Part Two

Chapter 4: A Change is Gonna Come


It was Bass, surprisingly, who suggested Dr. Cossack set up certain conditions— checks and balances. He clearly didn't think they were needed, but seemed to respect that it would give Dr. Cossack some peace of mind.

Less surprising was that he then vehemently argued against every idea brought to the table.

For the next few weeks, every dinner was a heated discussion, a semi-hostile series of negotiations, as they attempted to hash out the terms.

In the end they worked out something similar, but not as inflexible, to what Wily'd had in place. A small update allowed Dr. Cossack to remotely shut off Bass's combat system, as well as peripherals like his com access and teleporter. This was both a safety precaution… and a punishment if needed, because how else could you discipline a robot? While at it, he convinced Bass to let him install an anti-reprogramming chip.

A hard stop prevented Bass from ever physically harming Dr. Cossack. And, like with Wily, he couldn't deny him access to his software. Unlike Wily, Dr. Cossack never abused that authority.

Because he'd been part of the decision and agreed to these new conditions, Bass didn't feel like he was losing any ground, even if it was a step backwards for him.

It was a relief. Dr. Cossack hadn't wanted to force any restrictions on the robot, but he'd been at a loss with how to take charge of the situation, especially given Bass's tendency to be contrary for the sake of being contrary.

"This doesn't mean I've made a final decision," Dr. Cossack told him afterwards.

"'No promises'," Bass said.

"Da. 'No promises'."


It was during one of Kalinka's visits (over summer break) that Roll reconnected with her, and a fast friendship was kick-started by shared interests. Namely: building competitive battle 'bots.

"Okay… we are a go." Kalinka ducked behind a partition as Roll hit the switch.

The machine, looking something like a hybrid between a RC hovercar and a robovacuum, began to spin in place. It built up speed at an alarming rate.

"Cut the power!"

Roll switched it back off, then scowled. The damage was already done, and wisps of smoke drifted from the defective robot.

"Why is it easier to repair something complicated than it is to build something simple from scratch?"

"Well…" Kalinka replied, "Don't be so hard on yourself. I mean, first of all, when you're doing repairs you're usually focusing on one thing at a time." Which was true. "And these guys are pretty complicated themselves. It's just… we tend to take some things for granted."

"Like?"

"Well, like… as a human, I don't ever really think about things like balance or, I dunno, smell. But those are actually really complex, finely tuned systems. And they're even more difficult with, er, non… organic… forms…"

"'Robot' is fine. 'Android' is fine. Really, any variations of those are fine."

She laughed with a sort of nervous appreciation. "Got it."

Tilting her head, Roll gave Kalinka a questioning look. "…Did someone else give you a hard time?"

"What? No, no. I'm just trying to be considerate."

"Oh. Well in that case, thanks." She glowered at the smoking heap in front of her. "Now this piece of junk barely deserves to be called a robot." Pursing her lips, she then shrugged in defeat. "I think you're right, though. I'm much more aware of how all my support systems and ancillary programs work, but most of the time I'm not thinking about them on a… conscious level." With a sound like a deep-felt sigh, Roll shook her head. "Dr. Light makes it look so easy."


When Kalinka was off from school she preferred to stay at her father's. Roll would've rather worked in Dr. Light's lab, but respected Kalinka's wishes. Much to her chagrin, Bass often came by to watch.

She gave him a dirty look. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Nope."

"Roll," Kalinka said, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Could you hand me, er…" But she didn't actually need anything and drew a blank.

"Hey, when you two have a falling out later, which one of you is going to be the evil super villain?"

She laughed, and then looked nervously at Roll. To her surprise, the Light 'bot broke into a wicked grin.

"It'll be me, of course," Roll said.

While working the girls chatted about classwork and the group project Kalinka was doing. The conversation soon devolved from intellectually stimulating topics to concerts and movies, and hypothetical situations like if Mega Man could beat various comic book superheroes in a fight.

At one point Dr. Cossack walked through the lab, pausing to admire their progress.

"Impressive. Do you need any help?"

"No," Roll replied bluntly, before Kalinka could.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in surrender.


"Third time's the charm," Kalinka said. "I hope."

Roll eyed the squat, ugly little battle 'bot, no bigger than a housecat, and crossed her arms. They'd had to scrap it and start from scratch twice already. So far, this one was doing well with their rigorous testing, but… it was too soon to tell.

This time Break Man had joined them, although he fiddled with a handheld com— he could talk over the helmet com and send written notes using the display panel on his gauntlet, but used a handheld unit when out of armor— and pretended not to be watching.

"Why are you doing so many tests?" he asked eventually. "I thought the fights were rigged."

"The BBF is." Roll flashed her brother a knowing smile. "But the regional competitions are the real deal. And we intend to take the championship."

Grinning, he gave her a thumbs up, then thoughtfully appraised their work in progress.

"It needs more spikes."

"Thanks, but nobody asked you." She crossed her arms. Darn it, he was right.


It was Roll, even more surprisingly, who came up with a solution to the other part of their dilemma.

"You've done a lot of contract work for the government," she said to Dr. Cossack. "Including designing and building military robots and defense weapons. Why don't you just loan Bass out to them?"

"What? I can't loan him out like a hovercar, it's—" He abruptly fell silent, brows furrowed in concentration. "Then again…"

"'Then again'? 'Then again'!?" Bass was outraged. "No, no 'then again'!"

But negotiating contracts with the military and the local police solved a lot of their problems. Mikhail was responsible for Bass, and he was the one hired as a subcontractor. It meant that any world saving business— or other, less glamorous duties— would be in some sort of official capacity (more or less). Most importantly, it meant Bass's careless disregard for property was now the collateral effect of law enforcement operations.

It also allowed Dr. Cossack to get government contractor insurance coverage.

The cries went up to the heavens. Bass resented the idea of being a 'rented commodity', and hated that they were working for 'the man', and that technically he had to wait until being called in to handle a threat. (This did not stop him from jumping the gun anyways.)

"Oh, but think of it this way," Dr. Cossack said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We're essentially mercenaries."

Bass didn't want to admit that was pretty cool, but honestly…

"Okay, yeah. That's pretty cool."


He immediately recognized the text on the computer display and scowled.

"You made a copy of my software?"

Dr. Cossack glanced up, surprised. He could tell by Bass's tone that it was a loaded question.

"Not exactly. This isn't a working program, it's more of a… 'snapshot' for review."

Bass studied him critically, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not.

"I'll be honest, I haven't learned much yet." Dr. Cossack chuckled dryly. Haphazardly written code was called 'spaghetti code', impossible to tell where one line starts and the other ends. By comparison, Bass's was 'Gordian knot code'. He'd stumbled his way through enough to remove Dr. Wily's restrictions and controls, but even that had involved some educated guesswork and relying on his intuition. "What I've gleaned so far has been fascinating. You're quite an impressive piece of tech."

The challenge was invigorating, really. Between what Dr. Wily had done to his reputation, the failed launch of the collaborative RoboPolice (and a few other personal projects which turned out to be duds), the feeling that he was falling further and further behind on a race between Dr. Light and Wily…

…Well, it hadn't killed his interest in robotics, but it had discouraged his work in the field. He still had his Robot Masters out there, and even designed and built new models from time to time, but by and large he'd shifted focus. While he dabbled in many different industries, his work was now mostly in innovations to automated manufacturing.

"If you don't mind my asking, is there a problem with having your software copied?" He'd seen the utility for an off-site backup was turned off, and the transmitter hardware conspicuously absent.

Bass hesitated before responding. "It's— it has to do with stuff like identity or whatever. I don't like software backups, clones, those kinds of things, they mess with my sense of self. And that," he pointed at the coding displayed on the monitor, "is not me."

"No, of course not. This is more like an MRI scan, or a DNA database record." Dr. Cossack offered a reassuring smile. "I think I understand your concerns, however, and I don't mind working around them."

"The snapshot is fine." Bass had agreed to certain restrictions and felt it was only fair that he could set some boundaries as well. It was worth a shot, at least. "Next time, ask first."

"Oh! Oh… well…" The idea had never even occurred to him. "I suppose that shouldn't be a problem." He paused. "I was planning to make a copy of your AI platform, if that's okay."

Bass bristled at that, but managed to hold his tongue. He felt conflicted about being a research subject— he didn't care much for it, but he was also indebted to Dr. Cossack, and would be lucky if 'research' was all that the scientist asked in return.

"Just the AI. No combat utilities, no emotions, no thoughts, no diagnostic reports…" He continued.

"DNA on file."

"More or less."

"Okay. I guess that's fine, too." He still wasn't thrilled with the idea, but if Dr. Cossack was willing to ask, he was willing to concede.


"Nah."

"…'Nah'?"

Dr. Cossack blinked in surprise.

He still wasn't quite used to getting straight refusal from a robot like this.

"What do you need that frumpy old nerd's help for, anyway? You've got this."

He cleared his throat. "Well… I appreciate the vote of confidence, but Dr. Light has far more experience with these things than I do. He's already had the opportunity to study…"

Bass groaned.

"Er… Please?"

"'Please'?"

Bass was just as taken aback by the polite request as Dr. Cossack had been by his glib defiance.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Bass relented.

"Alright, if you really think it'll make a difference."


The rebuild hit a snag early. It was apparent it would end up more complicated— and expensive— than expected.

Wily's methods to produce the special alien metal had died with him, and neither Dr. Cossack nor Dr. Light were able to reverse engineer it. When their efforts went nowhere, Dr. Light very generously contacted Professor Otoi, Signal's creator and the original source of the MIRA. Professor Otoi, in turn, very generously provided the material needed to finish the job.

Unfortunately the two versions of the MIRA were different enough that the self-repair function, acting something like an immune response, rejected the new metal. That was a major setback, a source of frustration for Dr. Cossack, and a rather unpleasant experience for Bass.

With a little experimentation the two scientists found that regular metal didn't cause a reaction.

Dr. Cossack ended up having to take what was needed for the chassis from the armor. What was left was used to make a titanium alloy. It was easier said than done, and took some time to figure out the best ratio for strength and flexibility… armor needed to give on impact, not shatter. From there he had to rebuild the armor from scratch.


With the work finally complete, Bass had sat there, spending several long minutes just studying his hands.

"Don't you want to check out a mirror?"

"Sure…" he replied, only to look back down at his hands and break into a grin. "Wow."

The mirror was a little unsettling, because Bass had only ever seen himself in armor. The reflection looking back— synthetic skin and purple boxers (Dr. Light had put him up to that, no doubt)— was almost surreal. It was incredible work, only…

All the distinctive little flourishes he'd insisted on keeping now disrupted his new human likeness.

This was especially true because, like Dr. Light's robots, his proportions were just a little off. A touch cartoonish. Maybe not so obvious if you weren't paying close attention. But all of these things combined meant it would be harder for him to pass than it was for Rock, or Blues, or Roll.

Quietly watching, Dr. Cossack could tell he was troubled but not why, until Bass hesitantly touched one of the purple slashes on his face. "They could be tattoos," he said. "Colored contacts, dental implants, hair dye."

Frowning, Bass glanced at Dr. Cossack. "Maybe… maybe we should tone it down, though…" Which he wasn't happy about, but he'd waited too long to mess this up over something petty like eye color.

"Hmmm… how about this. We'll start with a few minor adjustments, you can see how you feel about it after a few days. If you want to change the other things, we can discuss it then." The fangs could be ground down so they weren't quite as obvious. Changing the eye color display to a rusty brown was a simple matter of rewriting a line of code, and a few more lines switched it back to the original red upon armor recall.

"Okay."

"Everything else is satisfactory, then?"

"Way more than satisfactory, Dr. Cossack. You did a mega job on—" Eyes wide, he clapped his hands over his mouth. "Don't you dare tell him I said that."

"Tell who?" Dr. Cossack teased.

Shaking his head, Bass looked back at the mirror for a moment, then back at him. "I can tell you loaded the new software patch for tactile receptors, too, but it's not running…"

"Well, yes. I fear too many changes at once would be overwhelming, especially when one is a new sensation—"

"It's complete, though? We could run it now, it's ready to go live?"

"…Yes."

He felt that this was a bad idea, but Bass was excited and impatient. Returning to the computer terminal, Dr. Cossack remotely started the utility. Almost instantly Bass grew strangely quiet and subdued— overwhelmed, as predicted, by the flood of new input he was getting. The warmth and humidity of the air, the floor underfoot cold and hard and smooth (all at once!), the tug of the elastic band and the soft fabric skimming over his legs, the sheer weirdness of the synthetic skin where his arms rubbed against his sides, dragging slightly when he moved them. That bothered him so much he lifted his arms a little, away from his body.

He ran his thumb across his fingertips, back and forth, trying to process the sensation. Then hesitantly reached out to touch the work bench, looking distressed as he slid his hand along the edge.

"Umm…"

Dr. Cossack made the mistake of placing a reassuring hand on Bass's arm.

He shrieked and jumped back on contact.

Unable to help it Dr. Cossack burst into laughter. "Are you okay?" he asked, once he'd caught his breath.

"Tch! I was just surprised! That's all, don't— don't surprise me like that!" He touched his arm where Dr. Cossack had, and frowned again. "Nn… turn it off."

"Okay."

After switching back, Bass leaned against the bench, lost in thought. "It's really weird. Different. But mostly just weird." He gave him a questioning look. "How do you guys put up with it?"

"There was never a time that I didn't have a sense of touch. For us, it would be stranger not to."

"Why can't I run the proximity sensors and tactile receptors at the same time?"

He was so used to knowing when physical contact was imminent, before it actually happened. The fact he hadn't sensed Dr. Cossack's hand when it was within range was as alarming as the touch itself. And touch itself— even with his own hand— was very alarming.

"I'm sorry to say that's a hardware limitation. Do you have any idea how much processing power you use on— what am I saying, of course you know. Your central processor isn't up for running both simultaneously, and I'm not comfortable with doing modifications to any of your computer hardware just yet." He shrugged. "Peripherals, maybe, but nothing vital."

Which Bass couldn't fault him for. It would have to happen eventually, he was past due for those kinds of upgrades, but it wasn't affecting performance yet…

"We'll make a few small changes to your appearance," Dr. Cossack continued, gently. "Give it a week. Then, we can make any adjustments if needed, and try out 'touch' again."

"Okay."

He nodded and turned back to the computer, but then he suddenly froze, look of quiet amusement and satisfaction changing to one of annoyance. "Chert." He slapped the side of the terminal. "Clothes! I knew I forgot something…!"