Chapter One: Injury
"Unngh…"
In the ally behind "The Roadhouse Cafe" in The Bronx, New York, a pile of garbage came to life with a soft and weary moan. With a shuffling of old cardboard boxes and falling of rotten food and discolored snow, a worn, dirty figure began to emerge from the refuse. His eyes blinked into focus as a snowy, red brick wall came into view in front of him.
"Where… what…" The figure started, as disjointed memories floated in his mind.
"Oh… aw, jeeze… ow…" The events of the past night came rushing painfully back, hitting him like a tidal wave. A bar-fight… I tried to stop it… was hit in the head…
Doan… My name is Doan…He thought, painfully rubbing his helmeted head. My name is Doan… I am a repiloid… what am I doing here? Where am I?
As Doan tried to piece together his fuzzy memory of past events, his sharp hearing picked up something. Something familiar… It was… laughter? Yes, laughter. And screaming – a young child was screaming…
"Stop it, Jeremy!" Said a little girl's voice.
"Say it! Go on, say it!" Said a young boy's voice.
"No! It's not true!"
"Yes it is! Say it!" Said the boy's voice, with insisting persistency.
"NO! There IS a Santa Claus!" Came the shrill reply.
The voices were coming closer, now… Hide… I should hide… Thought the befuddled repiloid.
"No, no, no, no, NO! Santa DOES come!"
"Oh, yeah? So how come he brings us stuff from Super-Mall? Huh?"
"Because… because – because he owns Super-Mall!"
The voices were now right in from of him, and arguing – loudly. Doan wished he could lower his audio input levels – it felt like the noise was going to split his titanium skull.
"He does!" The girl was shouting.
"He does NOT!"
"Does TOO!"
"Does NOT!"
Doan screwed his optics shut in a vain effort to stop the noise from reaching his positronic brain. Having never been around human children before, he couldn't understand the importance of the existence of Santa Claus.
"Does NOT!"
"DOES TOO!"
"DOES NOT!"
"DOES TOO!"
Doan was trying very hard at this point to not make any kind of sound – not that he actually thought he could be heard over the arguing, but he did his best to remain undetected all the same. Maybe they'll go away… he thought, with failing confidence. Small circuits within his brain told him the decibel level had gone up another ten notches. Not that he needed the information – his audio perception levels were working fine, thank you very much.
He couldn't believe the amount of noise the two children were making. He knew that he shouldn't do anything, but the noise level was just too much -!
"SHADDD-AAAAAP!"
The children looked up at the now standing repiloid in silent surprise, too scared to do anything but stare and gawk at the lightly armored figure, who was holding his throbbing head and steadying himself against the wall.
"For the love of god, will you two just please be quiet?" At which point Doan promptly flopped back down into his pile of garbage. The two children said nothing, still too amazed and shocked at do anything but look at each other and Doan, in turn. Finally, the little girl spoke.
"Uhh… We're real s-sorry, mister… we – we were just goin' home, an, an…" She trailed off, shuffling her feet in the snow. Doan just continued to rub his aching head, mumbling about how much it hurt. He sighed.
"It's… it's okay, kid. Just – just try and be a little more quieter, okay?" The boy looked at him with a funny expression, finally taking note of the tarnished chrome armor on the collapsed figure.
"Hey… You – you're a robot, huh?" Doan looked up at his newfound company. The two children were dressed seemingly lightly for such cold weather, having only light coats. The girl was small, and had shoulder length light-brown hair with freckles on her face. The boy squinted at him through a pair of orange-tinted sunglasses, with a mess of short brown hair topping his taller frame. Doan sighed heavily, his breath leaving curls of steam in the air.
"No, I am most certainly NOT a robot. I am a repiloid." This drew a look of curiosity from the little girl. "What's a repeeoid?" She asked. Her companion gave her a look of surprise.
"It's not REPEEOID, stupid, it's REPILOID. R-e-p… uhh… well, who cares how it's spelled. It's just a robot anyway. Now come on, we have to home."
"But, Jeremy, we can't just leave him here…"
"Why not? He's probably super-strong an' stuff. I bet he could beat-up anyone." Doan looked at the boy wearily.
"Actually, I'm here in the cold because I lost a fight…" He replied, trailing off. "Wow, you must really suck to loose a fight!" Came the response, the boy smirking at him.
"I lost a fight to a bigger repiloid." Came the wry and weary response.
"Aww…" sighed the little girl, "Are you hurt?" she asked, concerned. Doan looked at the little girl and smiled.
"Yes; I'm okay. I do have some armor." The boy – Jeremy – gave Doan a foul look.
"Yeah – but you still must suck if you lost a fight." Doan looked at Jeremy, and gave an ironic smirk.
"You ever loose a fight to someone bigger than you?" Jeremy looked down and shuffled his feat in the snow, unable to come up with a suitable answer. His companion giggled.
"Jeremy has lost LOTS of fights!"
"Hey, shut-up, Melissa! No one asked you!" Doan and Melissa just laughed.
"Hee-hee! Jeremy has lost so many fights that–" She stopped mid-sentence, as Doan stopped laughing and began choking. She looked up, concerned. "Hey, are you gonna be okay?" Doan didn't answer – he was too busy reading his internal diagnostics. In his mind, he listened silently to the results.
"Operations systems capacity: twenty-nine point three-five percent. Suggested course of action: seek immediate repair." Doan cringed. Apparently, the beating he had taken the night before had done more damage that he had originally thought. Melissa looked at him with another concerned gaze.
"Hey, mister, you don't look so good…" her voice trailed off, not sure of what to do. Then an idea came to her. "Hey! I know! We'll bring him to dad!" Her companion – brother? wondered Doan through the pain – gave her look of shock.
"Huh? Are you crazy? Dad would kill us!" Melissa gave him a hard look.
"Dad is always saying how he needs work! I bet this guy has money! Don't you… uh… what was your name, mister?" Doan, holding his side, looked up at the girl.
"Yes… and my name… is Doan…" Jeremy snorted.
"That's a stupid name…" he muttered, under his breath.
"Better than Jeremy," replied Doan weakly, grinning. His sister laughed, and began lifting him up.
"Come on, you'll be okay. Jeremy, help me! He's heavy!" She grunted. Jeremy hesitated at first, and, grumbling, helped his little sister. He lifted the dizzy repiloid, grunting with the effort.
"Ugh – he is heavy!" The two faltered only once, and soon they had Doan back to a standing position. He stood awkwardly, using the cold brick wall for support. Melissa looked around for a minute, and soon came up with an old pipe to use as a makeshift crutch. Jeremy glanced at his small watch, and tugged on Melissa's coat.
"Come on," he said with an urgent tone, "we really need to get home." His sister looked at him, and nodded. "Okay. Come on, Doan!" Jeremy looked at the silver figure, and motioned for the two to follow him.
Although Doan didn't realize it, it would ultimately be a choice that would affect his entire life.