"Seventy five degrees." Dr. Light pointed to the number on top of the electric kettle, and pressed the button beside it. The numerals lit up and glowed yellow, and shortly afterward Blues heard the familiar sound of gently hissing water. "Well below boiling temperature. If it`s too hot, the leaves will burn and the tea will be bitter."
"Bitter?" Blues looked down at the leaves in the strainer. He`d never tasted bitter tea—he had no sense of taste, after all—and he wasn`t sure he`d smelled anything bitter either.
"That means it won`t taste good." Dr. Light wiped at his brow with his hand towel. "I suppose it`s not really that important," he said. "But Takayama`s going to notice, one way or the other." As if he sensed what Blues wanted to do, he pried the strainer out of the teapot and placed it into his hands. "Here. Go ahead and give it a whiff."
The smell was at once sweet and astringent, like fresh grass. "It`s nice, I guess," Blues said.
"You guess?" Dr. Light let out a self-satisfied huff. "And to think people have been making a big fuss over this stuff for hundreds of years."
Blues placed the mesh cradle of leaves back into the pot. Beside it, a single fired and laquered clay teacup stood at the ready. Dr. Light slid the pot under the electric kettle and poured in some steaming water.
"Let it steep for a minute or so," he said. "Then, when you pour it into the cup, it should come to about here." He filled the cup just a hair`s breadth more than halfway. "Not all the way to the top—he`ll risk spilling it on himself..." Here, his mouth curled into a devious smile that took Blues by surprise. "—Unless you want to, of course."
Blues glanced up, and Tom made eye contact with him and laughed—that reassuring signal which meant "I was only kidding." He was always grateful when Dr. Light did this. Although his creators promised him his social skills would improve with experience, he was starting to become frustrated by his present limitations, and he especially hated the feeling that context and nonverbal cues were passing him by. He greatly preferred Dr. Light`s patient attempts at clarification, even though they reminded him of his own ignorance, over Dr. Wily`s non-approach—which was to forge ahead in the conversation and leave Blues floundering in confusion.
Blues looked down at the little cup half-filled with tea. He wasn`t sure how to respond to Dr. Light`s joke, so he decided to ask a general question instead."Why are you teaching me this?" he said. "I don`t drink tea."
"Of course you don`t, but Takayama does, and..." Tom looked up at the ceiling, and scratched at his silver-flecked beard. "When he gets here, we`ve got to make him a cup of tea. It`s just a formality. And it would be appropriate if you were the one to do it."
"Why me?"
Tom crossed his arms. "Well, that`s a good question."
Blues felt his eyelids becoming heavy. He leaned against against the kitchen counter and stared out the small window above the sink. Outside, little white flakes were falling—the first snow of the season. For a few moments he stood there in a daze, transfixed by the convergence of movement: the steam rising up from the tea and the snow coming down.
"That`s a good question" had recently become Dr. Light`s stock answer, but Blues was too tired to protest. He had only a few hours` worth of energy left, and was beginning to feel worn out. Even the sight of the snow—the first he`d seen in ten months—wasn`t enough to rouse his interest. In addition to the fatigue in his body, he had the sense that everything around him was moving in fast-motion, that the world was leaving him behind.
He looked down at the white shirt, freshly pressed and smelling of starch, that Dr. Light had asked him to wear, and he tugged at the knot in his tie.
"Don`t pull on it," Tom said. "It`ll come loose."
"It`s tight," said Blues.
"You`re just not used to it." Dr. Light leaned in close and readjusted the knot, and Blues noticed that Tom`s hands were shaking. "It`s another formality," he said. "You can take it off as soon as..." He cleared his throat. "...As soon as he leaves."
"Why do I have to meet Takayama this morning, when I`m..." He clutched the edge of the countertop more firmly. "...When I`m like this? Or is that a good question, too?"
"He`s a busy man, and this is his only chance to meet you before the New Year holiday," said Tom. "I know it`s not ideal. Just hang in there. You can have a rest and a recharge afterwards." He looked away and rubbed at his nose. "How`s your pain?"
"Not too bad."
"Good. Anyway..." Dr. Light`s eyes wandered up toward the window, and he stared outside for a few seconds at nothing in particular with his mouth slightly open.
"Dr. Light?"
"Huh?" Tom appeared to come back to himself, turned, and clasped his hands onto Blues`s shoulders. "Anyway," he said again, and steered Blues gently into the living room, "why don`t you go out and watch the snow for a while? And take this with you." He stopped, opened the cabinet drawer, and produced a pencil and Blues`s last remaining sketchbook. "I`ll come and get you when Takayama arrives." Then he wrapped Blues in his wool coat, and with a little pat on the back guided him toward the sliding glass door—and Blues, with his head in a fog, stepped out into the garden alone with his art supplies in hand.
"But..."
Before Blues could register what was happening, the door closed behind him, Dr. Light disappeared, and he was greeted by the soft and noble silence of a snowy morning.
He hesitated on the step, watching his breath float upwards. He glanced down at his sketchbook, remembered that Takayama had the rest, and realized he was angry. They`re mine, he thought. I want them back.
He wasn`t in the mood to draw. For a reason he couldn`t yet grasp, he felt ill at ease. He turned around, slid open the door, and stepped back up into the house—just in time to hear the contents of the teacup splash into the sink, followed by the low, hollow pop of the stopper being removed from Dr. Light`s whiskey bottle. There was a sound of liquid being poured, a few moments of silence, then the grainy clink of the teacup being thrust down onto the counter. Then a gasp, followed by a sob. It was just before ten o`clock in the morning.
Something was terribly wrong.
"Dr. Light?" Blues left the door wide open, and on unsteady feet dragged himself toward the kitchen. His pencil and sketchbook slid out of his hands and slumped to the floor. He heard another clink of glass, and the liquor cabinet door being hastily opened and shut.
He reached the hallway, and was about to turn into the kitchen when he crashed face-first into something dark and soft. He felt himself being pushed backwards, and he looked up into the exasperated face of Dr. Wily.
"Christ almighty, kid," Albert said, with his hands held out in front of him. "You scared the piss out of me."
Blues backed away. "S—sorry..."
"What`s the matter? You look like you`ve seen a ghost. And why are you wearing your coat?"
He heard footsteps approaching from his right, and he turned. Dr. Light was standing beside him, stone-faced. Blues stared. He thought he detected the smell of whiskey, but he didn`t dare to ask.
Albert looked at Blues, then at Tom. "Am I interrupting something?" he said.
They shook their heads.
"Anyway, good morning, you two," Dr. Wily said. "I let myself in. Takayama will be here any moment now—in fact, I passed him on the freeway. He was being driven in a van with tinted back windows. Not his usual car. Strange, don`t you think?" There was a pause, during which he gave Tom a hard stare.
Dr. Light crossed his arms and looked down at his house slippers.
"Hello? Anyone home?" Blues heard Albert`s voice, saw a hand waving in front of his face, and he blinked. "Well, forget it. You`re not at your best this morning, are you? But nevermind that. The show must go on. Right, Tom?"
"R... right," said Tom in a subdued voice.
"Well, the boy cleans up nice, anyway," Dr. Wily said, and tugged at the bottom of Blues`s tie. "This is a big day, after all. Did you pick this color out yourself?"
Blues nodded.
"Green. Suits you." He let out a long sigh. "By the way, why is it so damn cold in here?"
Then the doorbell rang.
"As you already know, we`ve been reviewing your documentation of his development these past several months with great interest..."
Blues sat cross-legged on his cushion with both hands gripping the edge of the low table. He was aware that Dr. Light was on his left, Dr. Wily on his right, and Takayama in front, and that words were being exchanged between them—but it took a concentrated effort on his part to follow what those words were. Once in a while, he began to sway in one direction or another, and each time either Tom or Albert leaned in, took him by the arm, and pushed him upright.
"...Let me take this opportunity to thank both of you personally for your hard work, and especially for your compliance with the terms of our contract. I know it`s been difficult at times..."
Blues stared down at the half-filled cup of tea in front of Takayama, now cold and as-yet untouched. By some miracle, he had managed to transport it from the kitchen to the table without incident. The official introductions between himself and Takayama had flown by; Blues remembered bowing and offering his hand, but for some reason neither gesture had been returned. Takayama hadn`t even thanked him for the tea. He`d thought to himself that this was rather odd behavior, but Takayama, it seemed, was an odd kind of human.
Tadashi Takayama was a squat, wide-faced man, with salt-and-pepper hair and cheeks dotted with pockmarks—but his most distinguishing feature was a dark, raised mole, two centimeters wide or more, in the middle of his neck. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Blues found his eyes wandering down to it again and again—a faux pas which perhaps would have been easier to avoid, if Takayama wasn`t in the habit of turning it between his fingers once a minute or so.
"...And since the period of documentation is nearly finished, it`s time for us to discuss what`s going to happen next..."
Blues felt a hard jab in his side, and he raised his head. "Wake up," hissed Dr. Wily in his ear. "This is no time to take a nap. Did you hear what the man just said?"
He had. "You mean..." said Blues, feeling a rush of renewed energy, "there won`t be any more tests, or cameras? Will I get my sketchbooks back?"
But instead of answering Blues directly, Takayama turned to Dr. Light.
"I see no reason not to go ahead with the original plans we`ve made. I need to ask for your continued cooperation over the next few days..."
"I understand," said Dr. Light.
"...Although, I have to tell you that we`re going to proceed with a degree of caution, considering the defect that you`ve brought to our attention..."
Blues became aware of Takayama`s eyes scrutinizing him. It seemed to him that the man was waiting for something, but Blues couldn`t imagine what it was. He shifted a little on his cushion and moved himself closer to Dr. Light.
"Oh, right, the defect," Dr. Wily said, and leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table. "Well, we first knew there was something wrong when we realized that, despite what he looks like, we`ve never caught him looking at Tom`s old magazines. Not even once."
Dr. Light let out a disgruntled sigh.
"What I was referring to, of course, Dr. Wily," said Takayama, and widened his eyes, "is his core flaw." He paused and rubbed at the mole in his neck—and Blues saw Albert grimace. "We`d like to see this issue resolved quickly, so I`m going to give you a deadline: March first. If you can`t come up with a workable solution by then, I`ll need to bring him in and have another team take a look at the problem."
Dr. Light`s eyes widened. He leaned forward and glanced to his right, and Blues followed his gaze to find Tom and Albert exchanging looks of restrained panic.
"No," said Tom at last. He put a hand on Blues`s shoulder. "If anyone`s capable of repairing his core, it`s the team that built him... whether it takes two months, or ten."
"We`ve already got a deadline, anyway," said Albert, "and that`s the lifespan of the first core. According to some people, that`s pressing enough."
"March first," said Takayama.
Dr. Light raised his hands. "But the contract gives us..."
"`...The authority to set the conditions of his care,`" Takayama said. "Yes, I`m aware of that. But the contract also allows for contingencies, to be determined by the company, in the case that flaws are discovered in the prototype`s hardware design. Perhaps you`ve forgotten that clause," He narrowed his eyes. "What we need is a functional product, and we`ve waited long enough already.
"I`m giving you two months. Can you do it or not?"
Blues looked at Dr. Light on his left, Dr. Wily on his right, and Takayama in front, not sure what was happening. He understood the meaning of Takayama`s words, but had no idea what "company," "prototype," and "product" were supposed to refer to. In a quiet plea for help he turned toward Dr. Light, but he was staring straight ahead of him with a vacant look in his eyes.
"Calm down, both of you," said Takayama. "You`re not under attack." He leaned his back against the wall. "We were expecting some setbacks along the way. And, hardware issues notwithstanding, we believe that the software is going to meet our expectations.
"Anyway, why should it matter who designs and installs a new core, as long as the job gets done?"
"Because it`s an invasive procedure that`s going to require gutting him from navel to neck," said Albert. "It`s a big complicated mess in here..." With one hand he grabbed Blues by the arm, and with the other gave him a couple of big thumps on the chest: a gesture which, together with the words he`d just uttered, made Blues recoil. "-Sorry, kid, I`m just trying to make a point—and any repairs that extensive are going to require specialized knowledge. Our specialized knowledge."
Takayama sucked some air in through his teeth. "I can understand how, after so many years of work, you`ve come to feel that this project is your `baby,`" he said. "But that knowledge you`re talking about—remember, it`s not going to be specialized for long. It was never intended to be."
"I know," said Albert, "but I`m not talking about the project per se. I`m talking about him. The `software,` as you call it—this particular iteration of it. You see, after all this hassle is finished, Tom here, and Judith, Yuichi, and I, are the ones who are going to have to live with him. He can be a bit quiet at times, dull even—when he`s not being ornery, that is—but for the most part, we like him just fine the way he is now. What we`re afraid of is that, if we hand him over to a bunch of newcomers to be fixed, and they do a slap-dash job of it..."
Blues nearly jumped at the sound of Dr. Light forcefully clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tom`s shoulders stiffen.
But Dr. Wily seemed to take no notice, and he pressed on. "I`m saying there are risks involved." He put on a grim smile. "Are you a music lover by chance, Mr. Takayama?"
"We can finish within two months," Dr. Light said, in a terse and forceful voice. "Especially since our colleagues are coming soon to help. It won`t be necessary to call in another team. Right, Albert?"
"Oh, absolutely." Albert gave Tom a long look. Then he crossed his arms and stared at the spot on Takayama`s neck, and Blues saw his mouth curl into a playful grin. "We only need to... fiddle around with the defect a little more."
Blues would never understand why it had to happen then, at a time when his senses were dulled and he was caught in the grip of a steadily rising unease. It didn`t even bother him, at the moment, that Dr. Wily was making light of his suffering. It was as though something just clicked into place—one last missing connection that, when formed, allowed him to perceive the both the double meaning of Dr. Wily`s words and the fact that they were wildly inappropriate.
In spite of himself, he laughed.
Tom and Albert jerked their heads in his direction. "Did you just..." said Dr. Wily. His eyes were wide. "You did, didn`t you?"
Blues didn`t know what to say. He turned to his left, and saw Dr. Light`s eyes darting from him to Takayama and back with a look halfway between excitement and mortification.
Albert cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said, "we can do it by your deadline, Takayama. Sleeping is overrated, anyway. Besides, one point that sticks out for me..." He narrowed his eyes at Takayama`s neck, and he snickered. "...Is our hypothesis that the health of his current power core is inversely related to his cognitive... growth..."
Blues put his hands over his mouth and looked down at his lap. To his left, he noticed Dr. Light staring in Dr. Wily`s direction and emphatically shaking his head.
"Albert," he said, "let`s get back on topic."
"By the way, Mr. Takayama, I couldn`t help but notice that you haven`t engaged with the software at all today," said Dr. Wily. "Not even a `hi, how are you?` or a `sorry to hear about your health condition.`" He paused. "Could you pick up a classical station on that dial of yours? The boy likes classical music, you know."
"Are you finished yet, Dr. Wily?" Takayama gave Albert a censurious look, stood up, and removed his netphone from his pocket. "Gentlemen, if you`d excuse me... I`ve got to go outside to make a phone call. When I come back, I hope you`ll be ready to talk business again."
Dr. Light, his face red, heaved himself to his feet and hurriedly escorted Takayama to the door. He returned with his arms crossed.
"Albert." The word came out like a subdued growl. "What do you think you`re doing?"
"Enjoying myself," he said. "Fawning deference to authority—I suppose it just never took with me."
Tom stared at him, his eyes wide in exasperation. "Having a laugh at his appearance—what`s your point?"
"My point is that the guy is disgusting," said Albert. He clutched Blues by the arm and gave him a little shake. "Anyway, didn`t you see what he did? My God, Tom, did you notice it at all?"
"Of course I did." Dr. Light`s voice was stern. "But Takayama`s visit here today is no joke."
"Yes, Tom, it is a joke, and the boy was in dire need of some loosening up. His tastes run a bit lowbrow at the moment, but nevermind. Listen," he said, and looked Blues in the eye. "We`re born, and we die. Everything in between is just a series of distractions.
"Tom, why are you so concerned about Takayama`s feelings? You already know he`s going to have the last laugh today."
"Albert..."
"Hey, Blues, want to hear something really funny? The real joke`s on you. After all this beating around the bush and talk about things that might or might not happen two months from now, you still don`t know what Takayama came here for."
Dr. Light`s mouth dropped open, and he raised his arms: a sign, Blues knew, that Albert had said too much.
"What did he come here for?" said Blues.
Before Tom could stop him, Albert leaned forward and put his finger on Blues`s nose. "You."
Blues stared. He felt a twinge of pain in his stomach, and a pall of fatigue settled over him. He glanced to his side at Dr. Light, whose face was locked in an expression of grim resignation. He turned back to Dr. Wily. "What are you talking about?" he said.
"The very last round of testing and documentation," said Albert. "It has to be completed at Nurtech`s laboratory by an objective third party—or so they say. And Takayama`s going to take you there this morning."
"What`s Nurtech?"
Dr. Wily nodded in Dr. Light`s direction. "After you, Tom," he said.
Dr. Light was staring down at the table with his hands clutching his knees. "Nurtech... is the company that financed your creation."
"How`s he supposed to know what that means?" said Albert. "You have to spell it out for him. Tell him what`s going to happen next."
"Well... I..."
Blues felt his head and limbs becoming heavy. He slumped forward toward the table, but Dr. Wily grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him upright. "Not yet, kid," he said. "We`re talking about your life—the stuff you`ve been wanting to hear."
But Blues wasn`t thinking about that. He was staring toward his left, wondering why Tom wouldn`t look him in the eye. "Dr. Light, I... don`t want Takayama to take me anywhere," he said. "Don`t let him... Tell him no."
Tom took his hand towel out of his pocket and wiped at his face. "I can`t," he said.
"Why not?" Blues gazed with longing at the snow-filled garden through the sliding glass door: a world of sights, sounds, and smells that was comprehensible to him and demanded nothing of him. Silhouetted against the grey luster, he saw Dr. Light`s face turn away, and his heart lurched. "Dr. Light..."
Blues heard footsteps approaching from the foyer, and he turned his head to see Takayama returning with his netphone in hand. The sight filled him with dread. At that moment, in his state of weary confusion, Blues realized the man was the source of a dissatisfaction that ran much deeper than his annoyance over a few confiscated sketchbooks. The cameras, the locks and alarms, the Rule, the closed curtains, and the long months of confinement: it had all been done at Takayama`s behest. He remembered Dr. Light`s plea on his behalf to end the period of testing early—which Takayama had denied. And then there was today... It was clear that, for all the power the man wielded over his life, he was making decisions without regard for Blues`s feelings—and either was not aware, or was even willfully refusing to acknowledge, that he had feelings at all...
Blues pushed himself to his feet. In a last-ditch burst of energy he leapt at Takayama and squeezed his hands around his neck.
Takayama sputtered and collapsed to the floor, and Blues was pulled down with him. He heard shouting behind him, then the pounding of footsteps, and felt two rough pairs of hands yanking at his arms.
"Let go," said Dr. Light into his ear, at a low growl. "Damn it, Blues."
But Blues held on, disoriented and terrified, and watched as Takayama`s face turned from pink to red. He saw the man`s eyes bulge. Then he heard a smack, felt a sharp pain in his cheek, and he gasped. His grip loosened from around Takayama`s neck, and he was dragged backwards. As he looked on in a helpless rage, Takayama took in a few huge gulps of air and scooted himself away across the floor.
Blues struggled, but his knees buckled beneath him, and he felt himself being lowered onto his side. When he tried to push himself upright again, his body was impossibly heavy. He spent a few desperate moments in futile exertion, but a sudden flare of pain crippled him. He grabbed at his stomach and clenched his teeth, but there was no one beside him just then to notice.
He heard coughing, and he turned his gaze to the other side of the living room. Tom and Albert were helping Takayama to his feet.
"I`m so sorry," said Dr. Light in a watery voice. "Please... He`s been under a lot of stress... I don`t know what else to say..."
Blues shut his eyes. He felt a familiar tingling in his toes and fingertips, signaling that his energy level was almost down to zero, and he let out a groan. Not now, he thought. You have to get up... do something...
The voices of Dr. Light and Takayama faded away, and he heard approaching footsteps.
"Well, that was interesting," said Albert. "A nice show of spirit. I won`t say Takayama didn`t deserve that—but he`s only a cog, one of many. If you really want to be left alone, you`ve got a lot of humans to throttle."
Blues felt his body tense up, and he forced his eyes open. "Tell me," he said. "Dr. Light... he..."
"It was a dirty trick, I know," Albert said. "Tom was afraid of what Nurtech might do if your `oppositional behavior` made an appearance today. He would have hated to see you dragged out of here kicking and screaming. He thought it would be easier on you if you were a bit... sedated... Well, he`s a sensitive soul, and I suppose his intentions were good—but he didn`t get the timing quite right, and you know what they say about good intentions..."
Blues didn`t know, and didn`t care to ask. "I`m not going to Nurtech," he said. As soon as he spoke the words, he realized they must have sounded ridiculous.
He saw Albert`s feet, sheathed in white socks, step in front of his face. "You`re going," he said, "and there`s not a thing you, or Tom, or I, can do to stop it. These events were set in motion long ago, when you were nothing more than a brain on a desk.
"You`ve been living under the impression that Tom and I, and our ragtag team of friends both living and dead, were your makers. Wrong. Nurtech is your maker; we`re just their grunts for hire. Going there won`t be exactly like meeting God—a God, if there was one, probably wouldn`t care as much about things like stockholders and profit margins—but for you, it`s as close as you`re going to get.
"Rest assured, they`re not going to harm you—you`re an expensive piece of technology, after all: by far their biggest investment to date. They just want to make sure they got their money`s worth. And you`ll be happy to know that, at the very least, they`ll extend you the courtesy of a full charge."
Blues felt a shadow creep across his back, and heard Dr. Wily`s raspy breathing next to his ear. "For my part in all of this, I`m sorry," he said, and gave Blues a couple of firm pats on the arm. "Give `em hell, kid."
For a few moments the world dropped out of view. Blues heard muffled voices and footsteps going back and forth. Finally, someone sat down beside him on the floor. He felt a man`s breath on his face, smelled the faint, familiar scent of whiskey, and a lull settled over him. He let his limbs relax. The floor let out a gentle creak, and a warm hand squeezed him on the shoulder. By an act of sheer will he had for the moment blocked out the memory, newly-formed, of the same hand striking him minutes before.
"I want my generator, Dr. Light," said Blues. "Please."
"No, Blues. You need to be out for a while."
"Nurtech... what are they going to do with me?"
Dr. Light took a deep breath. "When you become unconscious, you`ll be transported to Nurtech`s lab. It`s not far from here—about a half hour`s drive." His speech was slow and methodical, as though he was making a conscious effort to sound calm. "While you`re asleep, they're going to do some 3-D imaging... and spend a few days studying how your body works, together with the schemas Albert, Judith, and I created when we were building you. Then, on the last day, they`ll wake you up and do one last round of tests... I`m not sure exactly what they`ve got planned, but they're probably going to ask you a lot of questions. Just be yourself, and do your best to cooperate. You`ll come home that same evening."
"But why..."
"Tom, it`s time," said Albert`s voice. "Takayama`s sent his assistants in to pick the kid up. He wants to get this over with."
There were more approaching footsteps, the sound of two pairs of feet padding across the tatami floor.
"Excuse us," said an unfamiliar man`s voice. "So, this is him?"
Dr. Light didn`t reply.
"We`re going to take him to the van now. If you don`t mind getting out of the way..."
"Wait," said Tom. Blues felt the hand on his shoulder tighten. "Tell Takayama that I expect him to be treated with kindness and dignity while he`s there, even if he doesn`t comply.
"His core flaw is causing him pain. Your people need to be aware of that. Be patient with him, and..."
"Right, of course," said the man`s voice. "Don`t worry. He`ll be returned to you in good condition."
"That`s... not what I meant." There was a pause. "I mean... This is Catherine`s... This is my..."
"Get a hold of yourself, Tom," said Albert. "You knew this day was coming."
"How much does he weigh?" said the voice. "About forty five kilos, maybe?"
"Forty-four point three," Dr. Light said, and sniffed.
Blues was rolled onto his back by unseen hands. He opened his eyes. Dr. Light`s face was above him, and Catherine`s urn to his left. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Takayama's two assistants came into view, expressionless and waiting.
"Dr. Light, don't let them take me."
"Blues, I`m going to shut you down now," said Dr. Light, and pressed his lips together. "See you soon." His eyes stared downward in a look of cold determination, and with a flustered sigh, he tugged upwards at Blues`s shirttail and began undoing the buttons from the bottom up.
"No, don`t..." Blues thrust out his arms in an attempt to push him away, but he heard brisk footsteps coming from behind.
"Need my help?" said the voice of Dr. Wily. Two hands reached across Blues's field of vision. In one swift, decisive movement, they caught hold of his wrists and pulled them above his head.
"Dr. Wily, let go of me."
"Trust us, kid. It`s better this way," said Dr. Wily. "I half expect one of these knuckleheads to drop you between here and the stretcher."
"Dr. Light, don't..."
"Blues, don`t be afraid."
"Dr. Li-"
