Dropped off at HQ, his tin feet racing and tapping over the hangar's linoleum, Bender wasted no time announcing his grand return.
"I'M BACK, BABY!"
Had forgotten how big it still was; compared to his quarters, his yell seemed to echo off of everywhere. The Professor was too consumed in his work to notice, but as Bender began heading for the lobby, he found himself sideswiped and slammed into the wall, the very life squeezed from him.
"Hooray, the robut's back! Oh my goodness, where have you—"
"SHADDAP, Zoidberg! And get off me!"
"Ah, just like old times!"
Sure freed up his drives, saying that and cutting Chapek-9 out of his life. Allowing his true homes' sights of skyscrapers, stores and citizens to return, ripe to terrorise once more, he began to wonder why he ever rushed in leaving everything behind.
In fact, being back here reminded him about reaffirming his role; becoming the hardiest and meanest three-bit hustler to ever be conceived. A goal made complex despite his year-long exile, as he combed through every last source he could; bars, dive joints, strip clubs and casinos alike.
Didn't care for the citizens who evil-eyed him, but soon realised how much his 'loyalty' among mavericks and mercenaries had cost him. In doing whatever for a buck, drawing heat from his spending, and then ratting his partners out, they all either turned their backs or got hostile, often both when he kept persisting.
The true notion to have him sweat rags of oil was the thought of reacquainting himself among the best; he knew of no truer, deadlier or colder set than those virtually up the neighbourhood.
Any being of bolts, flesh or matter beyond had known of, feared and even admired the lifelong presence that Bender taxied for. Inside home and around the galaxy, they enjoyed having their rotor-motored digits in any pie one could imagine; sparking, alcohol, 'gearotica' & gambling, to name some.
For those and their heists, it would've taken an ancient gang of hundreds to achieve such a relevant reach… Their count only needed one hand, and they held the absolute worst grudge against him for good reason.
Bender traipsed through the bright and sparky block of Little Bitaly, his own drives and protocols overclocking as he snuck through Fronty's double doors and made for the freezer right down the back. Peeking about he rapped his metal knuckles, getting only an eye before being let inside.
There they were, the entire Robot Mafia, all enjoying a chilled wine with their oil soup. To the left, named for his vicious devices, was Clamps. To the right, twice as tall standing and twice as wide sitting, was Joey Mousepad. At the head of the table, glaring dead-silent over the glass rim, sat the Donbot. Rolled and narrowed his eyes toward Joey, who began to lean back a bit.
"Hey Joey, what'd I tell you about bringing rats or little birds into my home?"
Gave no chance for reply before he raised a hand for quiet, ready to address his public enemy number 1, statistically.
"To think I did everything to handle my problem, when the solution had been there for years. See you've nowhere to go now, Bender."
"Give me the word, boss, I'll make snitch juice of him right now!"
More monster than machine, and he didn't give a damn for whoever knew.
"Easy Clamps, I'm talking. Gotta say I respect the ball bearings to approach us, after all the years you've spent screwing us for justice. Drinking our bootleg beer, robbing our bank heists, saving our 'insured' properties…"
Donbot stood from his seat, his approach turning Bender's paint that rusted yellow shade again.
"Now that you're back, answer me this…" He stood foot-to-foot. "Why shouldn't I kill you?"
Couldn't do much else but be honest, and hope to Mom that it'd work.
"Donbot, it's obvious that loans or favours are out of the question. It's undeniable that I've been a pain in your hassium since we've known each other. I came back to humbly request ways to amend my debts, ready to face death if your judgement deems otherwise. If you could find your forgiveness file, I'd be—"
"File not found…"
Gave each word a chance to hang, before standing aside to let the goons shoot large lasers right before Bender's feet, melting ice as his arms wavered in alarm. "Whoa, wait a second! Perhaps I could declare some shared interests, before I die?"
"Make it good then, or make for the desert." Donbot declared.
"I've so many scores to settle, but right at the very top stands a former associate of mine… The Zookeeper."
That got Donbot's curiosity drive spinning hot; he soon turned and waved an arm to lower the guns.
"An interesting proposition; he's one of the rare humans active and powerful enough to encroach on us… Why are you after such a man; more to the point, why should we involve you since you've bailed for much less?"
"I didn't care that he escaped his bending or forced me to save humans. Nor for killing off our hero careers either. But that dirty, double-crossing bastard made it personal when he enslaved or drifted my dearest friends away. Back as Chapek-9 Mayor, I once imagined that he sent clones of my dead Captain to screw with me. Turned out she and old colleagues came back for rescue; now that we're here, I owe him the biggest bending to EVER bring upon a man."
Finding the Donbot cupping his rotors together, completely unmoved, had left him in shivers.
"A second chance we could rip away at will, is it? Alright then, we'll give you your means to settle. Got a nice little 'protection' racket going; what you do could really aid its further success"—he leaned in close again—"or failure."
"Right, so how does 'protection' work?"
Donbot relaxed again: "Just five steps needed, Bender. Go in, say hello, collect our cut, wish them well and go home. That's the ideal path; the territory however has its owners who aren't so… cooperative. That's where you, Clamps and Joey come in."
"I take it I'm not giving any strongly-worded letters?"
"No, the message you send will be rather more… direct. The only natural solution for NOT having our protection; smashing their shop, beating owners senseless, threatening customers, anything besides killing. We clear on that?"
"Aw man… So why's that, exactly?"
"A dead and decaying corpse doesn't pay their dues to us, just to the Earthican Government. Even a goomba like Joey can figure that out. Any further questions?"
"What will you do to me, one way or another?"
"That I haven't decided yet, but if you fail us, you'll wish you kept your diplomatic immunity."
Bender gulped and rubbed his dome: "Alright then, who's our first mark?"
"Rocket Car Emporium in Lower Manhattan. Eddie's the owner; ever since he cured his exploding habit, he's been quite the reliable earner for us made machines. Five big Nixons a week, always a smile, and never late on payments. If he didn't, we know the tricks to send him back to HAL; Mom knows how much he hates it there. No easier start to hope for, capiche?"
Bender got halfway out the door in moments, somehow twirling a metal bat in his hand.
"LET'S GOOOO ALREADY!"
As Donbot donned his hat and caped his coat, wary as he let his trusted crew follow behind, he remembered their first and only heist, that whole goody two-shoeing to follow.
"Joey, Clamps, keep a close eye on him. He tries to skimp dues & leave, make sure it's permanent…"
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In New New York's place of pride & joy, this luxury dealership of famous Thundercougarfalconbirds and Beta Romeos, the clean-faced, well-presented salesmen were smart enough to back off their spiels, as Donbot and crew arrived.
Instead led them straight to Eddie's office; exposed wires sparking as his spring-loaded eyes looked over the numbers. Used to be same time every week when everyone had to take cover, at least until he got cured sometime in 3001.
Donbot politely tipped his hat as Eddie noticed and stood up, shaking his hand vigorously.
"Pleasure Eddie, you got our fair share of the profits?"
"Oh yeah, yeah, s-s-s-sure I do boss, b-bear me just a moment…"
Sure enough, five clean and crisp thousand-dollar bills landed smack in Donbot's rotors; after his own quick count and a chance to verify, he stored the money in a coat pocket.
"Thank you very much Eddie, always great doing business. How are you holdin' up?"
"Oh well, quite well, thank you for asking! In fact I recently celebrated my third explosion-free year."
"Excellent news. Now we'll be back same time, same day, so don't skimp on those cars huh?"
A light pat or two on the cheek, and they were off. Donbot turned to Bender, who had fell fast asleep in the doorway.
"Bender, hey Bender… BENDER!"
"Eh, whoa, what? Sorry, guess I got bored and dozed off."
"Don't screw around! These are the jobs you want, from one who's worked this game for decades. Quick, clean, easy, and much better than bloodshed. So what do you think, you got the lugnuts to handle it from here?"
"Unless my metal bat gets rusty, what do you think the answer's gonna be, Donny B?"
Though he baulked against the informal disrespect, Donbot's choice to employ over exterminate his problem had proven a fruitful one. As more jobs came in, and as his beliefs kept rooting deep, Bender had impressed him for how fast he learned those arts of subtlety and strongarming. Took only a day before owners began to accommodate him, as those who didn't soon understood why the crew coined him 'Slugger.'
Channelling the original Hank Aaron, Bender took home run whacks on anything in reach; priceless goods, fancy displays, and hapless owners or customers alike. Became a blessed mirth to merge into his OS, and beyond that, for becoming an unknown benefactor of the Donbot's lucky foot.
He'd been noticing some neat patterns for wherever he hit up; those who paid were mostly in order, and those who didn't had only arrogance that they could go through Archbury instead of them. Was all over their goods; branded seal of his face, or approved animal products, or some subsidiary logo… 'Slugger' had soon grown confident of one fatal dint in Zookeeper's immense empire.
A cunning criminal; fuhgeddaboudit!
A shrewd investor; you bet your life!
A champion of charity? He'd put the 'anthro' in philanthropist!
But an honest businessman? Break out the slide whistle, because he'd be bankrupt there.
The second time Donbot's crew came back, those owners would trade information instead of cash; protests against Archbury's nasty habits of 'mismanaging' resources, setting impossible terms or reaming them over further opportunities. Bender would spot that sort of scam anywhere; that he read, it had its origins from before the 20th century.
'Misplaced' files, documents, invoices and letters made their way into his hands, becoming a valuable vein of info when he visited a specialist in robotics storage & printing—his only other human friend—named Dr. Beeler. Soon had personal copies, for himself and 'family', of every weak spot and entry point in Archbury's key factories & warehouses; locations, industries, estimated values and more.
Following some bonus bank heists, Bender soon regained at least some trust and means to organise a temporary posse of his own. Not much effort after to take fast buses to casual jobs, pretend to be working, and then insert a virus to overkill them out of commission.
More than money or dictatorship, information and knowledge had allowed him the sweetest power of all… Payback against the man who had poisoned him so personally.
"Even friends aren't safe from my horrors Zookeeper… Just imagine what I'll do to my enemies."
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After a fortnight of near-constant mayhem, the Robot Mafia had returned to Fronty's, bundles of cash on their table as Bender waved his bat about, a malevolent laughter stirring within.
"Damn, does it feel good to be back."
"I have to hand it to you Slugger," Donbot confided in him, signalling to the table. "I've never seen our dinner table so covered before; you've made beautiful amends for twisting our cogs before."
He placed his hands on Bender's shoulders and kissed him twice, one for each cheek.
"You can consider your debts repaid, as of right now."
"Thank you Donbot, and might I say, it's truly been a pleasure."
Donbot returned to the table, about to start counting before he sprang up again, an idea in mind.
"Oh, almost forgot. Before you go off on your next adventure, here's a little something to remember us by…"
Eyeing off his henchmen with a nod, they soon whipped out some Thompson SMGs, banging bunches of lead cartridges into Bender's body without warning. The once 'Chicago Typewriter' had left him resembling a cheese grater, flailing about before he crashed to the ice.
To another's eye, he'd been an unforgiven oil slick to be set alight once his service was over. That was, until the Donbot spoke up.
"Next time it'll be the lasers, capiche? Let that be a warning if you cross us again!"
Humbled for the cosmetic damage & mercy, Bender rose up, dusted down and left with a salute, soon sitting across Fronty's sidewalk. His arms over his knees, he grew unsure what to think, what to feel as that past was slowly put behind him.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? The whole time I wasted serving those zealots, I could've spent two weeks tearing this city up? You're the greatest Bender, but you're a great idiot too."
Was better to laugh against such absurd Fates, as he made moves towards a local mechanic to get a patch-job. A beautiful October afternoon to enjoy some proper reunions, a hum towards the kitchen & lounge, and a long-overdue desire to rework his shiny groove back into the couch.
Propping his feet as he popped open his carton of Olde Fortran, he gave squeals of glee for finding Elzar twist up a classic human recipe on television. For saving the crew and clearing himself—and them—of debts, he could've imagined doing enough work for an entire lifetime.
The same could not be said for Amy, at this time moments from her toughest sales pitch yet…