The scandal continues: see the beginning for all disclaimers.
Warning: this particular chapter is more focused on plot development and introducing certain antagonists into the mix than romantic comedy. It's still important and has a sprinkling of humor near the end, but is far darker in tone for most of the way through. Also, if you still haven't seen the last few episodes of the WRC, this contains some spoilers for certain occurrences. Sorry, but they couldn't be entirely avoided.
~ * Part Six: Since We Fell (You're Going Down With Us – Maybe) * ~
A darkened, dirty alleyway overflowed with refuse, entry from the main street completely blocked off by a haphazardly stacked pile of boxes and trashcans. This was actually not really a problem for whoever happened to walk by on their way to wherever, as few normal people particularly liked traveling through narrow, cramped, rancid places.
The sole person who actually crouched behind that cover of boxes was far from normal.
The small figure removed his sunglasses and blew once on them, wiping them with a tattered gray cloth. Lifting them up for inspection, he noticed the tiny reflection of part of his face in the dark lenses. Beady black eyes set in a face that was youthful, but far from innocent, what little dirty white blond hair he had pulled into a single spike set far on his forehead… he looked every bit the part of a bad guy, even without the telltale rubber suit he wore.
Shrimplips quickly put his sunglasses back on so that nobody could see it when he squeezed those beady eyes in silent pain.
Still a Rubberobo. After all that had happened at the World Robattle Cup, he was still a Rubberobo.
Not that he really wanted to be, anymore. It was just that he no longer really had a say in the matter.
Looking back, it was difficult for the not-so-young man to understand how he had gotten to this point. Oh, certainly he could point the finger at the usual suspects – Ikki, Metabee, and all the rest of their little posse – but truth be told, he knew they were not entirely to blame for his current fate.
(Doesn't mean I can't try, though.)
Hard to believe that just a few days ago, he never would have dreamed his life would get this bad. Just a week prior, the little man had been on top of the world, celebrating with his fellow conspirators over the perceived success of their latest and grandest scheme. It had been in the typical fashion for them: basically, they got pissed drunk and cackled about all the stuff they'd do once they pulled this off and became rich, famous (or infamous), and powerful.
(Those were the good old days… If I'd known I'd have ended up here just a week from then, things might have been different…)
(…I would have drunk more.)
Alas, not only had he not gotten as smashed as he might have liked, but when things came tumbling down again (and they would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids and their medabots…!), he hadn't simply hit rock bottom. No, he'd dropped right through the floor – literally.
(Betrayed by our own boss… probably should have seen it coming, but then, I guess Rubberobos aren't known for our observational skills…)
Well, Shrimplips was sick of it. He was sick of being used, sick of being manipulated and sick of being discarded once he was no longer useful. It was time for a change, time to turn his life around and make something of himself other than a half-rate crook.
Pity there was no chance of that happening.
Ironically, the grand scale of their last scheme had backfired on them in a bigger way than they ever imagined. Bad enough their dreams of world conquest and respect had been dashed, but so had their chances at a normal, non-evil lifestyle.
A bitter chuckle escaped the small Rubberobo. Thanks to the role they'd played during the World Robattle Cup scam, he and his 'elite' cohorts achieved the notoriety they'd craved for so long. Having your faces broadcast all over the globe while you're standing there admitting your role in attempting to recreate the Ten Days of Darkness has that effect, apparently.
They'd come so close… too close for many people's comfort.
Even though they had failed, therefore… they weren't considered harmless crooks anymore. No, now they were potential threats, and had to be dealt with…
Shrimplips had entertained thoughts of turning clean for a while, only to have them forced out of his head entirely. Contrary to the majority of the general public's beliefs, being a Rubberobo did not automatically make you completely insane.
(Partly insane, maybe, but not entirely. Not all of us.)
So far, Shrimplips knew of only one of his former comrades who actually stood a snowball's chance in hell of turning his life around without losing it to an angry mob searching for scapegoats. And that was only because he happened to have certain connections he'd been able to call upon… connections he'd failed to realize he even possessed until it was almost too late, and latched onto for dear life at the last possible minute.
Ironically, the one who had been most adamant about not turning his back on the Rubberobo Gang was also the one with the best chance of doing so successfully.
(Lucky, stupid, slugs-for-brains…)
Considering that he hadn't run into his old 'leader' since he'd been forced to fall back upon the gang, Shrimplips had to assume he'd finally wised up and seized his chance for a normal life.
Shrimplips had no such luxury. For the toddler-sized Rubberobo, there was no pretty young thing waiting and willing to whisk him away from his so-called life of crime. He had no friends in high places – no real friends at all he could call upon, count upon. Not even his former ally who'd managed to luck out.
He hadn't really seen his other two companions since the World Robattle Cup: they'd split up after escaping immediate punishment to avoid getting recaptured together. But Shrimplips had little doubt he'd be running into them again sooner or later. As far as he knew, neither one of them had anybody to help pull them out of this pit they'd plunged into headfirst.
(Heh, maybe it'll be good to see some of the old gang back together. At least it'll mean I'm not going through this hell on my own…)
Even if they never showed up, however, Shrimplips was fully aware of the fact that he wasn't going through this entirely alone. After all, the Rubberobos hadn't consisted of merely four members – and he and his three constant companions were far from the only 'elite' of the organization's number.
With Meta-Evil's departure and uncertain future with the gang (after all, he had betrayed them when it seemed his plans were coming to fruition, smooth move on his part considering how it had all panned out), the Rubberobos were facing a new era. Those who hadn't abandoned their former life, been killed during the fiasco, or arrested afterward, were quickly and quietly pulling together.
Like it or not, they needed each other now to survive. That meant agents who had once been assigned to different groups now had to work together – and new elite members had to replace those who were gone for whatever reasons.
In fact, Shrimplips had already partnered up with another promising agent. In all honesty, he had been keeping an eye on this particular Rubberobo for some time now. Experience had taught him how to distinguish between real, raw talent and some poser who was on a lucky streak or had been paired up with a more powerful medabot than they deserved.
If his unit had held a bit more respect among the Rubberobos, Shrimplips might have even taken a leap of faith back then and requested she be transferred to his group. Sadly, not only was it probable that his so-called 'elite' teammates might have taken offense at the thought of bringing a fifth into their number, but doing so would have called more attention to him than he was comfortable with.
He might even have found himself kicked out of the group in order to 'make room' – practically equivalent to a death warrant.
Slots in the upper echelon were difficult to earn, and sometimes even more difficult to keep. Shrimplips was fully aware that only his rank kept him relatively shielded from certain punks who disliked taking orders from a baby-faced midget. Losing his rank for any reason would have likely meant more than a change of uniform.
But all that was in the past and the dissolution of his unit meant Shrimplips could finally team up with others… rather, that he needed to in order to keep hold of his station.
Stealing one final look around him, Shrimplips insured that nobody would be able to spot his small figure crouched in the alleyway, then hunched down further behind his cover and adjusted his pacifier/transmitter.
"Shrimplips to Sashimi, do you copy?" he whispered, knowing his low voice would come in loud and clear to his partner if she were tuned in properly.
"I read you, Shrimplips. Go ahead."
Several miles away, another Rubberobo stood in the shadows, although she was a bit more blatant about her position. Instead of crouching further back in the alleyway she had taken refuge in, she leaned against the brick wall closer to the main street. Then again, she had far less to fear, considering she was dressed in far more civilian attire. The collar of her pale gray jacket was turned up to mask the small radio transceiver she was speaking into, held into place by one hand.
"How goes the surveillance?" asked the smaller Rubberobo.
"Very well. I have to admit I thought it would be more of a challenge than this to keep tabs on the troublemakers."
"Don't get cocky," Shrimplips warned. "They might look like easy targets 'cause they're kids, but remember that they're anything but…"
"I know. I'm fully aware of all the trouble they've caused in the past." There was a tense pause, and then she went on, "I suppose that means you wish me not to pursue Tenryou, then?"
"…What?"
Cold blue eyes fixated on a staggering boy in a bright crimson shirt as the other Rubberobo explained, "Tenryou has left the building, and doesn't seem all that sure on his feet. The beetle is with him. Although he looks like an easy mark…"
"Looks can be deceiving," Shrimplips finished for her, sweat trickling uncomfortably down the back of his head and causing his uniform to cling to his skin. "As tempting as it may seem, don't move in for the kill just yet. It's too soon for a confrontation. If he learns that the Rubberobo gang isn't disbanded before we've regained enough strength…"
"Understood."
Lowering her hand from her collar and stuffing it into her jeans pocket, the civilian-dressed Rubberobo assumed an air of nonchalance, acting as if she simply happened to be glancing in Ikki's direction as the worn-out, delirious boy staggered down the street. His stumbling path was leading right past her stakeout point: not surprising considering it was the direction his home was in.
Of course she knew where the young Tenryou lived: most of the Rubberobos did thanks to a previous plot the gang had pulled while attempting to curtail his efforts to make it to the WRC.
As she observed his progress down the street quietly, Ikki strode right into a telephone pole, then toppled backwards onto the pavement, his face reddened from the impact.
"…Ow."
The boy righted himself and absently patted off his shirt, blue eyes still drooping with exhaustion. That probably explained why he turned and promptly tripped over the garbage can sitting not more than a few strides' distance away from the telephone pole he had just walked into.
"Ow."
The disguised Rubberobo allowed herself a faintly amused giggle. The Hercules Beetle medabot who ran over to the boy was not nearly as amused.
"Gk-gk-gk! Ikki, pull yourself together, willya! This is embarrassing!"
Metabee's green eyes flashed with annoyance as he pulled his partner back to his feet. Ikki didn't appear to be paying any attention to him whatsoever, a fact that only soured the KBT-type's mood.
"Man, I bet even Krosserdog never has to go through this with Spyke…"
Clenching Ikki's wrist tightly to keep the boy from running into anything else, Metabee led him along the sidewalk in the general direction of their house. The last thing he needed was his partner killing himself before they got home.
Metabee was saving that particular honor for himself, once he was certain Ikki was of sound enough mind to understand what was going on and why he was being punished.
As they headed homeward, however, Metabee felt a sudden prickle at the base of his neck, and the confused KBT-type turned around. His bright green eyes passed over the sidewalk stretching behind them once, twice, searching for whatever it was that had caused such a strange uneasiness.
His searching stare soon fell upon the only other living being in sight that wasn't walking past or hurrying away, a lone figure leaning against the brick wall just inside one of the alleyways they had passed. Metabee took brief note of their appearance – slender female, looking maybe a bit older than Ikki or his friends, pale shoulder-length white-blonde hair, blue eyes, jeans and jacket – then shrugged and moved on. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary, and he brushed off the strange sensation as simply irritation at his Medafighter.
Cold ice blue eyes bore into the pair's backs at they walked out of sight. One hand rose to cup the collar of her slate gray jacket, once again masking the lower half of her face as the Rubberobo renewed conversation with her partner.
"Looks like they're headed home for the time being," she noted. "I take it the surveillance at the Tenryou household will continue tabs on them from there…"
"Probably," agreed Shrimplips, "if they're doing their job. Like I said, though, it's suicide to make a move just yet, without a decent plan…"
"A plan, huh?"
There was an odd quality to the female Rubberobo's tone, and the former member of the 'elite' four wasn't entirely certain he liked it. Shrimplips heard something rustling over his transmitter, and strained to make out the noise.
"Have you got something for us, Sashimi?" he wondered aloud, not so asking his partner as musing to himself what this could mean.
With a flick of her wrist, the disguised Rubberobo smoothed out the folded newspaper she had tucked underneath her arm and held it out in front of her, icy eyes once more scanning over the bold headline and colorful photograph plastered on the front page. A smug smirk curled her lips as her frigid gaze traveled from the glaring print to the window of the store before her.
On the other side of the thick pane of glass, a group of friends continued to chatter away, oblivious to the world outside. One of the gathered leapt to her feet suddenly, turquoise green eyes blazing with hellfire. The recipient of her gaze recoiled, purple eyes widening even more, even as the more calm and collected girl sitting beside him uttered an unheard reply. Whatever her observation was, it caused all of the others inside, including the teenage clerk, to roll their eyes together in unified disbelief at her clueless nature.
"Yes… you could say that," Sashimi mused aloud, and her pale eyes glittered like twin icicles.