Chapter 2: The Cleopatra
Elec Man returned to this post within Fulmen Financial, which resided between the criminal underground and the rest of New York City.
The white-tile lobby was modern, pristine, and dull—acting as both an austere facade and the threshold for the dark secrets Fulmen Financial contained. Sliding doors at the entrance lead to the neat, spotless sidewalks outside. There were two interior doors: the first was an elevator, which lead up to the beautifully furnished suites above with their expansive windows of the city—the other lead to a place where a Syndicate mobster could discreetly deal with a problem.
Elec Man spent his days behind the desk in front of this second door, disguised as a human in a suit and working on the computer. He monitored everyone who came in and left through the sliding doors, only admitting human Syndicate members or approved contacts into the elevator. It was tiresome pretending to be human all day—dealing with idiots, resisting the urge to shock idiots—he spent off-hours at night in his armor, alone in an office in the chambers behind the second door. The office was small, windowless, and purely functional, with no comforts nor decor—he didn't need such sentimentalities, nor did he want to like it there.
A few days after his encounter with the scrapper at ServTech Solutions, Elec Man received a small parcel from his creator. He opened it eagerly, pulling out a square of heavy cream paper with the following words typed in a neat font:
Well done.
Elec Man couldn't help but smile to himself. He flipped the note over.
…But be careful.
Elec Man's smile vanished as he rolled his eyes. He tucked the note into a shredding pile beneath his desk, then looked at the small black case left in the package. Inside was a pair of replacement glasses—rimless rectangular lens with titanium plate temples coated by onyx acetate. They were classically crafted and much more expensive than his last pair, though only a discerning eye would have noticed (Elec Man had such an eye for certain human clothing and accessories—after all, if he had to play the part of a human, he felt entitled to dress well at least).
After putting on the glasses, he returned to his work. Primarily, Elec Man's tasks consisted of stealing data, forging files, collapsing and building businesses, moving money between accounts—all completely illegal and dangerous, yet the effort was almost mundane to him—
A car revved down the street. Elec Man at once became alert, for traffic rarely came near Fulmen Financial—but it was only a brand new 1993 sports sedan, the cost of a large fortune, barreling down the street like a jet taking off on a runway. He could tell by the style it belonged to a rich human out on a joyride, completely clueless to what Fulmen Financial was or that these 'backstreets' were only vacant because of how close they were to the criminal underground.
The car flashed past the lobby of Fulmen Financial in a wink, a sleek marvel of speed, power, and maneuverability. Elec Man watched it go, his mind briefly transfixed with engine horsepower, acceleration, and drifting techniques, then shook his head, blotting the thoughts out firmly. The driver was liable to get a ticket (or worse) for treating city streets as their own personal racetrack. What a moron.
…It was sometimes strange to think of lives outside of crime, that humans could live so frivolously. Elec Man's job demanded seriousness and competence, and he embraced his role within the Syndicate with confidence, almost smugness…the opposite of frivolity.
Later that day, Elec Man left Fulmen Financial to go deeper into the criminal underground.
He walked alone through the dirty streets littered with broken glass and slicks of oil. Many of the buildings were scarred by laser fire and boarded up, and the few figures he passed by were extremely shifty, with the collars of stained trench coats pulled over their faces and the brims of fedoras shadowing their eyes. Perhaps noticing his fine suit (and surmising the wearer had plenty of money to support it), one such figure sidled out of an alley, blocking his path.
"Wanna buy some organs? I have fresh hearts, kidneys, livers, eyeballs—"
Elec Man wrinkled his nose and tried to step around. "I'm busy."
The figure continued to waylay him.
"I have robot parts too, all from fine quality domestic drones—"
"I'm on Syndicate business. Move."
In sudden fear, the trench coat figure scuttled back to the alley like a stoat retreating back to its hole. Elec Man memorized the face as he continued on irritably.
A few blocks later, Elec Man walked briskly through the front entrance of the Cleopatra Casino and into its lavish lobby, whisked through the security checkpoint, past the grand limestone halls leading into the dark gambling floors, and toward a discrete entrance off to the side. The Syndicate guards posted on either side (two drones wrapped in strips of titanium like mummies) made no movement as he passed by.
Elec Man climbed sandstone stairs leading up to a club room built from refrigerator-sized limestone blocks and lit with snaking neon tubes. Human Syndicate members quietly conversed at sandstone block tables. Amidst the music, a muffled banging was coming from the heavy replica sarcophaguses lining one wall—rival mobsters had been locked inside. Once again, Elec Man passed through another discrete side entrance.
A short hallway led to the private lounge of Louie Roulette and Tommy Blackjack, the owners of the Cleopatra. The lounge was painted with detailed hieroglyphic murals. Tommy was pouring himself a drink at the bar, while Louie sat at a booth, holding a glass of pinot noir in one hand while idly lifting a stack of poker chips and letting it slide back to the table with a soft clink. Louie looked up as Elec Man entered, and gave him a short nod.
"He's in the backroom."
Elec Man nodded back and once again passed through another discrete side entrance.
Like the rooms before it, the backroom was dark, but it wasn't decorated like the rest of the casino. Its walls were vaults, each vault the temporary holding place of ancient artifacts. One wall was completely open, overlooking the gambling floor below like the mouth of a cave. Directly beneath lay an expansive artificial lake filled with papyrus stalks and robotic crocodiles. The robo-crocs often swam hopefully to the sides of their tank whenever someone who wasn't Syndicate was nearby. Naturally, they showed no interest in Elec Man—still, Elec Man couldn't help but feel a stab of unease as he glanced at the water in their enclosure, though he hid it with practiced calm as he strode over to Pharaoh Man.
Disguised as a human, Pharaoh Man wore an impeccable suit similar to Elec Man's. He was several inches taller and broader, and his black hair was longer and curly. Pharaoh Man liked jewelry, and wore golden necklaces, rings, and cufflinks set with green and red jasper. An elaborate earring worked through one of his ears, a large stud through the other. His eyes, normally a blazing red, were currently a more human shade of dark brown. Still, he radiated the same power and authority as he did in armor.
Pharaoh Man stood in the center of the room, looking through the transparent top of an archival crate. Nestled carefully inside was the bust of an ancient Egyptian ruler, quite safe from anything just short of a bomb.
"A human was using this as a hat stand," Pharaoh Man said in a low, dry voice as Elec Man stood next to him. "After a replica has been made, it will return home."
The Cleopatra was full of similar Egyptian replicas; Pharaoh Man surrounded himself with a sort of collection of every stolen Egyptian antiquity he had tracked down and recovered from grave robbers—though most only knew (and feared) him as the security for the Syndicate's casino. Unlike Elec Man, Pharaoh Man rarely had to dress the part of a human—Elec Man supposed he was assuming a human identity for an appointment with a liaison later and didn't want to appear too intimidating.
"Why did you call me here? Is something wrong?" Elec Man asked quietly, scanning the gambling floor below. All seemed normal—the Cleopatra's guests were either stooped over their favorite slot machines or engrossed in a somber game of poker.
Without looking up, Pharaoh Man gestured to one of the vaults. Curious, Elec Man walked over. It opened to his touch—but instead of holding ancient pottery or a statue, inside was a briefcase containing a hard drive.
"Encrypted files I found during one of my raids," Pharaoh Man explained. "I haven't looked through it myself, but there are likely valuable details of illicit business dealings that someone tried to cover up."
"I'll take care of it," Elec Man replied with professional curtness. Briefcase in hand, he turned toward the door.
"Wait." Pharaoh Man had finally torn his eyes from the crate to look at Elec Man piercingly. It was a look they had all learned from their creator, and Elec Man hated being at the receiving end of it. "The stronger the Syndicate's foothold in New York City becomes, the harder the other crime lords will fight back, especially when your activities make trouble on wall street. Our enemies have friends in high places."
"I know."
"The Syndicate's control over New York City's underground isn't assured."
"I know."
"If I fell into a bad situation, you might not be able to rescue me, and vice versa."
"I know."
"Do you want to go back to California?"
Elec Man wrinkled his nose. "No."
"There would be no shame in it."
"I know." Elec Man remembered the back of his creator's note. "…Have I done something to warrant this lecture?"
"No, you are doing well," Pharaoh Man assured him, yet there was a pause, broken only by the gentle splashing of water below and jingling of slot machines. "…But I have to say these things to you; you are young."
Elec Man bristled slightly. "The crime lords around here employ only mediocre drones and scrappers. Even the rogue Robot Masters aren't worth our time."
"Yes, but a true threat can strike from anywhere—"
Without warning, Pharaoh Man had grabbed Elec Man by the by the front of his collar and lifted him off the floor, causing Elec Man to drop the briefcase. Though Pharaoh Man wasn't hurting Elec Man, his grip was firm, the edges of his rings digging into the synthetic skin under Elec Man's jaw.
"Do you know who would win if we fought each other?" asked Pharaoh Man.
Feeling Pharaoh Man's demonstration was needlessly dramatic, Elec Man gave a half shrug, and answered in a bored tone as though reciting a simple mathematical formula, "You have more strength and years of experience, but if I shocked you with Thunder Beam, I would win."
"If you shock me with Thunder Beam I will never forgive you."
"It gives me an unfair advantage, but as long as I have Thunder Beam, no robot can defeat me, even one as powerful as you. It's pure logic."
"But if anyone discovered your weakness…Thunder Beam's harsh tradeoff…"
Pharaoh Man swung Elec Man toward the open wall, where the tank of water shimmered below.
Blinding panic shot through Elec Man. Reflexively, his feet kicked out, searching for solid ground, but only found air. He almost lost his head and would have shocked Pharaoh Man—but, as though sensing the danger, Pharaoh Man lowered him to the floor. Elec Man realized he had unconsciously latched onto Pharaoh Man's forearm in a most undignified way, like a half-drowned cat clinging to a tree branch for dear life. He quickly let go and sprang away from the open wall.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Pharaoh Man said, watching him closely.
"I'm not scared, just angry," Elec Man spat, feeling exceptionally embarrassed. Of course, Pharaoh Man wouldn't really have thrown him into water any more than he would have smashed one of the artifacts. Pulling himself together, Elec Man straightened his tie and brushed off his shoulders in a nonchalant way. "You almost ruined my suit."
"Your life is more important than a suit," Pharaoh Man replied in exasperation. "Please take a moral away from this conversation. Perhaps I meant to scare you a little."
"You're a Syndicate Robot Master, don't be soft."
Elec Man was still stinging with humiliation and had retorted without thinking, and Pharaoh Man responded instantly in a dangerous tone, "…The hell did you just say to me?"
Elec Man gave a small start, and hastily amended, "I appreciate your concern, but I understand the risks and can look after myself same as you."
Pharaoh Man sighed. "I trust you to do your job, but wouldn't hesitate to send back to California for your attitude alone. Don't forget, we have the same creator, so we are family, after all."
"I know."
Mollified yet still fuming, Elec Man snatched up the briefcase and left the room while Pharaoh Man stared crossly after him.