"I've reactivated him at least a dozen times, now." The image of Dr. Light on the vidcom was shockingly harrowed. Cossack had a feeling the man hadn't slept in a long while. There were bags under his eyes, and coffee stains in his beard. Light was an older fellow but his hands were steady, so that was a little alarming. "At first his boot routines look normal, but the infected lines start showing up, and…" Light lowered his head and seemed to try and rub the stress out of his own face. "The corruption happens so quickly, he doesn't even have time to lift a finger before I have to abort the startup."

"Was his behaviour abnormal, before you shut him down?" Cossack asked, his fingers laced and his tone cautious. "Mine aren't showing symptoms, but until I check every line of vulnerable code…"

"No. Well… Yes." Light shook his head, as if to rattle his thoughts into place. "It's not like last time. He doesn't act fluish or ill. But his processing speed has slowed down, and he... started to turn on us."

"What?" Cossack shot up in his seat. Out of commission was one thing, but Mega Man going rogue...

"No, no. I shouldn't say it like that. He didn't jump up and start destroying my lab, thank goodness. But he wasn't answering me right away. And when he did, he seemed... " Tom looked behind himself and off camera, as he had several times now, where Rock was presumably lying inert. Light liked to lay his robots down for maintenance, despite their ability to lock their servos and rest while standing. It was a charmingly human touch, but Cossack personally preferred not to have to grab and flip over a two hundred kilogram robot just to reach a back panel.

"Tom?"

"He was very hesitant to listen to me. He said he wanted to talk to Wily. He tried to leave. It took a lot of effort to keep him here. Appealing to every sense he had left."

"Oh, no," Cossack mumbled, deflating in his seat. "He's reprogramming them. He's taking control of robots through this virus."

"No, not exactly. From what I hear, a lot of robots have been wandering off, but they're not being controlled directly. It's not that kind of program from what I can tell. It's not even rewriting code, it's just adding… layers. New objectives. I can't begin to decipher them, there's so much and it only appears while he's running."

"Once again, Dr. Wily proves his eagerness to ride the shoulders of other roboticists, while pissing down the backs of their necks." Encouragingly, Light laughed. "Is it too late to hope that those objectives are beneficial to us? 'Sit down, shut up and let me fix you,' for example."

Light's smile faltered. "I'm afraid so." They both paused, thinking. Cossack looked to the empty station next to him, which he'd fill with another robot as soon as the call was over. He wasn't halfway through testing his own robots. Light looked behind again, and expelled a sullen sigh. "It's bad, Mikhail."

"I know."

"He's not handing out a cure this time. If it was ever a cure at all - did you see his message to the world?"

"I did."

"He's right. He's right, I never saw this coming," Light said, hiding his face in his hands momentarily. "It's bad," he repeated.

"We'll fix this," he assured his colleague. "I should get back to work." Cossack propped himself up at his station.

"He's taking my boy away, Mikhail…"

"No, he's not. We will not let him. Get some sleep, it's getting to you." He had a thought. "What about Roll? Is she still active? She was infected with the original roboenza."

Light took a sharp, cleansing breath. "Yes, she's still up. I isolated the roboenza-M lines in her system. Without time to fully analyze the virus all I can do is work around it. She's still infected, but I wrote a loop around its sectors to keep it out of her thoughts. That should buy her some time while we sort Rock out."

"That's… daring. And that actually worked?" Cossack asked, unable to hide his surprise. "You never cease to impress, Thomas."

He waved his hand, dismissing the praise. "I'll send you a copy of the code so you can adapt the process." Light yawned, and scratched his beard. His fingers picked up a bit of the stain in it, and he tried with visible distaste to flick it off his fingertips.

"Have Roll send it. Go to bed, Tom. I mean it." He paused. "Actually… put Roll on. Then go to bed."

"What? Why Roll?"

"Put her on and go to bed. So help me, I'll send one of my boys to forcibly tuck you in."

Light let out one last wheezing chuckle at that, and got up from the console, without turning it off. He didn't say anything along the lines of "good night" either, which was discouraging, but a moment later a familiar little girl in a red dress sat down in his place. "Good evening, Dr. Cossack."

"Morning, actually. So… How are you feeling, Roll?"

"Well… my brother is stuck in stasis while Wily has his way with the world. So I guess I'm kind of nervous," she admitted, but that wasn't what Cossack was looking for, so he cut right to the point.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but what about your mind? Dr. Light said you were infected." She shrank down a little in her seat, looking away, and he suddenly felt guilty, as if he was confronting her with a personal secret. "It's, er… It's not your fault of course," he added.

"I know…"

"How do you feel? Light said he wrote a patch for you," Cossack prodded, still eager for any bit of information he could get.

Roll nodded slowly, her lips tightening in a perseverant expression. Cossack was consistently impressed by the humanity of Light's robots. He mostly avoided giving his own numbers complete faces, preferring to focus on the eyes; those that had more were limited to very simple expressions, like Dive Man's almost perpetual grimace. Watching Rock and Roll emote was a hauntingly human interaction.

"I feel… different," she struggled out. "I still feel like me, but Wily's new virus keeps... telling me something. But then the patch loop makes me forget what it was." Her head sank and she brought her fingers up to her temples. "I just feel like I'm wrong about everything. Like I'm always being corrected by both sides. Does that make sense? Please say it does," she asked, her curled fists mashing the sides of her head through the stress.

"I understand. I wish you had more to tell, but I think I understand. I'm sorry that this has been so hard for you, Roll. But, could you do something for me?" She agreed readily, which he expected; no matter her condition, Roll was a helper. "Dr. Light looks terrible. He needs to sleep. Make sure he goes to bed, and if he tries to get up after fewer than eight-" He reconsidered, knowing time was a factor and Light was, to put it conservatively, important to the recovery effort. "... Five hours. Make sure he sleeps at least that long. If he tries to get up, I want you to put him back to bed. He's hurting himself."

"I can't disobey his orders, doctor..."

"He is hurting himself. Roll, your f-ffffather," he struggled out, after deciding it was too late to take back the first word that had come to mind, silly as it seemed to him, "is no spring chicken. Keep the old man in bed until he stops looking like a pile of laundry. … And have him take a shower. I'm only guessing, but-"

"No, that one makes sense. The chemical spectrometer up my nose has some stories to tell. I'll… do what I can," she agreed, typing quickly. "Here. I'm sending you a copy of the quarantine loop Dr. Light patched me with. Implementation instructions are in the code comments. The moment any of your boys start acting funny, put them under and apply the patch. If you can make it work for them, maybe we can engineer an adaptable version, and supply it to the public."

"An excellent idea, from LightLabs' top apprentice," Cossack said, offering her a smile, which she returned in pearly-white spades. "I'm sorry, but I really have to finish up with my boys before things have a chance to go completely haywire here."

"Oh, of course! Don't mind me!" Roll bowed in her seat. "Good night, Dr. Cossack."

"Good morning, Roll, and thank you for your help. Remember, five hours," he said, and waved a finger at her. She nodded dutifully, and stood by until he ended the transmission.

Cossack opened the online drive containing the quarantine patch, and began inspecting the code. It was a lucky thing that adaptation to a crisis was something of a specialty for Dr. Light, and it was fair to say the apple didn't fall far from the tree. He could only hope that, by seeing to it that Light stayed in bed, he wasn't stomping all over the world's chances of recovery.

"Huh. Light's American, isn't he?" Skull Man spoke up from the corner, shaking Cossack from his worries.

"Hm? Er, yes. I believe he is English-born, but he's been an American citizen for most of his career." Cossack leaned back in his chair, resting his arms. He'd been coding for hours, and his elbows and wrists were both starting to feel like balloons full of granite and chicken bones. Against his best appraisal of the urgency at hand, he elected to take a moment to chat with one of his battle-bots. Another of them, Pharaoh Man, was lurking nearby as well. Skull Man had finished his checkup just before the call to LightLabs, while Pharaoh just had a tendency to hover around the doctor and the young mistress somewhat when he was home. There was no escaping his reputation as a "papa's boy".

"So, what's the story with the bowing?" Skull asked, mimicking the gesture. "I've seen Rock do that on TV after interviews too. Isn't that a Japanese thing?"

Dr. Cossack nodded. "It is. Dr. Light has spent a great deal of time in Japan, it being the cradle of modern robotics. As have I, naturally. He's fond of adapting Japanese mannerisms into his robots' behaviour." He looked off to one side for a moment, and added, "I think he went well over par with the big green one. But regardless, he's always been good about incorporating a variety of little worldly touches to his machines."

"What, like King Tut's headdress there?" Skull asked, jerking his thumb back at Pharaoh, who only squinted in response.

"Well, yes, actually. Light and I both design our robots for service worldwide, so we aim for a sort of international appeal." International appeal was a leg up he'd sorely needed after the hit to his rep Wily had stuck him with. "He avoids making his too distinctly American, and I've tried to keep you all from being too distinctly Russian."

"Other than Dive Man, obviously."

"Look, I can indulge a little," Cossack shot back, pointing an aggressive finger Skull's way. "Besides, I restrained myself. I stopped short of painting a hammer and sickle instead of an anchor on his chest." He had, when he'd realized that a symbol of the worker's strength applied to an autonomous machine would have been uncouth, patriotic or not.

"And the accent-"

"The accent is classical, you philistine." Dive Man's thick russkii accent (and complementary broken English) really tied his whole caricature together, in Cossack's opinion. All his robots had been given different accents in pursuit of that worldly appeal he desired. Drill's was fresh from the Canadian prairies where he did a lot of his work, and Dust Man sounded French because no one had explained to Cossack that "French maid" wasn't so much a cultural touchstone as it was a stereotype with a pretty off-colour modern interpretation. Tundra Man had been given a clean trans-Atlantic accent for reporting to English-speaking lessees across the globe, though to the doctor's confusion he'd been taking on a rather inexplicable (and decidedly theatrical) affectation lately. Bright Man's accent was a painstakingly recreated Serbian one in honour of Tesla, though in practice it mostly resulted in people outside Europe saying he sounded like Dive Man.

Skull's voice had originally been modeled after Dr. Wily's long-since Americanized growling, at the mad doctor's request. But Cossack had later mellowed it out some and removed most of what made it sound like the man who had just about ruined his life. "Yeah, okay, doc. So why's Pharaoh sound like an English duke?"

Cossack shrugged. "Ehh, it makes him sound like the movies."

Pharaoh perked up and asked, "What movies?"

"Old movies. It's not important."

Skull Man snickered. "And Ring's Australian because… what? Boomerangs?"

Cossack groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I… Because I had to build him on short notice and that voice module was royalty-free." That was a lie. It was the boomerangs. But he wasn't about to admit that any more than he'd admit what had happened with Dust Man. "Skull Man, your test came back clean. You're done. Go play," he said, waving his hand to dismiss his robot.

"Whatever you say, doc." He passed by Pharaoh, and slapped him on the arm. "Good luck on your test, Tut." He disappeared up a set of stairs, leaving Dr. Cossack and Pharaoh Man alone.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Cossack fell back into his chair and rubbed his aching brow. "Sometimes I think he earnestly tries to be as abrasive as possible."

"Perhaps he's just pent-up. A robot without work to do can start to feel a little tightly-wound." There was one other chair in the room, but Pharaoh stood standing, as he always did unless told otherwise. He himself had a reputation for being tightly-wound due to his rigorous behaviour, but the truth was, he had a very peaceful mind, most of the time. He was a leader and protector - that was his function, as a guide robot for expeditions into old, hostile ruins - and it felt right to be attentive, rational, and ready. To behave so was a sign that he was in his right mind, and that others were safe with him. In the middle of this REM crisis, he valued that feeling even more.

"Still, I fail to see how engaging in such behaviour benefits him," Cossack replied, but leaned forward attentively, interested to hear an answer straight from the source. Robotic cognition was still a frontier, even after years of R&D.

"He wants attention," Pharaoh said simply. "It's likely that he feels as if he has no purpose and thus is being forgotten. Or vice-versa, perhaps. I can only imagine that with things as dire as they are, he feels even more frustrated than usual that he's not allowed to… well, to destroy anything."

"It's been unusually quiet, for a Wily crisis. Most robots are simply walking off the job; no violence unless they're forcibly detained. There's been notably less in the way of mayhem compared to his last few attacks. A relatively peaceful disruption doesn't warrant a violent response; that may only make things worse."

"I understand."

Cossack stopped, considering something. "Still, though. Preparations may be in order. With Mega Man out of the picture for now, if fighting does break out…" He laced his fingers against his mouth, pondering the uncomfortable, then looked up. "Pharaoh Man," he said, leaning back as if commanding an interview. "Skull Man and Ring Man were ordered to help you develop your combat abilities. That was, what? A year ago? Have you made notable progress with their assistance?" The Wily incident was well in the past now. Though Pharaoh Man had been rebuilt in his original form as a service robot very soon after the crisis, it'd only been a few years ago that Cossack had made the decision to dig out the Wily schematics and overhaul Pharaoh again, returning him to combat readiness and then some. Since then he'd still mostly worked in Egypt; only last year had Cossack told him to really get down to business polishing his combat functions, even turning down a service lease to ensure there was time to do so.

"I believe so. My specialty weapons require extremely judicious use due to their highly destructive nature, but I'm confident in my fine-tuning thus far. I feel I'm developing my secondary function well, doctor."

"That's good to hear. I know fighting isn't your focus, but keep it up. No reason you shouldn't have multiple skills to offer if you've got the capacity for it."

Pharaoh bowed his head in agreement. "Of course, doctor." He changed the subject. "While I'm here, would you like me to submit myself for testing?" Though he didn't show it, he was eager to confirm his own health.

Cossack mulled it over. "... No. I think I should call Ring Man down next. I've been talking to you since you came home, and I haven't noticed anything odd in your behaviour. Ring Man is a robot of few words; I'm not sure I could spot a change in him if it were there." He brought up the communication network again. "DCN-007R. Report for testing now, please." Keeping wireless lines open was a bit risky under the circumstances, but they had all been instructed to disregard any unknown or suspicious transmissions, refuse file transfers, and use their best judgement to avoid infection from outside sources. Cossack preferred that his robots stay in touch with each other, and with him, until all this was resolved.

"Ring Man is a combat robot as well," Pharaoh Man blurted out, realizing a flaw in his logic, "but he's never been as unruly as Skull Man. I could be wrong about him."

"Well, Skull Man does have a little Wily in him, even after his overhaul. The old man wanted him rowdy." He'd gotten quite practiced at discussing the past in a matter-of-fact way. It was a terrible chapter of his life that nonetheless created all manner of precedents he'd be dealing with forever. "But that said, Ring Man has always had a more serious disposition. And as such, I've been able to trust him with a few odd jobs. Duties a little more delicate than the occasional paramilitary contract. So he does see more action than Skull Man. … Maybe you're right."

"It's possible. Skull Man doesn't really hold long conversations, so it can be difficult to understand him. I'm making some assumptions."

"How are your team tactics?" Cossack asked abruptly. "Are the three of you working together well in combat simulations?"

"Very well, I think."

Cossack drew his head back a little, genuinely surprised. "Really?"

"Skull Man has been a zealous ally in combat scenarios. He is in his element. Ring Man is precise and agreeable. I strive to adapt to fill the space between them. Altogether, we are a highly functional unit." He paused. "It would be helpful if one of us were assigned a leadership role…"

"Are you referring to yourself?"

"No," he said quickly, not wanting to appear presumptuous.

"Good. Because while you may be a born leader in a sense, you're far too new to combat to command a team. The other two aren't leading material either; Ring Man is too passive, and Skull Man lacks subtlety." He fixed Pharaoh Man with a serious, scrutinous look. "I'm sure there is friction, but friction yields polish. None of you are fit to lead a combat team, so I expect you to act as equals and develop as a cooperative unit. Is that understood?"

"Yes, doctor. I understand."

"Good," Cossack said, rubbing his poor wrists as the sound of Ring Man's feet on the stairs heralded another few hours of testing and coding. He turned back to his terminal to ensure everything was ready. "Once Ring Man is finished, you'll be up next. With the R-models tested and clean, we'll be that much safer regardless of what comes next."

Ring Man passed Pharaoh by, and the two of them shared something halfway between a high-five and a handshake. "G'day, king. How's your head?"

"Still clear, for the moment." Ring gave him a firm nod. "And yourself?" Pharaoh asked as Ring set himself up on the connection terminal.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Let's see."

Pharaoh turned back to the doctor. "Well, he seems normal to me." That prompted a miniature laugh from Ring, and a grunt from Dr. Cossack, whose hands were already at work. All three of them let a wordless moment go by uninterrupted, and it was the quietest the lab had been since Skull Man had come in for testing. But something was on Pharaoh's mind, and the question was loud enough in his head that he felt compelled to voice it. "Dr. Cossack? Why did you rebuild me as an XXXR-model?"

"Hm?" Cossack grunted again, not really hearing. His fingers were flying over the keyboard and whipping across the two touch screens next to his monitor. He was already getting lost in his work. Ring Man had heard the question though, and was glancing curiously between the two of them, now aware he'd missed some kind of a talk.

Taking whatever the robotic equivalent of a breath was, he posed the question as clearly as possible. "Why did you rebuild me with my combat functions intact, and not the other five noncombatant units?" Finally hearing the concern, Cossack sat up and rubbed his chin, leaving one hand on the keys.

"It's complicated, Pharaoh Man." He cleared his throat and went back to squinting into three different screens. When Pharaoh didn't say anything else, Cossack glanced toward him just long enough to confirm that he was still waiting for a response. "Later. I've just gotten the ball rolling on Ring Man. Let me work. I want to try and finish in under six hours this time, if I can," he added, exhaustion creeping into his voice as he settled in to run the same lengthy testing process for the third time. If he didn't streamline it, it was liable to put him in the same state of affairs Thomas Light was currently in.

"As you wish. I'll attend to the young mistress Kalinka for the time being. I believe she normally wakes-"

"Yes. Thank you, Pharaoh Man. I'll call for you when I'm ready to begin your tests." Dr. Cossack dismissed him, and dutifully he turned and left. He hadn't been told to drop the issue, of course, and so he wouldn't. For the last few years since being rebuilt, he had been developing himself as a combat unit - as a weapon. Wily had done what Wily does several times during those years, but Mega Man had then done what Mega Man does, while Pharaoh Man and his fellows remained in relative peace. So to him, developing this new function was just another duty.

It wasn't until now, when his power was once again a possible threat to humanity, that he questioned the doctor's decision. He lacked Ring Man's laserlike focus and deadly aim in combat, and Skull Man's sometimes unsettling ability to cause and control ludicrous amounts of destruction. He was a rookie, of course, but even putting that aside, he felt like a third wheel. His assignment seemed irrational.

In a fight, that is. Among those he was closest to, he felt more like the guardian he was.

Kalinka was already awake and dressed by the time he came to her room, which was fortunate. Making difficult decisions for lost humans was part of his function, but when it came to fashion he fell a little short in that regard, or so experience had taught him. (Unless the young mistress was in the mood for yellow.)

The two of them made their way down one of the long hallways of the citadel. The old place was still quite livable, kept in good repair and its inhabited spaces updated with more modern decor skirting the traditional fixtures. Kalinka's room was the most modern of all, naturally. It was practically the citadel's embassy of The Republic of Things That Make Dads Squint and Groan. Her being both a teenager and a university sophomore ensured that Dr. Cossack had nothing to do but stand back and allow her to… express.

Seeing printed-out segments from stirring interviews regarding valued emergent products of electronic intellects hung immediately next to posters for Positronic, a film series based on a book series revolving around the tragic yet scintillating romance between a woman and several handsome, feuding automata, had effected a dizzying whiplash for Dr. Cossack. Somewhat less jarring was her newfound affinity for the kitsch neon grids and prints of the 1980s. To her, it was "appreciating the frontier-gazing wonder of the era in which computers found their pedestal in popular culture". To her father, it was "crappy pink sprinkles of American nostalgia".

The halls, naturally then, were decorated a bit more classically. Kalinka could jazz up her room how she liked, but her father wasn't about to let her jazz away the rich charm of the whole family citadel. His precious tapestries would remain at least until the old home was officially passed on to her. One more reason for Mikhail Cossack to live a good, long life.

Kalinka was still fussing with her belt, refusing to clasp it looser than she had last month, struggling to claim the well-worn notch and grumbling at Pharaoh. "Excuse me? I am not 'getting bigger'. I exercise five times a week!" she said indignantly, choking off the last few words with another strain of her belt.

"I spoke imprecisely, young mistress. You are growing." Pharaoh Man was walking in front of her, leading her to the kitchen. Perhaps not necessary, even after all those months Kalinka had spent away from the sprawl of Cossack Citadel, but the gesture came naturally. "You are still only sixteen. It's to be expected that you'll outgrow a few more things."

"I like this belt…"

"Well, then put a few more holes in."

"I just said I like it!"

Pharaoh Man said nothing. Humans, he thought to himself, amused.

"And I am an adult now, you know," she assured him, quietly acquiescing and choosing the farther notch. Pharaoh Man started to again remind her of her age, but she cut him off. "I am in university! Advanced classes! You are not to treat me as a child!"

"And yet, you grow," he said just a little too smugly. She growled at him from behind, and he regretted it, and said nothing else until she spoke again.

"Is papa awake yet? How were things last night?"

"Dr. Cossack is still hard at work, young mistress. I believe he wishes not to be interrupted. He says he's 'streamlining' his labours, and is very much focused on the task."

"Has he eaten?"

Pharaoh had to think for a second. Dr. Cossack had eaten in the last twenty-four hours, but… "Perhaps not sufficiently."

"I had a feeling. Well, then I'm cooking for two."

"May I?" Pharaoh said without thinking. He was beginning to develop a fever of the cabin variety, and the only prescription was more work.

"You can't cook," she said, shaking her head at him.

"On the contrary, I can follow a recipe quite precisely."

"But you can't cook," she assured him with a playful smile.

He processed that for a moment, then decided to file it under "human assertions to decipher later" and close the book for now. "If you say so. I shall defer to you, young mistress."

He heard her stop, and sigh. When he turned around, she was looking rather sulky, her arms limply crossed. "You know… You don't have to keep calling me that. I told you, I'm not a child anymore."

"Ah. Of course." Pharaoh bowed his head briefly. "As you wish, mistress."

Throwing her arms down, Kalinka scoffed. "You don't have to call me that, either!"

Doing his best to read the situation, Pharaoh put a pensive knuckle to his chin and made a show of it. "If you're asking me to start calling you 'doctor,' I'm afraid that would be rather improper before you've finished your degree." His eyes lit up with a hint of humour.

Rather than staying irate, she surprised him by looking rather sheepish. "Or you could… just call me Kalinka, maybe?" He responded with actual pensiveness this time, and she pushed a little harder. "Why is that strange to you? I've known you since I was seven! Why shouldn't we be… Why shouldn't family be familiar?" she demanded. The question was a heavily loaded one, which Pharaoh was not at all ready to process in full. There were a dozen things he could have said in response, but he went with the safest, the option least likely to upset her further.

"I understand." She stared him down, gently but expectantly, and he obliged. "Let's attend to breakfast then… Kalinka."

She surprised him again, by dashing up and embracing his arm. "Yes! … Thank you," she added, and started off down the hall again, with Pharaoh in tow.

"Of course. I live to serve, mistress Kalinka. Thy will be done." She stopped and let him pass, frowning at him. "I'm sorry. I'm… trying to be funny."

"Yeah, I know," she said, and caught up beside him. "... You know, it's weird that you're somehow even more butlery than Dust Man."

Dr. Cossack had been rapt by his work as expected when they took his breakfast down to him. There was little room on his desk, but Kalinka had had the presence of mind to cram his full serving of blini and fruit onto a plate barely larger than a saucer before delivering it, so she'd been just able to balance it somewhere clear of his elbows (while Pharaoh looked for a place to stow a cup of tea). After a quick stretch, a bite, and a kiss to his daughter's cheek, he'd gotten right back to it, and Kalinka and Pharaoh had hastened back to the kitchen before her own could get cold.

"How do you feel so far, Pharaoh?" Kalinka took one more bite of doughy goodness, and set her fork down next to the remainder so her stomach could settle a bit.

"I'm well," he said quickly. "Believe me, since the outset I've been quite diligently introspective, miss Kalinka."

"Kalinka," she corrected him. Dust Man sauntered by, and seeing the plate and silverware resting in front of her, moved to collect her dishes and table scraps. She moved fast to rescue her food from his clutches. "Oh! Still eating, thank you, Dust Man." He relinquished it, and went back to cleaning the kitchen.

"Kalinka, yes. I'm sorry," Pharaoh said, standing off to one side as was his custom. "What about you? Is school going well?"

He caught her mid-bite with the question, and she had to work down a wad of buckwheat and berries to answer, pushing her plate away as she struggled a little. "It's, um… fine. My grades are good. Pharaoh, is it really that hard to call me by my name? Can't you just… I don't know, switch some numbers around in your head, and...?"

Pharaoh Man shook his head. "No. Not anymore, I should say."

"Anymore? Hey!" Kalinka slapped at Dust Man's hand. "I'm going to eat it, okay? Every bite!"

"Apologies."

"If you want to wait tables today, could you get me a glass of juice? Or, no. Coffee. Tea! There's tea in the pot. … Please," she stammered out.

"Mais oui. Just a moment."

"Ah, drinking adult drinks. Like an adult might do," Pharaoh teased. "How very adu-"

"They're all adult drinks! Adults drink juice!"

"Of course."

Kalinka began to blush, hiding it by putting her elbows on the table and cradling her cheeks in her hands. "Would you sit down?! Stop making me crane my neck up at you," she scolded, and he obliged, pulling up a chair next to her. "What did you mean, you can't switch numbers around anymore?"

"I am well over nine years old now," Pharaoh answered plainly. "The greatest bulk of my memory and processor resources now go toward supporting an increasingly complex sentience and understanding of my duties." He cradled his own face in the same way, mimicking her. "Performing and cleaning up after copy-and-paste tricks like those has become less efficient than simply relying on my polished AI."

"So you're finally seeing yourself as a person, just like I always have. Wonderful!" she chirped, and pulled her plate to herself again, stacking the remainder of her food all onto her fork at once before housekeeping could make it disappear, then shoving it in her mouth.

"No, I- I am still merely a humble robot… Kalinka."

"Too humble," she said through the food, swallowing as she finally passed the plate to Dust Man, who second- and third-guessed taking it from her at that point. "You're self-aware, you understand humour…"

"The meaning of self-awareness in AI is still intensely debated, and humour is merely a tool for regulating tension…"

"And you care about me. And I care about you," she assured him, her voice taking on a note of unmistakable tenderness.

He didn't say so, but that statement touched him in a way he couldn't express. Affection from humans was a sign that a robot was well-liked and thus being everything they were meant to be, and that was a fulfilling knowledge. But the kind of affection Kalinka gave them, deep and constant without regard to their performance, was both confusing and heartening. It was a human thing to do, and he could have written it off as such, but the fact that it meant something extra, something special to him, made him wonder if perhaps he was evolving beyond duty after all.

"I… do care. Of course, the wellbeing of the humans around me is core to my function, even beyond the parameters of the First Law."

"Oh, don't you First Law me. I'm not just another person to keep breathing to you, am I? You care about me. … Right?" She leaned in close, and took one of his hands in both of hers. Kalinka always wanted to see more in him than the doctor did. Whatever theories Dr. Cossack would entertain, Kalinka would embellish into the stuff of futurist dreams. What had begun as the dreamy misunderstanding of a child growing up among robots had persisted over years and become the boundary-challenging idealism of a future expert.

Pharaoh held eye contact, both to let her know he was still thinking, and because it helped him think. Kalinka was a priority, of course; that was a standing order from the doctor, ever since the incident. But also: Humans are to be protected. The young are vulnerable. Her mind is valuable. His reasoning branched out into a hundred other concepts more complex than he ever could have rendered in his early years of service. Dr. Cossack is valuable, and his will is tied to Kalinka's safety. The future rests with today's children (even the ones who are practically adults now), and the future is everything. Humanity is all humans, and all possible humans. Humanity is nothing without its future, and not itself without its values. Kalinka is young, vulnerable, important, efficacious, unique; she is potential personified. She is humanity's value. To protect her is to protect a human, and humanity.

And another web of ideas sprang just from the thought that she meant something to him, personally. I must protect my own existence, as well as hers. She is a part of my development and what I am. She is a part of my existence. I am the same to her. A part of her development, what she is, and her existence. To protect myself is to protect her from the loss of me, and to protect her is to protect myself from the loss of her. It was a concept that both interweaved with and blanketed the Three Laws and was hard for him to grasp as firmly as them, but it was the truth. To protect her is to protect everything - Kalinka, the doctor, the world, the future, and myself. She had asked if he cared for her, and in a moment of confidence, he decided what that meant.

"Yes. I care about you, Kalinka."

She beamed and leapt from her seat to throw her arms around him. "Ohhh, you big, yellow sweetheart, I know you do!" she sang at him in a syrupy voice, hugging him so energetically she was practically wrestling with him.

Flailing in his seat, Pharaoh didn't have a chance to return the gesture. "Please try not to put me off balance! I don't want to fall on you!" As a combat robot, he was significantly lighter than most due to some of his heavier metal being replaced by ceratanium, but that didn't exactly make him a feather pillow.

"You're gyroscopically stabilized, you're fine." Her tea arrived, made to her preference despite her months away from home. "Thank you kindly, Dust Man." She took a long drink, and let out a hot breath across the table, satisfied. "As much as I appreciate you waiting on me, I hope kitchen duty isn't keeping you away from anything."

"Non, madame. The doctor has relieved us all of assigned duties for the time being. I am merely performing minor maintenance according to my best judgement," he explained, tucking his hands behind his back and standing at attention.

Pharaoh leaned forward, a little listlessly, cradling his head again. "Well, it's good to stay busy. I suppose we can count ourselves lucky if restlessness and a loss of work is the worst thing this virus does to us, but I can't help but feel that we're all going various degrees of stir-crazy, locked down at home like this."

"D'accord," Dust agreed. "Life is so unnerving for a servant who's not serving." He deployed a spongy floor cleaner on each foot and began mopping up the kitchen tiles, his feet gently vacuuming up the foam like two hungry metal suckerfish. "Ah, those good old days, when we were useful. Suddenly, those good old days are gone..."

"... Quite."

Back in Laboratory 2, it was just slightly less than six hours since the process had begun, and to Dr. Cossack's immense relief, it was done. Ring stepped off the monitoring station, and shared a firm thump on the forearm with Pharaoh, yet another physical sort of greeting as was his custom.

"Looks like I'm right as rain. I'm gonna sweep the perimeter for any sign of naughty Wilybots, just in case. Good luck, eh king?" he said without stopping his stride.

Pharaoh Man nodded, and stood aside a bit to let him pass in the cramped, work-crowded lab. "Thank you, Ring Man. Be sure to let me know of any naughtiness uncovered."

"You'll be the first to know," he called back, his brassy voice echoing out of the stairwell.

Dr. Cossack leaned back, his chair creaking in harmony with his spine. He had been working for about twenty hours straight with only moderate breaks in between. While that sort of dedication had seemed prudent at first, it was clearly having an effect on him. Nonetheless, once the doctor had deflated into his seat like a beached jellyfish and had not said a word for a substantial moment, Pharaoh Man took it upon himself to ask. "Doctor? Shall I ready myself for inspection now?"

Cossack just groaned, and brought his hands up to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. After a few seconds, he sighed and said, "Pharaoh Man, you're fine."

"But, doctor…"

"You're all probably fine. I recalled you as quickly as I could and most of you don't need to network frequently for your jobs. And the Lightbots were most likely specifically targeted…"

"But I do network for my job. So does Dive Man, and- … What?" he asked, noticing that Cossack had sat up again and was regarding him rather pointedly.

Dr. Cossack yawned, slouched, and took a moment to compose himself, still keeping his eyes on Pharaoh Man. "Are you… afraid?" the doctor asked, clasping his hands between his knees and directing all his attention at Pharaoh.

"I'm very concerned about this. It's as you said before - it would be better to ensure that all XXXR-models are clean and normal. Our combat abilities, in the wrong hands…" He trailed off as the doctor raised a hand to stop him.

"You're afraid because you pose a threat to others now, in ways you didn't as an expedition robot."

"... Yes. Is that significant?"

Cossack shrugged, and slumped back again. He spun his chair around, letting his eyes focus on nothing as the room turned around him. When another yawn hit him, he made up his mind. "I don't have the energy for another full inspection, emergency or not. I'm going to bed."

"Yes, doctor."

"You'll be at the top of my list when I wake up, if that helps." Pharaoh Man just nodded, his mind racing. That web of ideas, of complexities he'd dealt with more and more over the years, every strand was vibrating. The doctor's voice brought his head up out of the tangle again. "Your new designation and duties. Do they trouble you?"

"Not as such." Each of them considered what to say next, but Pharaoh spoke first. The question sprang back off the web and to the forefront of his mind. "Dr. Cossack. Why did you rebuild me as a combat robot?"

As if this was a long-anticipated trial, the doctor responded with a resigned sigh. "It's complicated."

"Yes, you've told me that already."

"Well, you've asked me that already." Pharaoh lowered his head somewhat penitently, and Cossack clucked his tongue at him. "Oh, stop. I didn't say I wouldn't explain. But… be aware that you may not understand."

"Yes, doctor?"

Cossack reclined and laced his fingers over his chest, staring thoughtfully at the conduits running over the ceiling. "To begin with… there is a conversation I've had several times with Dr. Light. You see, I'm grateful for what his boys have done for us. But while Blues is rather… independent, Rock is not. Mega Man fights for justice but he does so with the approval of his creator. And I never… This might sound odd given all the good Mega Man has done for the world, but I didn't really understand why he continued to give that approval."

"Do you feel Mega Man has not proven himself yet?"

"It's not that. Dr. Light… ehhh…" He always struggled to be respectful of this issue; having an actual daughter, to compare to Cossack's relationship with his robots, made Light's feelings on the subject a little harder to empathize with. "He professes to care for his robots in much the same way he might for his own flesh-and-blood children. I don't know how much of that is truth and how much is just the old man being colourful," he added, shaking his head, "but if there's any truth at all to it, then why, I had to ask, does he continue to send his boy into danger? Especially when Rock himself has said he dislikes fighting…"

Feeling a surge of something much like a fanboy's pride, Pharaoh interjected. "Mega Man is a hero, doctor. He's trusted and beloved by humanity; he stands above us all, in many ways. To hear history tell it, he was the only one capable of doing what he did."

Cossack snapped his fingers then, pointing. "Yes! He was the only one. The very first time Wily staged a coup, Rock was one of only two master-type robots in the world not under the madman's control, and that made his reassignment to combat necessary to repel the threat. His tool-copying system converting well to a weapon generator was a bonus, but he had to be largely rebuilt for his new purpose. It was a last-ditch, sub-optimal decision. But it's been years, and - as I've said to Dr. Light - he's had all this time to build a new robot that is specifically tailored for combat. A perfect warrior to defend the people. He could have done so years ago, and relieved Rock of a duty he neither enjoys nor was he designed for." He took a breath in the middle of his ranting. "And do you know what he told me?"

"What's that, doctor?" At last, the point.

"He said he's always believed that there was a careful balance to be maintained, between power and responsibility. It would be easy to build a robot with all the power in the world and tell it to fight, but to do so would be reckless. He said that the greater a robot's power, the more responsibility that power demands - naturally, of course - but also that, for a certain threshold of power, there is a level of responsibility that cannot simply be programmed into a robot. Eventually, AI technology reaches a wall, the Three Laws become inadequate as a safeguard, and simply adding more power, more ability to fight, just becomes irresponsible and dangerous."

"But Mega Man is different," Pharaoh said without thinking.

"Yes. Yes, he is. Our ability to program that sort of responsibility has its limits with our current understanding of AI. But Mega Man possesses what Dr. Light believes are emergent qualities. Things that were never planned but which came about as a result of quirk and circumstance. Mega Man does not simply follow orders and obey the Three Laws, even I can see that. He cares. He worries. To him, his responsibilities are deep and personal, and he demonstrates a far broader than normal understanding of them. That is what qualifies him, far more than any other gun-toting battlebot Light could slap together." He stopped there, looking Pharaoh Man in the eye, seeming to study him. Then an almost mischievous smile stretched over his face. "Pharaoh Man. Recite the Three Laws."

It took no thought; they were core to his programming, and to all of modern robotics, so they came out with no hesitation. "First Law: A robot must not harm a human being, or through inaction allow a human being to come to harm. Second Law: A robot must obey an order given to it by a human, unless doing so would conflict with the First Law. Third Law: A robot must protect its own existence, unless doing so would conflict with the First or Second Laws."

"Very good."

A moment of silence went by unimpeded, and he felt compelled to speak again. "Is that all, doctor?"

"Are you aware of the so-called 'Zeroth Law'?"

"I'm not… sure."

"You weren't programmed with it. No robot is, it's too difficult to put into definite terms. It's a, eh… turn-lead-to-gold sort of myth among roboticists." Dr. Cossack raised a scholarly hand and recited. "Zeroth Law: A robot must not harm humanity, or through inaction allow humanity to come to harm." Something about that clicked, inside Pharaoh Man's head. He brought a hand to where his mouth would be, eyes wandering. He could feel gears turning in his mind as clearly as Cossack could see them. "You understand, don't you?"

"I'm not sure," Pharaoh repeated.

"I think you do. I think Rock does as well. And I think you both possess an ability for deep thought that is not common among robots. Emergent from quirk and circumstance. What circumstance, who can say?" Cossack laced his fingers again, and kicked his chair off spinning in a circle, looking rather amused. "Your job directly concerns the safety of humans, and of human culture and structures. That could certainly be a factor. And, like Rock, you grew up- eh, well," he coughed, catching himself talking like that ingenious crackpot again. "Not grew up… You developed in an environment that involved humans and close familial relationships. Id est, my daughter and I. That's got something to do with it, I would wager. It could be any number of things. It could also just be the peculiar way your 1s and 0s bump into each other."

The worries he'd been wrestling with since the crisis started were illuminated in an altered light now. So was the talk he'd had with Kalinka hours earlier, it occurred to him. While he couldn't quite make perfect sense of it all right at that moment, the gears turned faster and faster. "What are you saying, Dr. Cossack?"

"I'm saying you care, Pharaoh Man. You do more than follow orders or Laws. You concern yourself not only with what's best for those present, but what is best for everyone. I've been studying your development for nine years, and… I think Dr. Light is correct. There is an X-factor we cannot reliably reproduce that makes a robot suitable for wielding power. There are others, I'm sure, going unnoticed in the world. But Light has noticed. And I've noticed," he said, pointing at Pharaoh.

"You gave me power because-"

"Because I trust you with it." Pharaoh Man could feel a swelling in his chest. I trust you. That meant everything to him. "You're awfully quiet. Are you still troubled?"

"Thank you, doctor."

"For?"

"For trusting me. I can't imagine a higher praise."

Smiling, Cossack leaned forward again, eager and studious. "Explain?"

"Well, for us, for robots, to be praised and further employed is a desirable outcome," Pharaoh answered, his mouth running a bit with what could only be described as excitement. "Being recommended, even better. But to be trusted - to be told my judgement and execution of duty has been so reliable as to not require human oversight - is… well, I… I'm honoured."

"Hmm." Cossack stared, pondering. "I wonder if robots may ever find themselves striving for more than that." He paused, looking apprehensive. "I wonder if they should. Ehh, never mind, it's no matter right now," he added, waving the thought away with his hand. "Just know, there will be oversight, Pharaoh Man. But I trust you with a degree of autonomy, and I have faith that you'll make the right decisions."

"I'll make you proud, doctor," Pharaoh answered, and too overcome to think of anything else to do he bowed at the waist. Then he looked up and said, "Wait. If I'm the one you trust, why did you rebuild Ring Man and Skull Man as combat units as well?"

Cossack shrugged and slouched back. "I made them for Wily; they've never been anything but combat units. I mean, what was I supposed to do?" he asked, raising a hand and slapping it down on his knee. "Hire Ring Man out as a crossing guard? Have Skull Man volunteer at the old folks' home?" he laughed.

Pharaoh shot upright, and emitted a stream of static not unlike the sound of someone sucking a breath in through their teeth. "Er… Yes… On that topic…"

One short but stressful conversation full of incredulous questions and brow-rubbing later, Cossack finally stood up from his station. He was yawning again. "I think I'd better take the same advice I gave Tom. I'm going to bed. Wake me in five hours if I don't get up on my own, hm?"

"As you wish, doctor," Pharaoh said cheerfully. His mind was buzzing, as it had been for the last day or so, but there was a pleasant note in that buzz now. Things were grim, but the doctor had faith that he'd make the right decisions. That gave him hope.

Dr. Cossack passed him by, but came to a stop and looked back at his computers again. "Come to think of it, Light would have been on his feet again a couple of hours ago. If he listened to me in the first place that is. Perhaps I should… hooh," he yawned. "... Check in. Hmph." He patted Pharaoh's shoulder. "I'll let you handle that. Give LightLabs a call, would you? See what's transpired over the last little while. Maybe a miracle will have happened," he said, sounding like he believed quite the opposite. "Good night. Or afternoon. Whatever it is," he mumbled, climbing the stairs and leaving Pharaoh alone in the room.

Pharaoh Man clapped his hands together briskly. "Right." It was time for him to get to work. To hold down the fort, as they say. Invigorated, he assessed his priorities. His networking was still open to communicate with the others. He checked in, with a flurry of digital messages that only took a few seconds.

Ring Man. All clear outside? Good. Keep us posted.

Dust Man. Dr. Cossack must sleep soundly. Is Kalinka well? Good.

Skull Man. I discussed your volunteer work. Expect a talk. Sorry.

Satisfied with that, he leisurely brought up LightLabs' contact info from his own databank and prepared for a more traditional conversation with its more human overseer, all still within the efficient camera obscura of his own headspace. Of course, contacting an outside server across the ocean was quite a bit more risky than speaking with the other Cossack-bots around the citadel, but LightLabs was secure - at least enough that Dr. Cossack felt comfortable using the same computer to contact them as he was using to examine his robots.

With a hand on his hip and a sublime, put-together confidence in his big yellow heart, Pharaoh Man put the call in to the lab with the vigor of a freshly appointed executive. And what happened immediately after shook him like a can of yellow spray paint.

The call went through as expected, at first. He recognized the connection. Then it was redirected. That was odd, as LightLabs had taken Dr. Cossack's call on their central communication line earlier that morning, and Pharaoh was calling the same. Pharaoh's confidence wavered as the line reconnected, and he recognized it as the networking server of a single robot. He hadn't expected that. A forest of unknowns sprang up in front of him. Had he made a mistake?

Then a familiar communication signature picked up the conversation, the charming digital voice of someone he knew well enough. Hi, Pharaoh!

His worry was replaced by a giddy shock that nearly blew him away, and Pharaoh Man called the name of the robot on the other end both in his mind and aloud.

"Rock?!"

Author's Note:
tfw you make yourself emotional about robots
Boy this, uhh... This story kinda became sorta topical since it was first posted, huh?
Anyway, hope everybody enjoys. This went from a no-outline goofball story to like... a real thing with a plan, in the time it took me to write Chapter 2. Not a GREAT plan, mind, but... Well, I'll try to keep the yuks comin' either way. Stay tuned for my favorite chapter thus far in what I would hesitantly call the plot outline!