circuits inside of her electronic brain. "Confirmed. Unit #90289 Tristus is to cover Guard Unit #356 Tacitus in the operation."
The Tuskaninny robot could hardly believe her inner ear. She, the great Tristus, was to cover her useless partner? Anger flared inside of her mind, and she replied in a low tone of voice. "I can do this on my own, Tacitus!" she hissed furiously, almost sucking in the part of her stomach that contained the garbage in her rage.
" Do not defy orders. And hush your voice, number 90289.I could easily hear you across the Space Station," a voice whispered into her ear, passing right by her. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, only to see a familiar robotic Lupe pass her by, walking confidently towards the Weapon store where Tristus had spotted the target, not even looking back to acknowledge Tristus' presence. He always treated her like a common human or organic Neopet would to a robot, and it utterly disgusted her.
There was not a chance that she would allow the arrogant jerk to get credit for something that should rightfully be hers. If she couldn't perform the operation, then it was up to her to screw it up royally, even if it did result in her deactivation. She had been deactivated before- besides the haziness of reactivation, it was not entirely that bad, although she did fear she might be scrapped entirely for failing twice. Her boss did not appreciate failure.
Rolling forwards after the Lupe, she increased her acceleration, flying past tourists, weaving through them like the expert she was. She was quickly advancing on the Lupe-she knew the layout of the Space Station much more than him, who seemed a bit lost, even having only to go in a straight line. She had become accustomed to the flocks of people and Neopets, as well as having to maneuver around them, treating them with the proper respect. For the time being, though, respect was disregarded-she did not politely smile and bow towards her so-called superiors. For just a moment, she felt not like a slave, but like an equal-but this lasted for only a few fleeting moments before someone jammed a bag of trash into her stomach, temporarily delaying her.
Just as soon as she had finished rearranging the trash in her stomach, she finally got a clear view of Tacitus. Narrowing her eyes, she increased her speed tremendously, still able to dodge around people and Neopets, although some did turn their attention towards her, baffled. She followed him all the way into the store. Seeing him approaching the target, she grabbed a random object off the shelf and charged at the Lupe, swinging it madly. "Bastard! You never returned my calls!" she screamed, conjuring up a lie that might merit a real life reason to swing out at him.
"Calls? Wha-" Tacitus' confusion was cut off as she slammed him squarely in the bum, causing him to yelp in pain. He spun around, growling, shoving his face into hers, his eyes glowing red with anger. He spoke in a low, threatening voice, as if he had total authority over her. "Look, agent, you are not authorized to do such a thing. . .it was made clear by our boss that-"
"Oh, eat Grundo crap," snarled Tristus, and shoved the weapon into his face. In the background Tristus could hear the surprised and then enraged calls of the shop owner, but she ignored those for the most part, keeping Tacitus from escaping at all costs. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the target slowly sneaking out of the weapon shop, obviously intimidated by the sudden fight that had broken out. Tristus suddenly lost interest in pummeling Tacitus and tossed the item aside, the shop owner demanding whether she wanted to buy the weapon or not. Abandoning her usual beating of Tacitus, she rushed after the leaving target who, upon seeing that she was being chased, picked up her pace towards the elevator.
"Wait!" shouted Tristus, holding up one claw. She did not get far, however-without warning, she was shoved forward, shutting the trash bin protruding from her stomach, making her gag in disgust as the trash scraped against her insides. She looked up to find a fuming robotic Lupe on top of her, his razor-sharp teeth clearly visible as he spoke between them.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
"What do you think YOU'RE doing? You let her get away!" retorted Tristus, wiggling out from underneath Tacitus, pointing in the direction of the elevators. The target disappeared into them, the red arrow on the side indicating that it was going down. The doors closed. Tristus grabbed Tacitus by the ear and began dragging him towards the elevator. The Lupe protested, the sound of metal against metal as the Lupe refused to move his feet.
"Where are you dragging me?!"
"We're getting down that elevator, sweetheart, car or not-we're not letting her get away."
"What do you need me for?"
"You're my partner, aren't you? Besides, I need you to wrench open the door."
"With all these people around here?!"
"Say it's maintenance, genius."
"I never asked to be your partner."
"And I never asked to be yours. We're even, no?"
"I'll get you back for that blow to the bum."
"Sure you will, you always do. Now help me open these doors."