THIS IS NOT A SECOND CHAPTER. The first Jacker had a solid beginning and end. This is another story, with a couple guest stars. Please review fairly and honestly.
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Light crept into the small cave from a crevice in the ceiling, washing over Dorchet's distorted, beat up, body like a searchlight, as if anyone was looking for him, or if many even knew he existed. A single LED flashed, indicating the solar chargers were working. It would be a few hours before he could try to get up, much less go home. His spindly, black arm seemed to work, or at least enough to rip an orange panel long since bent out of shape off his chest. He'd been beaten so soundly the steel was weak around the edges from being bent in the middle what seemed like hundreds of times. A little piece of paper fell out and he read it, then stuffed it back inside. His internal components were working properly, or at least most of them. Ariadne had repaired him better than he had ever been before. She had been a true engineer, to pick up a fallen robot where others had sent him to be destroyed. She did not rest until she was finished with the project, and was resting now, as Dorchet's interest in his past had prevented calling for medical attention. Was imagination a curse? Possibly not now, as Dorchet was out of any real danger. But thinking things without evidence can leave one injured, lying in a cave with a leg a couple meters away, next to a little glowing piece of stone. In the internal computer, Dorchet activated his memory program, to allow him the chance to learn from his mistakes. To travel down that painful path; to find a lesson in all of this so that some good may come of it.
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A girl nearly died in front of him. When he wheeled over to look, there was a costumed boy already over the body and fumbling with a gadget, presumably to call for an ambulance. Without looking, he noticed people, Dorchet among them, wanting to help.
"Just go after him. Get the plate, do something!" Dorchet did not hesitate. In the tightest possible turn radius, he sped down an alley. The quickest way out of town is the way I came into it. I can probably cut them off. It's possible they're aliens or have a connection with the aliens. They've performed drive-by shootings before. Dorchet accelerated to his maximum velocity as the 4-door pickup came into view. There was a young man crouched in the bed, probably suffering from injuries, reaching to open the back door, in an effort to get inside. Then he pulled back and slapped himself on the head. Dorchet had an idea. He pulled up to the speeding truck and extended to full length.
"Open the door!" The majority of humans do not check the voice of a person speaking in urgency. My voice is not terribly robotic, so it should work. The hooded man hit himself on the head, reached back to release the front door and the back door, at which point Dorchet spun backwards on his wheels, swinging forward, slamming against the backseat at the precise moment, and shrinking down to pull his wheels inside. The hooded man didn't turn around until the black boy from the truck bed pulled himself inside.
"Wait, I thought you already-"
"Blackout, it seems we have a passenger. By all means, keep driving. He's in here by accident or he's hitchhiking. The armless little android's harmless either way, lying down like that." They proceeded through town. Dorchet felt he should speak.
"In my own defense, I thought you might have been hostile aliens based on your vehicle, but as you possess no firearms, I must admit I mistook you for someone else."
"What would you have done if we were?"
"I would have pushed you out of the car with hydraulics. If I couldn't catch you by surprise, I might hold you outside long enough for this distracted Blackout to collide with something. I can take a hit; I'm not worried."
"What if I cut your hydraulic cables? I had planned on doing that if you tried anything." Dorchet looked at him a minute.
"Are you serious?" Blackout did not hesitate to interject.
"Yeah, Squadron's a planner. He's one of those leaders who've got no one to lead. You could join up, if you got yourself some upgrades. I know a guy in a gang who's good with this sort of thing." Squadron's eyes narrowed oddly.
"So you've been coordinating the gang violence in Star City the entire time, brought uninvolved parties into the battle, and created a bunch of small-time criminals?" Dorchet knew this voice. This partnership would not last long. But a glance from Squadron said his deal was still on.
"It was easy once I planted a Genomorph on the mayor's shoulder. The more the police overlook the matter, the more people will pay them. The entire office is seeing what they want to see, I just reap the rewards. I'm creating my own private army out of the gangs. Are you interested? Dorchet could see Blackout reaching for a submachine gun in the passenger seat.
"One question first. Is that boy you knocked out on board?" That was smart of him. No right answer; change the subject.
"What? Why would he have anything to do with that?"
"I can hear better when I have my sword. Because it filters useless information from my mind, I heard words between you. He went down without much of a fight after that."
"My connections told me he's involved with criminal superpowers. I'd forget about it if he looked into my eyes."
"I can imagine he wouldn't want his friends to know about that. Whatever kind of job he's doing must not be completed if he agreed so quickly." Helping Squadron out now would be a good idea for the future…
"I must ask what went through your mind when I first saw you trying to get inside from the back."
"Most compact size pickups can have back doors that can only be opened with the front doors open. Your effort of shouting at Blackout caused him to remember that. Now, in return, I must ask what was going through your mind as you detonated a nuclear weapon in orbit, probably knowing it would cause an electromagnetic pulse." This Squadron character really could hear well. Blackout, however, nearly jumped from his seat and remembered he had to drive.
"I'm flattered. I primarily used the E.M.P. to disable an enemy android, but also to give the impression I had been knocked out. He's melted by now; the building caught fire on the top floor. I used an alternator system to preserve my functionality temporarily, but I was effectively a living Segway with a programmed mission. When I got to a computer, I repaired my brain."
"So you didn't rely on electric components because classic cars will be the only working vehicles in the event of a worldwide E.M.P. Blackout, our new best friend will need some gas. As they pulled into a station and Blackout got out purchasing a couple containers full with a stolen credit card, Squadron pulled Dorchet in for a private word.
"There are exactly two reasons someone intelligent as you fakes his own death. There's a right reason and a wrong reason and a robot who virtually admitted to setting fire to a building can be trusted to the latter. As I returned from borrowing experimental explosives from Joker, I saw three costumed youths about my age on top of a building along with you in the sky. One was a Martian, and you knew it because she can fly and therefore would have chased you into orbit, assuming you were trying to escape. Martians live on a very cold planet with a thin atmosphere. Setting fire to the building would be a good way to keep her out of an area, giving you a chance to escape. I trust you would know about these things, you're intelligent beyond the capabilities of a normal robot" Dammit, Squadron, forget about my being intelligent, you've got me beat six ways from Sunday.
"I think I know what you're trying to say."
"Of course you do, those costumed freaks are young and after us for a reason. They're accepting missions the League can't necessarily advocate. They pretend to act on their own for the public eye and for their own egos, but really they're puppets and scapegoats. The two of us have the same enemies. If I ever see you again, I want you on my side. Here's where I can be found and how I can be contacted." The tall black boy stuffed a piece of paper through a crack in Dorchet's shoulder where his realistically shaped chest plate met his back plate and it fell inside.
"Should I use your hastily made business card as soon as I get amazing upgrades or will you be busy using that useful piece of information about the youth Blackout was fighting you exaggerated to stall for time?"
"You're a perceptive box of bolts. Wait at least three days from today, no matter how soon you improve yourself. I am going to be threating that little red bastard and see if I can get him to help me kill someone and prove myself to the Injustice League, once I get to talk to one of them. It will probably be Black Adam, he'll recommend something as wise as a provisionary mission. With a little persuasion, my mission will be seen as useful to the League."
As Blackout got back in the car, the two of them made minor conversation until Squadron suggested Dorchet and he get out; avoiding driving too far out of their way. Squadron would follow Dorchet in case someone attacked them, and be there to help him attach a spare arm.
"How did you manage it before?" Dorchet had been telling his story, or at least the part Squadron needed to know.
"I fell over on it. Falling over is difficult enough with these 40cm wheels, but landing on one and pushing up immediately causes me to lean over slowly. My limbs were meant to attach and remove easily as Legos, but when they're on, I can hold them in with magnetism." They arrived at Ariadne's workshop. Squadron turned to Dorchet.
"Stay away from the Injustice League. I'll technically be a part of them for a little while, but that's only so I can direct new members my way while they're in prison. Since they did me that service, with or without their knowledge, I'll probably spring them from the can once I have enough members. But I don't want the League knowing about you. If they see me building an army, Joker will sniff me out. He's the only one there with something resembling a brain, and he's in Arkham, separate from the others. You just need to focus on improving yourself and ignoring Blackout. See, the real reason I followed you out here without him is so he can't see exactly where your place is, but he'll just take anything I say at face value."
"Thanks for all you've done. It means oceans to me, I'll see you again. I'll have amazing powers." Squadron turned and walked off. They had taken several forks to get to the workshop, but mostly it was that Blackout hadn't seen him go inside. The young man really was brilliant, his mind always seemed so clear. Inside Dorchet got to the forge and began making new arms from scratch. He would need new legs as well, the wheels had done the job, but legs would be more versatile. They had also taken significant shock damage, and the hydraulics had generally run their course. The process took a couple days, and halfway through the hydraulics in his legs gave out and he had to finish work in a swivel chair, mentally chucking at how much he felt like a dwarf. Upon their completion, Dorchet began to take long looks at the finished body, lying down like Frankenstein's monster on the worktable. Ariadne was dead. But who was to receive this body? If it had been he, she would have told him. But by that logic, the owner would know and come to receive it. Perhaps they were taking their time. Watching the news one day while painting himself orange, he heard a boy he recognized. Identifying himself as Syrus Townshend, probably a random slave name, by the sound of it, He asked his face not to be shown on television, and his voice was scrambled, but Ariadne's computer sorted that out. He reported the capture of random injured superhero sidekicks and said they might be in the governmental district. Batman will put that together in a fraction of a second. The boy who was injured and told me to go after Squadron would be Robin, so he wouldn't even consider denying Squadron's proposal to help go after him. The newscaster had another question.
"Does the mysterious death/disappearance of Brown Thrasher have anything to do with it?"
"That sounds like some sort of fangirl's quintessential idea of a secret lover for Robin. Don't tell me she has some sort of cliché elemental power."
"I think it is fire-"
"Damned fangirls…" Squadron looked like he wanted to cry.
"Robin's been denying all allegations with well supported alibis, and it seems we last saw her declaring she would wait for him in a forested area outside of Star City. No one's heard from her since."
"She probably doesn't know there are experimental test subjects from a lab a long time ago hanging around there. Is there any way we could not go retrieve the body? The world could use less of her type."
"Actually I think her powers are supported by a piece of a magical Mayan tablet, so someone will want to salvage that." Dorchet was already out the door.
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"I can't believe they're making us do this, this is such a waste of- us! We should be going after Robin, Red Arrow, and Artemis."
"Wally, we were already in the area, I know you want to help your friends, but the rest of the Team is more than enough for the job."
"I agree…
"Good, at least you have some sense, Raquel."
"I meant with Wally. It really doesn't take more than one person to get this tablet thing, and each of us is competently fast. We could all grab it and run if we saw anyone. There's no real point in fighting over a stupid artifact, but it would still be worth the having."
"Maybe Batman gave us this mission together so we wouldn't complain. Think about it. I wouldn't want to be the only one not being of help, and I would lose focus. You and Wally would probably directly disobey, and may or may not come back to it." The three of them were travelling at about the same speed, as Wally thought it would be unwise to travel too far ahead, even though he was sure he could run more quickly than either of them could fly. As the forest was coming into view, he could just see a slight figure entering.
"Who's that up there?" He was getting ahead.
"Where are we looking?"
"There's somebody entering the forest! They might be after the tablet piece."
"Whoever it is, we're probably faster, catch up if you want, I'm sure it's just some adventurer looking for superpowers with which he doesn't know what to do." Wally accelerated to full speed. He could no longer see the individual, who was apparently aware of pursuers. Entering the sudden tree line, Wally looked around. There were several good hiding places. There was no time to chase after this idiot, just get the stupid rock and leave. There was a relatively beaten path, and that was probably a good way to go. Rocketing along the trail, he heard something behind him and looked over his shoulder. Nothing was there, and it wouldn't matter, he could get to the rock first. Oh, look a clearing ahead. Wally had enough experience with running at super speed to know not to stop cold, even if you see a thirteen year old sliced in half diagonally by what looked to be a perfectly sharp blade. The glowing stone tablet was sitting on top, then nowhere to be seen.
"I suppose it's only fair to become visible." A 12 or 13 year old kid, dressed like a king of some sort appeared out of thin air. He was holding an AK-74u with a red dot sight and had a .44 Magnum clipped to his leg in a holster. Glowing with a golden, shining aura, he introduced himself.
"I am the Destruction Engine. I am on no one's side, and deliberately mysterious. I'm completely immortal, I can create, and I can kill people just by willing it. I shall one day kill all of both Leagues and the Team, except for maybe one of the girls." Wally applauded.
"Yes, yes, you sound like you were created by a ten year old who doesn't know what destruction engine means. You're probably the result of those experiments on humans." An orange and black, humanoid, robot walked into the clearing from another direction. Upon seeing Wally, he nearly exploded. The figure in black robes and a crown did not seem to scare him at all.
"I am a simple- adventurer like you. I mean not to harm anyone. Could you please explain why he's not hiding his obvious weakness?" Wally and Destruction Engine were interested enough; immortals did not often have them.
"Go on…"
"Overloading his capacity to think clearly would incapacitate him."
"How would one do that?"
"Tell a difficult riddle. Or would you prefer I think of it?"
"That's enough from the both of you, mortals. " Destruction engine opened fire at Wally, who effectively vibrated to avoid the repeated bullets. The robot moved out of the way of the revolver's blast well enough, and before long Miss Martian and Rocket flew into the clearing from above.
"We heard gunfire! What's happening?!"
"M'Gann, think of a riddle! Make it difficult!"
"What?!"
"You mortals have tried my patience. Even my obsession with the exact models of modern weapons has failed to entertain me with you." The orange robot shouted all of a sudden.
"I got one!"
"You have one what? "
"I have a challenging riddle for his excellency!" The robot seemed to have figured out Destruction Engine's other weakness. This one was a smart one.
"Speak your riddle, then, mortal machine. There are no riddles too complex for me."
"I'm glad to hear it; it's a 2 part riddle. If I have 47 wheels, 2 wings and 11 toes, and you have nothing, are weak, and not immortal, then what do you deserve?"
"To die!" Red ones and zeros flickered around Destruction Engine's head.
"No, wait, that's not what I meant. I'm-"The orange robot punched him in the head to prevent his finishing that sentence. Drawing back and swinging again, he looked up at the gathered sidekicks.
"Help me cut off his thought process, dammit!" Wally zipped to the other side and let off a string of superfast punches to the spine while the girls were dropping/ throwing heavy objects from above. No one was doing any damage, but all were quite distracting. The red Binary code flickered out and Destruction engine fell forward. The orange robot drew back with the tablet and addressed them as he was walking away.
"He won't get back up. The name Destruction Engine, was not a mistake; it's how his powers work. Based on the weapons he probably created, I'm guessing he has videogame oriented powers. The Destruction Engine in a game is what controls physical material, often part of the setting, being destroyed by characters in the game. Overloading the destruction engine will prevent anything more from being destroyed. Since his powers are connected directly to his brain, it will thankfully prevent a little extra for us. I'd like to keep this souvenir, if no one minds." Wally waved him off and began an excited chat with M'gann. They could go on to their other mission now. Raquel, however, stared straight at the back of the robot walking away.
"I have two questions, if you don't mind my asking, Mr. Robot."
"Yes?" The robot did not turn around.
"1: How did you immediately know Wally here wasn't a bad guy and 2: Why the hell did you go with orange? Blue looked so much more natural on you! "The robot did not turn around for a reason. He had already taken off and began burning the undergrowth with the tablet, preventing Wally from taking the fastest possible route. Taking the second fastest possible route, Kid Flash caught up with the robot and placed about 20 punches on his chest plate in the space of a second.
"No one, not even you, blows up a building and gets away with it! You killed innocent people and pretended to be dead and then got legs?!" The robot was not using the tablet to burn Wally, rather he was pointing it at the ground on the path leading out of the forest. The flyers circled around and witnessed the beating. M'gann intervened.
"Wally, he has to be alive, dammit! We have to question him!" Wally stopped beating the robot's contorted chest plate.
"Why did you kill the old man?!" The robot only looked up at Wally, keeping his fists to the ground, squeezing harder on the ancient tablet, brown flames burning more brightly on the ground in front of him.
"He created me !" This was not the answer Wally expected.
"He created me and that robot sent me on a suicide run against the most violent, life-hating aliens the universe has ever seen! You can take all of your 'being the bigger robot nonsense and shove it up your collective ass. Being better than my enemies is not in my programming. I was created to kill, and not to die." Wally, rage in his eyes growing at every word, stepped on the robot's leg as hard as he could, breaking the metal cylinder supposed to be a femur.
"You bastards think you're all a bunch of tragic heroes, don't you! Nothing goes your way and you kill people to make you feel better. You're despicable. Your imagination was wasted on you. I'll see you rot in a hole." The yellow speedster paused a moment, turned around, turn back and kicked him in the chest. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Jacker." The name was probably a fake, but it didn't really matter with a robot. The assembled members of the Team grabbed Jacker by the shoulders and dragged him off, out of the forested area, having had enough of his shit, as Wally would have put it. The orange robot spent the next ten minutes blasting at the ground at a certain point and annoying Wally. Wally, about to destroy his face, lost his dragging privileges. Wally angrily ran ahead, as if he could hope to help his friends that much more quickly.
"I think I finally understand" The robot appeared to have shut down or something, he was just making the fire arc around them and burn the same spot in the ground ahead of them. They would have to go around it eventually, but it didn't seem to be doing anything to the ground.
"Understand what?"
"I now know why Red Tornado drafted all three of us to bring in this one guy. We're flyers, and that helps with high-rise buildings… but Jacker's largely been saved by his ability to come up with solutions and escape routes and nasty weapons. We need a guy like Wally to fight him."
"Wally's an idiot we keep around for stupid ideas. He's not known for rational thought."
"90% of those stunts Jacker pulled off were stupid ideas. Because of their unpredictability and versatility, they saved his life. Wally has the same strength as Jacker. He wasn't brought here because he's fast." Raquel did not respond. Jacker suddenly stopped concentrating fire on the ground. How anticlimactic. Maybe he was just holding it too tightly or something. The two girls simply walked forward with Jacker, simply to go on to their next assignment, as Rocket turned to her companion.
I'll run ahead. I've got to talk to Wally, and he really is going to get himself killed without one of us around. About 30 seconds after she took off, M'gann felt resistance from her autonomous prisoner. What? Jacker's awake? He's holding onto a hole in the ground? Does he know I can feel that? Upon noticing her turning around the orange robot fumbled with the tablet and shot off a flaming arc as he pulled himself down a hole. As a yellow stream of fire flashed in front of her eyes, Miss Martian made a mental note to disarm all prisoners, even the ones that looked unconscious. At the scream of a friend flying to her aid, she blacked out.
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The tablet is by no means a source of amazing powers. It will, however, help me fight my way into getting them. I could easily steal something from Dr. Bastille's workshop, there's probably not very good security going on. It's probably safe enough to come outside by now. Dorchet had just finished melting his leg back into place again. It wasn't fixed; of course, there would be a whole mess of wires disrupted thanks to that yellow loudmouth. The super heroines had probably flown off now to get the Martian professionally healed. They can't afford to lose an asset like that. Even if she doesn't value her life, kids don't make sacrifices like that. The boy is also out of the question. As much as he hates me, he's probably long gone. Dorchet pulled himself out of the hole and struggled to stand. One leg useless, it wasn't an easy task. All in all, It seems I've lost. In spite of the recent acquisition of the tablet, not dying, and defeating Destruction Engine, I was discovered and nearly destroyed. If they didn't want to question me or salvage my parts, I would have been killed on the spot. It seems that the disguise wasn't good enough against someone who had seen me before, which was equally inconvenient, considering I had no way of knowing I would run into those three again. The forest was growing less and less dense as Dorchet dragged himself toward the end of the trail. The reflections on recent events were a splash of cold water to the face. They beat him, undermined his disguise, would be reporting him, but most importantly had discovered he still lived. At least it's a straight shot back to the workshop, where I'll hopefully be able to build new parts. Not to mention a better disguise.
Upon returning to the workshop, there was a small issue. Despite having the right amount of parts to rebuild himself, he would have to completely redesign his outer shell. This would take unimaginable amounts of time, and he might as well build a new body entirely. Why do I keep patching myself up? All repairs were just temporary installments so I could function, as if there would be some sort of end result. After deciding he might as well be consistent, he got to work on his new leg, as well as some white plate armor, to go over him, rather than replacing his existing orange frame entirely. White's a pretty generic color. It's the most common hue for automobiles, and I'll probably stand out less. The armor's also differently shaped from my frame, it should allow for greater probability of not being recognized. Not too long after replacing the chest plate with several fist shaped depressions made by Wally, the yellow speedster, Dorchet was building a few exceptionally damaging viruses on Ariadne's computer, when he noticed an email from a long time ago. It was a reply to one she had sent to a generic account, probably one to be eliminated soon after use. The reply consisted of only a few words. Yes. Give both in your charge time, and they will do the work of our god and yours. The new being will understand us and his mistakes. Mentally frowning at the cryptic email, Dorchet got up and hobbled over to get out the camera. This was information worth documenting. Halfway across the room, Dorchet's auditory sensors picked up muffled footsteps behind him. You are not in a manga. There is no advantage in allowing a stalker to know you are aware of him. Act. Without breaking a stride, he continued until he ended up looking upon a workbench in the opposite corner of the room, knowing the object he sought was really sitting on the floor next to the computer.
"Camera, camera, where is it-"the noise came again. Dorchet waited 30 seconds, hit himself on the head, and turned around. He sat down at his computer and hastily created a new email, loaded with attachments, while feigning shock at discovering the camera having moved to the desk. There's only one individual on the planet or otherwise who would mess with me like this. I have to hurry. A sharp scratch came from the corner of the room. Dorchet did not stop working.
"Ahh, Dorchet, it seems you've repainted yourself. What a pity, I liked the color our father picked out." A corrosive metallic voice came from the back of the room. " the orange robot spun around in his chair, work almost complete. He could pretend not to hear scratches and footsteps, but ignoring the voice would reveal he was up to something. The light gray robot had scratched orange paint off his old, bent, chest plate to reveal a sliver of blue. The tall android focused his eyes on Dorchet, who swore internally for not rebuilding and reattaching his leg sooner.
"Leicester, it's good to see you. I thought you were destroyed, if not shut down permanently."
"Oh, you have me mistaken for someone else, but believe me, I experienced his death quite clearly. It's how I know your name. Call me Ledecestre." The gray-white intruder picked up the two objects that had been resting on the warped steel plate. Ledecestre's eyes glowed more brightly than usual with fascination and greed. He knows what that is. He's going to blast me with it and I can't let him get the computer. I don't know how, but I'll have to come back to it. Dorchet stood and hobbled away from the desk while talking.
"I must implore you explain your most interesting situation. How exactly did you witness it?"
"I watched through his very eyes. My brother and I have always shared a special connection, despite our diverging purposes. His was to guard Dr. Bastille, mine to experiment with new warriors in a lab under the forest, judging by this tablet, you just visited."
"What could you possibly want with the tablet? And what sort of experimentation did you perform?"
"Dr. Bastille thought he understood machines, but he only built them. I am one. I live the life of an instrument of evil. Leicester and I may look alike, but it's you who possesses all the similarities to me. Leicester's not a more complicated machine than a fork. I've been using my own technology on my subjects. You destroyed the mind of my pride and joy, which was the most powerful subject, and used his strength to escape. Needless to say, I didn't make more of him. I was expecting to have to go after him eventually, but it was you who figured out how to beat him. When I found the boy in the woods, he told the tale of an orange humanoid that defeated him along with newfound allies. I removed his software from the plug in the back of his neck and repaired it, before setting off to find you, and it brought me to my new purpose." Dorchet's mind spun a new idea. I just have to hit enter if the connection between him and Leicester runs along some sort of wireless radio. The computer's in the process of detecting hotspots. An information window appeared on the screen, probably indicating progress was complete.
"Which is what? I can't imagine it would be to kill me?"
"Kill you? No, you're my only chance! Once I disable any notions of disobedience from that mind of yours, you'll be my unstoppable slave. Think about it. The kid's weakness was pride and overloading the software. But you're smart, and if you overload, you'll explode with an Armageddon flame! I'm not going to kill you; I'm going to bend that overpowered animus of yours to my will. But first I have to injure you to make this easier." An arc or fire shot towards Dorchet's remaining leg, which immediately launched him forward and over the pillar of flame and into Ledecestre's face with a punch. The gray android reeled backward, but returned to grab Dorchet by both arms.
"You and my brother are nothing alike!" hissed the acidic voice. "He may have been all balls and no brain, but at least he was connected to the Internet!"
"That's positively excellent; I shall not need that camera cable after all." A look of utter bewilderment greeted him on Ledecestre's robotic face. Detaching both arms, Dorchet turned ran, and pressed enter with his foot. Fortunately there's one in the corner…It seems that since this fool is indeed connected to the internet, there will be no need to connect the cord to my own ocular receptors, then to him, and fortunately not have to run the virus through myself.
"What did you do, insolent machine?!""
"It's simple. You've got mail." There was no elaborate explosion, series of whizzes and bangs, or screws flying loose. The body of Ledecestre simply darkened, fell over, and would eventually have to be swept away. In the days that followed, Dorchet took the chance to contemplate recent events while packing up shop. The League is smart enough to know that a limping robot can't get far, and had probably already dispatched someone to comb Star City and the surrounding area. Unfortunately, the computer had been damaged by the viruses that had also been saved in the email, and would have to be fixed once Dorchet got to his new home. He loaded it among other things, including the body, tablet, and Squadron's contact information into the back seat of Ariadne's old Volvo. Having finished the white armor to cover his shell, he began to wonder why he had given the alias "Jacker" to the powerful youths. All I know for sure is it wasn't a randomly generated word, considering I'm not even sure it is a word. I must have picked it up somewhere.
The road out of town was remarkably empty, perhaps that would make sense if the League ordered it to be that way. Accelerating to 75 mph, Dorchet remembered an obligation he had to fulfill. Fumbling around behind him, he eventually found an outdated flip phone and called the number he had already memorized. With no one on the other end, he simply left a message.
Squadron? It's Dorchet. Cover's blown, so I'm heading out West. If you need me I'll be in San Diego. Oh and by the way, try to avoid using the word "Jacker" In conversation.