They had returned, car filled to the brim with crap. Stylus kept a firm hold on his own bag as the vehicle came to a full and complete stop. They all unloaded themselves and started loading up Stylus to bring everything inside.
He kept muttering to himself, "Just get this done, and I'll be back to my own work," as he hefted the shopping bags up the stairs. He figured the Butler stood to the side, watching this rather comical scene take place.
"Okay, you can put the stuff down here," Ella said after Stylus finished climbing the lobby stairs. The robot carefully put the shopping bags down before grabbing his own. After stepping around the bags, Stylus mentally declared that he was "free."
The robot checked his own bag. folded-up duffel bag, trousers, backpack, with the new hat on top. It was a good day indeed.
Stylus jogged all the way to the garage. Through the side door (the hole had been patched up with a makeshift barricade) and up the stairs.
There was a man in a suit standing by the table. A box of ammunition in both hands.
Before the man could try anything, Stylus reached into his old pack and produced his side arm. "Drop it," he said.
The man slowly rose his hands, maintaining an impossible-to-read face.
"That's not dropping it," Stylus growled, training the sights at the suited man's abdomen. At this range, there was no way for the man to try to dodge. "Drop it, and empty your pockets."
"Why my pockets?" The man asked innocently.
"I can see one of my rounds making a bulge in your suit pocket."
The man swore under his breath. He then dropped the box and started emptying his pockets.
Stylus thought against a direct threat that would make the man wet his trousers. With pistol pushed into the man's stomach, Stylus patted for hidden pockets, searching for spare parts and the like.
"Shoes. I want to be sure," Stylus ordered. There was still one more place he could search, but no man, woman, or otherwise would even consider storing sharp-edged spare parts or bullets in the so-called "ultimate" hiding place.
The man, of course, complied, pulling off his shoes and confirming to Stylus that they were in fact empty.
"Now stop trespassing," Stylus finally barked. The man rose his hands atop his head and simply left. Stylus watched as the man left the garage and climbed over the garage-side gate.
Afterward, the robot produced the duffel bag and started filling it with all of the spare parts. He needed to find a better place to safely store the metal and ammo. Inside the mansion would be a superior place.
The loud hum of the X Tornado filled Stylus' audio sensors. Looks like Sonic and Tails had returned. Stylus made a small pyramid of the crates atop the duffel bag and lifted the whole thing up. It was damn heavy, but lighter than a car. Good thing the floorboards were sturdy.
Stylus slowly stepped down from the garage attic, passing by the hedgehog and fox. The trip to the mansion was relatively uneventful, neither was finding a good spot to store the material (under the stairs in the lobby, as it turned out) and neither was the return trip back to the garage.
He didn't need to worry about reloading anytime soon. He always kept a few magazines for both his sidearm and rifle.
It was now time for the proverbial makeover. Stylus took off his ugly mess of a hat, trousers, and the backpack. It was the first time since he was first equipped that he ever took off the so-called "civvie gear." It didn't smell of perspiration at all. Robots don't perspire, after all. It instead smelled remarkably faintly of oil and burned metal.
He pulled the sheath from his original backpack after emptying it entirely. Stylus put on his new trousers, securing it with his old belt- after he cleaned it properly, of course. The new backpack was also a single-strap, and had more specialized pockets. Stylus used one for rifle mags, another for pistol mags, two more for the pieces of his weapons, and the main pocket for his keepsakes.
The robot attached the sheath securely onto the backpack, but kept the knife out. He used the knife to cut two straight holes into the wide-brimmed hat. Without the holes, the hat wouldn't have fit around the ears of his helmet.
After strapping on the backpack, throwing on the hat, and sheathing his knife, Stylus completed his new image... Well, new-ish. His attire was a slightly darker brown than before, but at least they were no longer grimy.
With new attire and nothing left to do, Stylus returned to the diving board.
Stylus awoke from sleep mode. The sky was dark, riddled with bright tiny dots. The sky was the same as always. He looked down into the sky, realising that if this was an entirely different dimension he had stumbled into, then why was the sky exactly the same?
He missed the sound of a crackling bonfire already; only now did he realise it. The faint whoosh of a passing car reached his audio sensors from the other side of the mansion. The robot waited for another two minutes before a similar whoosh emitted from the road.
Too much background noise, really. Then again, there was a lot of noise back in Chester. The metaphorical argument fell flat when Stylus remembered that he enjoyed the background noises of Chester.
Here, it seemed empty, like an out-of-practice orchestra in an empty room comprised entirely of painted cinder block. The sounds were not pleasant. The echoes were boxed-in.
Stylus started pondering how exactly he had knowledge of an orchestra. Then he remembered Patrick again.
He and Patrick did almost everything together. Stylus taught the chao how to shoot, how to fight, how to maintain fitness. For everything else, they got the help of the community. Stylus remembered helping Patrick and many other chao for an orchestra during the harvest celebration. Patrick was seven then, one rebirth so far.
Eugene and Irwin also came to watch- though they were there to move extra chairs. The practice session was taking place in the community warehouse- a large building used for many purposes, such as indoor events, or storage, or both.
The harvest celebration had been combined by all the towns to take place in Fearless Winds. Said town had expanded pretty well over the years. The event itself was truly fantastic; the best in the robot's opinion since the second one.
Stylus remembered storing an old recording of the chao orchestra. He delved into his memory banks and found the file.
Data corrupted.
F*ck.
Stylus sighed. He should have expected this. He's losing many things. His memory banks have even lost memory on Patrick's hatching, or his first rebirth, or how Stylus and Stella settled on the name Patrick.
The robot climbed down off of the diving board again. He sat at the base and produced the aquamarine badge from his backpack. On the back was the pin and a small, but clear engraved message.
FIRST PLACE - AQUAMARINE SWIMMING TOURNAMENT - PATRICK.
The one thing Stylus never could teach Patrick. The chao instead mastered it on his own, and loved the freedom of the water. Stylus recalled the many, many days he, Patrick, and Stella went out to help the chao practice for said tournament. Stylus sat on the closest possible bench- several feet from the community lake- while Stella and Patrick practiced.
One time, on a scenic path home to Chester, Patrick asked Stylus "How come you never swim with us?"
"He can't," Stella replied.
"Why not?"
Stella looked at Stylus, whom seemed to be trying to form a clear answer that could be understood by the young chao.
He was thinking of an answer, but a large portion of his processor power was running contradictions, once again out of his old desires for immortality and the present truth that he never actually achieved it.
"I guess it's because I'm a robot. If I don't short out, then my internal fluids would pollute the lake."
"Being a robot sucks, huh Dad?"
"Not necessarily, Patrick-" Stella started, then she closed her mouth after looking again at Stylus. The robot had paused.
Being a robot sucks. Stylus had never thought of it that way before. He couldn't process a complete thought on the idea because he lacked solid reasons to agree or disagree.
"Sometimes," Stylus replied.
"But if you weren't a robot, you wouldn't have known the good fighting techniques you taught me. I even helped my friend Monty against a bully at school!"
Stella wasn't an overreacting person. A fortunate trait for her to have. Stylus especially liked that about her. She processed the idea that Stylus had created a potentially deadly chao, then the fighting back against bullies. "You taught him how to fight?" Stella asked, a surprisingly amused look on her face.
"You didn't know?" Stylus asked with a grin.
"I thought it was just fitness in general," Stella replied, punching Stylus' shoulder. At this point, her arms and knuckles had gotten used to the impact against Stylus' armour. The hands were real worker's hands; tough, ragged, but still clean and relatively fine.
"Who's Monty? You never mentioned this one before." Stylus asked.
"He's one of my classmates," Patrick replied, speaking in a clear fashion. "he's learning how to fly. He's not there yet, but I know he'll get there soon."
Stylus picked up Patrick, whom then climbed onto his hat and gripped the helmet ears. Patrick enjoyed doing that, and it looked pretty funny. Stella always got a kick out of the image, anyway.
"You didn't cause any permanent damage to the bully, I hope," Stylus said.
Patrick shook his head. Stylus couldn't see the chao, so Stella shook her head. "You sure?" The robot asked.
The chao replied: "Well, I'll find out tomorrow."
Stella giggled. Stylus was legitimately worried. He couldn't help but laugh anyway.
Stylus put away the aquamarine and decided to look at the property in greater detail. There was little action going on at this time of night, so the robot has a chance to figure out what exactly he's in.
Back yard, complete with pool, hedges on two sides, a massive forest in the back. Mansion appeared to be two stories tall, but said floors were remarkably tall by themselves.
Garage was big enough to hold the Tornado X aircraft. The hole was surrounded by scaffolding, dry wall, and assorted construction materials.
All in all, the house reminded him of a large suburban area he had passed through on the way back from Chester. They weren't there when he first passed through from Robotropolis.
Or were they? Stylus wasn't really certain anymore. He needed to find a way to save his data, some way to break the firewall, loophole through the corrupted data. Tails had an excellent idea of what he was doing.
The robot stood up and jogged to the garage. If Tails didn't know how to do it, the fox would have a good idea who could.