Sportacus is up in his airship, doing jumping jacks, when his crystal begins to beep. He stills in his movements, because it is only six in the morning and he had just gotten up. The kids don't even wake up for school until another half hour. When the crystal persists, accompanied with color bursts of flamboyant purple and blood red, Sportacus springs into action. He jumps to his balcony, does his signature move, and he pulls out his telescope. With quiet around town, he zones in on the billboard, and the crystal beeps frantically.
The elf grabs his sky-cycle, and he pedals as fast as he can to save the villain. The trouble, however, is not underground and not what he expected. Rather than Robbie needing help, it seems a stranger needs help from Robbie. The self-proclaimed villain is facing the hero, though he makes no acknowledgement toward him. Sportacus is stunned still and speechless. He mentally chastises himself that the first thought on his mind is how muscular Robbie is. The taller man is shirtless, showing an almost six-pack amid long, deep scars.
Sportacus tries not to focus on the muscles or the scars, but rather on the other man's actions. Robbie is straddling a stranger in anger. He has blood on his knuckles, two of which are cracked open. Sportacus barely realizes that Robbie's fists are haphazardly bandaged by shirt shreds ripped from the stranger's outfit. The stranger's pants are pulled down to his ankles. A trench coat he had been wearing rides up his back, scrunched up enough to lift his head an inch and a half off the ground. His head doesn't last above the ground for long, as Robbie's fist winds up and punches him across the face again.
The elf is about to finally intervene, when Robbie finally voices the other's appearance. "Fuck off, Sportacus."
The blue man isn't sure what disturbs him more – the blatant swearing, the correct name-calling, or the deadly calm tone. Something makes him squeak in response but stay rooted to the scene. Robbie notices. He stills from the beating, and the stranger lets out a weak mewl. Robbie reaches toward the man's face, and Sportacus suddenly sees the gag in his mouth. The stranger's face is puffy and bleeding. Sportacus's crystal is going wild, but the elf can barely hear it over his heartbeat. He's supposed to be a hero, but he trusts that Robbie knows what he's doing.
When Robbie pulls out a pocketknife to resume the stranger's torture, however, Sportacus tries to intervene again. Robbie beats him to the punch by tossing over a digital camera with his empty hand.
"The man is a fucking pedo, Sport. He's been after them a long ass time."
As Robbie speaks in the creepy, monotonous tone, he cuts a line down the stranger's abdomen. In the same way his own scar was created. Sportacus looks away from the freshly cut blood. He uses some elven magic to silence his crystal. Realizing he's done so in front of the villain trying to kick him out, he darts a glance to him. As luck would have it, he locks eyes with Robbie – whose eyes are a stormy gray.
"I won't tell if you won't."
That could mean a lot of things. Sportacus just nods and starts looking at the pictures on the camera. The first picture is of a pair of bare feet. The next is a pair of legs in bright red pajama bottoms. The next is a waist-area picture between the pajama bottoms and a baby blue pajama shirt being lifted by the picture taker. The fourth picture also has the shirt lifted, to clearly see the gray training bra beneath it. Sportacus nervously clicks the next image. It shows a certain brunette sleeping in her bed, with the covers up to her shoulders. Peeking out from the top of the cover is a baby blue pajama top, and the shot is taken from outside her window.
"This man... he, he shot these pictures of Trixie?" Sportacus' voice warbles.
Robbie doesn't look up from slicing into the stranger with precision again. "Not just Trixie. There's a lot of kids in there, and not just from this morning."
"These were taken this morning. How did you know?" Sportacus gasps. "How did you get him?"
Robbie gestures with his empty hand, to the pile of flamboyant faux furs behind Sportacus. "Dressed like a pimp,"
It is early in the morning, but Robbie has been gathering evidence on this stranger of Lazytown. He hadn't been sure before, due to the stranger leaving the town by the time Robbie checks his periscope each day. Robbie doesn't bother with the costume chute and instead hems new linings to his brother's old outfit. There are cheetah and zebra prints, with what may be mink and velour. He adds the feather hat and a wad of cash and prowls over to the stranger with the camera just outside the Junkfoods' residence.
"… showed my interest," Robbie almost growls at the end of this instance, jutting the knife toward the stranger's groin.
"What do I call you, Baby?" Robbie's voice drawls almost seductively.
The stranger pauses and gives the pimp a once-over. "Depends on why you've sought me out."
"I've heard about what you do, and I'd like to make a donation."
Robbie flashes a few higher bills, biting the ends playfully. The stranger likes this array and entices the pimp to follow him to the next house. He proceeds to explain how he stalks his prey. How unsuspecting they are; how innocent they are. It sickens Robbie to his stomach, but he's playing a role, and he's going to commit.
"Why don't you show me?"
The pimp leans in for a kiss but instead shoves the stranger backward. He grins, eager to show someone else his work. He snaps his pictures like they were masterpieces. Robbie swallows his bile when the stranger pulls up Trixie's shirt. The pimp grins devilishly, offering a hand to help the stranger out the window.
"… and brought him home."
"That's… horrifying, Robbie."
While Robbie has been talking, he has continued the torture. Sportacus has gone through some more photos. Trixie, Jives, Pixel, Stingy, Penny, and even Ziggy. Robbie has set aside the knife. The stranger is barely breathing, so Robbie switches to plain strangulation. Sportacus reaches the images of Stephanie, and his hands freeze.
"Why did you show me the camera, Robbie? Are you going to show these to the police?"
"Hell, no." Robbie snaps. "I am not the type of person to kill someone and then turn in evidence to incriminate the person I just killed. That would incriminate me too."
"… oh." Sportacus blinks. He quickly smashes the camera to pieces between his hands, feeling a bout of relief. "… but you still shouldn't kill that man, Robbie. I don't want you to have a guilty conscience, and you'll be sorry."
Robbie then jerks to his feet. He grabs an argyle sock from his pimp costume to dry off his hands. "Then you've got a problem, Sportacus. Because it's too late. That stranger is dead, and I am not sorry."