The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network.
THE BIG O:
ACT 32
SEIZE THE DAY
Big-O!
Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!
Big-O!
Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!
Cast in the name of God!
Negotiator
Ye not the guilty!
Android
We have come to terms!
Butler
Big-O!
Officer
Big-O!
Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!
Big-O!
Big-O! Big-O! -O! -O! Big-O!
Chapter One: Life's a Beach
The world of Paradigm City is a world without memory. One day, forty years ago every person woke up with total amnesia. The world outside seemed to be a desolate wasteland. But humans are adaptable creatures. If they can find out how to repair things and harness electricity, they can make some kind of civilization. But Memories are like nightmares. They can show up when you least expect them.
Roger Smith lived in a large white tower that used to be a bank before he made it his home. His bedroom was on the top floor, allowing a spectacular few of decrepit buildings, damaged titanic geodesic domes, and towering twelve story construction robots. Roger wasn't looking at the view, his curtains were closed, and he was in bed. He groaned as he tossed and turned as a sprightly rendition of classical piano music thundered out from the parlor just outside his room.
Roger groaned as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Another bad night filled with half remembered nightmares. He had hoped that his recent trip to Electric City would banish these disturbing dreams but instead they'd gotten more intense. He had been losing sleep and the sleep he did get was so bad he didn't know if he should be resentful or grateful that he slept so little.
Roger looked at himself in a full length mirror and saw a handsome man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His broad shoulders and trim waist indicated both strength and agility. His jet-black hair with his strong jaw and high cheekbones on his boyish face made him the definition of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. But right now he didn't feel very handsome. His messy hair, black pajamas and sour expression was closer to 'looks like hell' but he stood up straight, ran his hands through his tousled hair and attempted to put on a brave face.
He had to. When he opened the door to his bedroom he wasn't alone anymore. There in the roomy parlor at the piano was R Dorothy Wayneright, her dainty fingers attacking the keys with a ferocity that was completely out of character for the rest of her. He wasn't alone so he had to pretend that he didn't feel like a total wreck. The thundering music was being played by a pianist, not a record player or some other machine.
That wasn't a hundred percent true was it? Technically Dorothy Wayneright was a machine, an android to be precise, but you'd never know it by looking at her. While most androids looked like walking crash test dummies, Dorothy appeared to be a petite teenage girl with egg white skin and brick red hair. She was the most humanlike android in existence that Roger was aware of. Despite her blank expression and smooth unnatural movements he often felt that she was just as real as a girl made of flesh and blood.
Roger snorted as he compared her neat, almost professional appearance with his own disheveled one. She was dressed in a reddish black dress that had a white ruffled collar and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. Her red pageboy haircut was immaculate, her bangs broken by a black barrette. He, on the other hand, felt like ten miles of bad road.
At breakfast he made a feeble attempt to act like a human being before retreating behind his newspaper. Dorothy Wayneright sat at the other end of the table sipping on coffee despite the fact that she technically didn't have to eat. Inviting her to the table was his way of letting her know that she was a guest and not a servant, but since she usually spent her day cleaning the house he wasn't sure if the message was received.
"It's rude to read the newspaper at the table," she said in her calm voice.
"Yeah," he grunted. "It's rude to wake a guy up who hasn't been sleeping well either. What's your point?"
"Roger, if you don't want my company at the breakfast table you only need to tell me," Dorothy said. "I can't really eat very much and I can't taste my food. I could skip breakfast. There are still food shortages anyway. Everybody is still rationing."
"Sorry Dorothy," Roger sighed as he set his newspaper down. "I guess I'm not good company lately. Isn't it funny that sometimes you're better at being a human being than I am?"
"Those that can't do, teach," Dorothy said, although she didn't make it clear whether it was she or Roger who was doing the teaching. "Roger this has been going off and on for a while. Have you considered getting professional help?"
"Getting professional help only made it worse," Roger retorted.
"You can't be the only person in the city who has trouble sleeping," Dorothy insisted. "Have you considered seeing a doctor?"
"Don't trust doctors," Roger sighed before he took a sip of his coffee. "Anyways I don't need them. I never get sick."
"Physically," Dorothy conceded. "Mentally I'm not sure about. You haven't been the same ever since our trip to Electric City. When that monster in the lake appeared nobody's brain worked properly. It seemed to be broadcasting its thoughts like a radio signal, overriding everybody's thoughts and turning their minds into complete gibberish. The only reason I wasn't affected was because I'm an android."
"Thank goodness Big O's cockpit seemed to shield me from the worst of it," Roger shuddered as the image of a winged, bloated, scaly, rubbery-looking monster with a face was filled with a mass of feelers flashed before his eyes. "While that creature existed everybody in Electric City went crazy. There were riots, suicides and murders. Everyone there probably has permanent psychological damage. All because I couldn't connect the dots in time."
"Roger, you can't blame yourself," Dorothy said in her calm monotone. "It isn't your fault what happened in Electric City."
"I can't remember what it was like," Roger shuddered. "All I remember is waking up in Big O's cockpit after you carried me in there."
"Roger. Please," Dorothy said. "You don't want to go there. You were suspicious of the activities at Dinosaur Lodge the entire time. You did everything you could."
"That's easy for you to say," Roger looked away.
"It is," Dorothy said. "When Beck kidnapped me at the Nightingale, he instructed us to cooperate or he would kill Doctor Wayneright. I chose to resist, and my father was killed. As a matter of fact Beck never gave the order for that man to shoot. I frightened the gunman, and he pulled the trigger. Was that my fault?"
Roger could almost hear sounds of the gunshot and Timothy Wayneright dropping his cane. "What?" Roger gasped. "No! Of course not! You're not the one who put a gun to your creator's back!"
"Then why are you blaming yourself for what happened in Electric City?" Dorothy asked. "You aren't responsible for what happened. It is irrational for you to blame yourself for what you can't prevent."
"That's hitting below the belt," Roger grunted. "I haven't been getting enough sleep and now you're picking on me."
"I'm not picking on you," Dorothy clarified. "I'm concerned about you. Ever since you restored my memory you've been harping on my physical health, even going as far as to study robotics. I don't see why I can't be concerned about your wellbeing once in a while."
"Sure, fine," Roger gave an exaggerated shrug and a wry grin. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out if you want to. But do you have to be such a nag?"
"You often complain that I act like a heartless machine," Dorothy said. "Now you're complaining when I show concern. I get the impression that you just like to complain, Roger Smith."
"She's on to me," Roger muttered under his breath, but at least he was smiling.
"Master Roger," a tall elderly man in an archaic tuxedo greeted as he entered the room. His sparse white hair didn't cover the top of his head but he did have a luxurious white handlebar mustache. A black patch covered one eye. "Mail for you sir," he said as he placed a tray holding an envelope and a letter opener on the table beside his master.
"Thank you Norman," Roger said as he took the letter opener and slit open the envelope. He smelled the letter. "Hm, perfume." He glanced at Dorothy to check for a reaction, but of course there was none.
Dorothy could keep a perfect poker face whether she was receiving her fondest wish or being set on fire. The only time she would react emotionally was if she chose to. Roger suspected that her mechanical body didn't react to emotions the way a human's would so she didn't know how to convey an emotion she was actually experiencing at the time. It was ironic, but Dorothy would probably need to take drama classes so she could fake an emotion she was genuinely feeling.
Roger glanced at the letter and smiled in triumph. "Finally," he nodded. "Angel's come out of hiding. She's agreed to meet me at our usual spot. Looks like that coded message I put in the classifieds finally paid off."
"Roger I don't think you should see her," Dorothy said.
"What's the matter, Dorothy, jealous?" he teased.
"I wasn't programmed with such emotions," she told him in her bland calm voice.
You weren't programmed with such emotions but do you feel them anyway? Roger asked himself. Roger Smith considered himself an expert on women and knew that the fair sex could be deceptive, or at the very least evasive. Whoops, Dorothy's still talking, Roger. Try to keep up.
"Despite her intentions, she is a magnet for trouble," Dorothy continued. "Any interaction with her could involve you in physical and mental jeopardy."
"I could say the same thing about you," Roger laughed.
"At least I clean the house and do the laundry," Dorothy said. "She lies constantly and her allegiances continuously change. I don't believe she knows whose side she's on anymore."
"That's why I want to see her," Roger smiled. "If she's on my side right now I've got to act fast. If I wait too long she'll be on somebody else's side and I'll never get the truth out of her."
"What is it that you think she knows?" Dorothy asked.
"What happened forty years ago," Roger shrugged. "What happened to me as a kid. Who my real parents were. What happened to Gordon Rosewater. The list goes on and on."
"Do you think it's wise to let her know you're interested in such things?" Dorothy asked. "She could use that as leverage against you whether she knows the answers to your questions or not."
"I thought you two were getting along better," Roger smirked. Was Dorothy's humanity showing?
"My opinion of her doesn't change the fact that she's unreliable or that danger follows her every move," Dorothy said. "Based on your past dealings with that woman, she will involve you in something terrible that will follow you home."
No matter how dirty and polluted Paradigm City's beach was, there was something cleansing about it. Even if the beach was pristine, the water from the ocean would be undrinkable, but Roger always got the feeling of the purity, of renewal, as if the dirt from the city was being washed away. Not even the hulks of wrecked ships or the ruins of wrecked buildings sticking out of the sea could change that.
Roger's long black Cadillac was parked on the beach. He was leaning against it while gazing at an enchanting blonde woman in pink. If she was a road, her curves would make a driver seasick. Her lovely face could be described as angelic. It was no surprise that no matter how many names she went by Roger always referred to her as 'Angel'.
"I'm surprised you agreed to meet me," Roger smiled at her.
"I'm surprised you wanted to contact me," Angel smiled back. "You didn't seem to be glad to see me last time we met."
"I was going through something at the time," Roger winked and scratched the back of his neck. "You didn't exactly catch me at my best."
"What about now?" she asked coyly. The salt water lapped up next to her shoes.
"I'm still going through something," he admitted before he gave an embarrassed chuckle. "But hey, who isn't in this town? To be honest, you've been acting pretty squirrely yourself. Where have you been all this time?"
"Did you ask me here to play twenty questions?" Angel teased.
"Maybe," Roger shrugged. "I asked you here for lots of reasons. To make amends for what I did and didn't do. To grill you like a fish until I get some answers. To make sure you're all right and to see if you need help. Lots of reasons.
"You're going to have to pick one, Mister Negotiator," Angel told him. "You can't do all of those things at once."
"Yeah," Roger walked over to her and took her hand. "You know I never did thank you for saving me last month."
"I didn't save you," Angel looked away sadly. "Dorothy saved you."
"You saved both of us," Roger said. "I never got a chance to thank you."
"Roger, don't," Angel blinked back a tear. "There's no point playing like this. We both know it won't end well."
"I told Dorothy that I feel so disconnected to this world that I can't bring myself to be a part of it," Roger reached out and took her other hand "I get the feeling that you aren't a part of this world either."
"I'm just a memory," she said sadly. "A memory of what once was, nothing more. You can't recover the past, Roger. It's gone."
"No but you can learn from the mistakes of the past to plan for the future," Roger smiled gently. "That night I made a mistake I've been kicking myself for ever since. I'm not going to repeat that mistake now."
"R-roger!" But her protest was silenced when he seized her lips with his. There was a hint of desperation in their embrace as they kissed. The surf washed over their feet and they separated but remained holding hands as they scampered away from the water. "That wasn't so bad," Angel giggled. "We should have done that a long time ago. The world didn't end did it?"
"Of course not… whoa!" Roger moved backwards as the sea washed up over his knees and past the car. The water washed over the entire beach before receding, and Roger and Angel hunched to maintain their balance and not get swept off their feet. "The tide is really coming in fast today! I don't…" He gasped when the water receded leaving a putrid festering mess behind.
Dead fish had washed up on the beach by the hundreds. Some were unnaturally large and malformed, some bore a queer yellow-green tinge, and some looked more like jellyfish or octopi. Angel gave a frightened moan as she pointed at a larger object, a human corpse.
The waters continued to recede from the harbor exposing the sea bed and revealing more dead things lying in the ooze. Inexplicably the water kept receding exposing the sunken ships and ruined buildings to the sun for the first time in four decades. Millions of dying fish flopped about the reef in the distance.
It was then Roger noticed that the reef was in the shape of a titanic multi-pronged crown. The waters continued to recede, slowly revealing the face beneath the crown. A sense of dread hung in the air as Roger thought he recognized the hideous face that was gradually revealed a little at a time. The face of the massive stone statue wasn't even human, just a mass of tentacles giving the crowned head an octopus like appearance. It was the creature that had emerged from the lake by Electric City.
On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:
Next: It's Not Going to Kill You