A/N:
Pen: *cackles* Now for more.
Sword: Pen, you're really scaring me. Let's do something nice instead.
Pen: No! Now go ahead and say it.
Sword: Robotnik and all related material belong to Sega. Pen and me belong to the author. Where is the author anyway?
Pen: Oh, he was becoming a bit too soft, so I…took care of him. To the story!
Chapter 3- Good Intentions
Lockheed Bank had many outlets across the city. Robotnik was familiar with their security set-up. He had worked on a couple of their businesses over the past few weeks. It was the same system applied to each of their locations. The one in the middle of the city block he had his eyes on was no different.
There was a security camera overlooking the ATM. It swiveled back and forth, taking exactly ten seconds to turn from one side to the other. Robotnik timed it, counting aloud to himself to be sure. Inside the bank was a lone security guard sitting at a desk and watching a small television.
Robotnik wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his glasses. He steadied his hands on the controls. "Showtime," he muttered.
When the camera turned from him, he strode forward in his machine. He had had no time to work on the machine since his last late night venture. So the legs were still horribly slow. He pressed on as hard as he could. He had to reach the camera quickly.
The camera started to turn back to him. Robotnik cursed his machine's slow speed. He pushed it faster. Just as the camera was about to spot him, he reached it. He sliced at it with his machine's arm. The camera was smashed, but he had caused a lot of noise.
"Who's there?" the security guard yelled. Robotnik gulped. So it had come down to this. He stood near the front entrance. The guard ran out, hand on his pistol.
Robotnik whacked the guard. Down he went, rolling along the street. He lifted his head. When he saw Robotnik, he screamed. "What? What are you?" Robotnik did not say anything. He swung before the guard could draw his weapon. The guard collapsed, knocked out by the blow.
With the dirty deed done, Robotnik returned to the his task. He punched the ATM. He retracted the machine's arm and money poured out. He made the machine crouch and he scooped up as much as he could. The amount was staggering to him. He had never held so many twenties and hundreds in all his life. It could cover the rent, materials, and the animals' care easily.
His hands were shaking again. Robotnik stuffed the money into the machine's cockpit. Then he hurried away from the crime scene. Some of the bills dropped out of the cockpit during his hasty escape. He thought he should bring a duffel bag of some kind next time.
Next time? I'm already planning to do this again? He did not want to steal or hurt anyone. But the sad fact of the matter would be that he may have to rob more ATMs. The rent would continue to come month after month. He slammed his fist on the control console, jerking the machine around.
He soon neared the edge of the city and slowed down. Oh, how I dream of a day when this is no longer required, he thought as he marched down his street. When I receive my just dues and am on top and in charge, not wholly unlike my grandfather. Someday. He hid the machine behind his house and carried the money inside.
When he passed the portrait of Gerald, he stopped. However, there is always someone higher. The only way to overcome that is to be in charge of everything. My grandfather could have brought the world to enlightenment if he had no one to answer to, no one to stop him. As could I. A world where everyone is helped and given the care they need. Where no one is left behind or destitute, human, animal, or otherwise.
He shook his head. Now was not the chance to have dreams of ruling the world like other people did. Now was the time to rest. He shoved the money and tools underneath his bed. Tomorrow, he would order more materials. Then he could help the animals.
When Robotnik awoke and turned on the news the next morning, he saw Lockheed Bank on the screen. He turned up the volume and sat riveted at the dining room table. A female reporter was standing in front of the wrecked ATM. "The only eyewitness is security guard, Frederick Pole, who had this to say."
The camera cut to the security guard lying on a gurney. He was being loaded into an ambulance. He looked worse for the wear. Robotnik scratched his neck, shamefully glancing elsewhere for a moment. "I heard a loud crash, like someone was tearing the building apart," Frederick said. "I run out and the next thing I know, I'm knocked off my feet by this metal monster."
"Can you describe it?" the reporter asked off-screen.
"It was like-" he paused, "like a giant egg, a monster, on two legs. I've never seen anything like it."
"There you have it," the reporter said. "A giant egg monster. Police are following all leads and ask that anyone with information please call the number below." A phone number appeared at the bottom of the television. "This is Charlize Loom. Back to you folks in the studio."
Robotnik sat back in his seat, unsure what to think about the news. There were so many things to process: the damage, the police searching for him, the publicity. It was overwhelming.
He had little time to dwell on any of it. There was a sharp rapping at his door. "Ivo Robotnik?" It was a harsh, male voice.
"Yes?" Robotnik asked, shutting off the television.
"Police. Open up."
His heart stopped in his chest. His feet were like dead weights and his hands were clammy. His skin became as white as a sheet. He squeaked, trying to answer. "Just a minute," he said. He stood up, glancing around.
The money. He had to make sure it was hidden. He sprinted to his bedroom. Some of his animals woke up, confused as to his hurried antics. As he stomped around, making sure every bill was hidden from sight under his bed, the animals grew wilder. The police knocked again. "Be right there!" Robotnik called. To be on the safe side, he hid his tools underneath the bed as well. Then he quickly changed out of his dark clothes.
When he finished, he ran to the animals' room. He silenced them, then rushed to the front door. He wiped his forehead, calmed himself, and opened the door. Standing there was a detective and a young, uniformed officer. The detective held out his badge. "I'm Detective Pointe, this is Officer Fitz. May we come in?" He was the one who had been talking to Robotnik.
"Of course, of course," Robotnik said. He stepped aside and welcomed them in. "I was just about to have breakfast. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Bagel?"
"Coffee would be grand," Pointe said.
Fitz shook his head. "Nothing for me, thanks."
Robotnik busied himself in the kitchen, setting out a pot of coffee. "What was that racket we heard earlier?" the detective asked.
"Oh, that would be my animals," Robotnik said. He set the coffee to boil and offered the police a seat at the dining table. He sat across from them. "They were a little frightened."
"Sounded like you were running a zoo."
"I feel like I do sometimes," Robotnik said, chuckling. Yet it came off very forced and nervous. He coughed into his hand. "I like to take in injured animals and help them."
"That's very kind of you," Pointe said.
"Thank you. But I assume you didn't come here to discuss adopting one as your own." He was tapping his foot rapidly. He wanted these men gone.
Fitz opened his mouth, but Pointe cut him off. "You're right. We actually came here to discuss another matter. I take it you're aware of what happened to your landlord's office less than a month ago?"
"That is what wrecked," Robotnik said, nodding. He tried to focus his eyes on one person. He did not want to appear shifty. He settled on the detective, but refrained from staring. Staring would only raise suspicions. "Yes, I heard. Good thing he was alright."
"Have you heard about the robbery at Lockheed Bank?"
"I was watching it on the news right before you arrived. Why do you ask?"
Fitz cleared his throat. "We believe the attacker might be the same person." He shirked from Pointe's glare.
"Both eyewitnesses," Pointe said, facing Robotnik, "describe a similar attacker. Some metal monster."
"An egg monster, if you will," Fitz said. He shut up after receiving another look from Pointe.
Robotnik swallowed his tongue. Beads of sweat were sliding down to his nose. "So how can I help you?" he asked.
"We'd like to ask a few questions if that's alright," Pointe said. He produced a notebook and pen from his coat. "Can you tell me where you were on the night your landlord was attacked?"
"I was at home that night," Robonik said. He tried to sound convincing. The detective hummed to himself. He did not like the tone of the hum. "You could ask my neighbor, Clarissa. She'll tell you the same."
Pointe ignored him and continued on. "Where were you last night?"
"Home again," Robotnik said. "Finally got off at a decent time last night. I've been working two jobs to make ends meet and haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks." He feared he had divulged too much. But it was part of the truth. Telling the truth never hurt. Unless I told the whole truth in this case, he thought.
"How is your relationship with your landlord?" Pointe asked.
"About as normal as a tenant and landlord can be," Robotnik said, shrugging nonchalantly. He was sure they heard his pounding heart.
"No bad blood between you two?"
Blood? Blood was filling his ears. "None that I'm aware of."
"Do you have an account at Lockheed Bank?"
"Nope. My money is snatched up faster than I can even cash it." Robotnik laughed. Fitz smiled understandingly.
"What do you do for a living? Besides sell animals," Pointe asked.
"Oh, I don't sell them," Robotnik said. "I take them in, fix them up, and give them a home. If anyone wants to take them, they're free to. Once I've made sure they can that is."
"Must eat up a lot of your money."
"A little. But I work two jobs. One as an alarm technician and the other as a customer call representative." He wondered when these men would leave. He did not have work that morning and would really like to cover his tracks thoroughly. The act was becoming harder to keep up as well.
"Ever worked on any alarms as Lockheed Bank?" Pointe was staring into his very soul with those inquisitive eyes.
"M-Maybe I did," Robotnik said. He tapped his thighs. "I work on alarms around the city. Wherever my boss tells me to go, I go." His armpits and brow were drenched in sweat. He thought about excusing himself. Would that seem too suspicious? But they might soon ask why he appeared so nervous.
Thankfully, the coffee maker buzzed. Robotnik quickly stood up. That must have been odd to them. He slowed his movements and calmly walked over to the pot. "How do you like your coffee?"
"One cream, please," Pointe said. Robotnik heard him scribbling in the notebook.
"Coming right up." He poured out the coffee. They had been grilling him for information, but as long as they were here, he needed to find out as much as he could. What did the police know? Were they onto him? "So you think this person- this thing or whatever it is- is the same for both attacks? Based on two people?"
"Well, there's also the shutdown neighborhoods," Fitz said. "We were looking into every neighborhood after the landlord was attacked. But when we found the trail, we narrowed our search."
Robotnik choked. "Trail?"
"A money trail. Led in the direction of two of the neighborhoods. Either our perp is hiding out nearby or lives in one of these two places."
"Thank you, officer. That's enough," Pointe said. He accepted a coffee mug from Robotnik. He sipped it. "Oh, that's good. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Robotnik sat down with his own mug. He drank only a little. His nerves were already shot without adding caffeine to the mix.
"So do you know of anyone around here who might hold a grudge against your landlord or Lockheed Bank?"
He rubbed his chin, pretending to ponder the notion. Then he shook his head. "Can't say that I do."
"Do you mind if we take a look around?" Pointe asked.
Robotnik's stomach dropped into his feet. He somehow raised himself out of his chair. "Sure. I'll give you the grand tour." He accompanied them throughout the house. He was able to distract Fitz with the animal room. The young officer knelt down near the cages and petted a few dogs.
"My daughter would love one of these," he said.
"Well, bring her by and maybe we can work something out," Robotnik said. He turned to Pointe, who was heading down the hall to the bedroom. Robotnik hurried after him.
"This would be my bedroom," he said, opening the door. The detective walked in, appraising the room. Robotnik scooted over to his bed and pulled the blanket on the closest side down further. It grazed the edge, covering the bottom space. "I hope you're able to catch this guy. Sounds like he could be dangerous."
"Oh, don't you worry," Pointe said, gazing at the walls. "We're very able. We will find this egg-monster-man thing. Whatever it is. We're very close. By keeping one step ahead, he'll soon be behind bars."
Robotnik stood firm, but his insides were quaking. He had to push these two along and out of his house. He needed to quickly draw the scent away from him. He was about to offer more coffee to at least get Pointe out of the bedroom. But there was a rumble from underneath the bed.
"What was that?" Pointe asked.
Stepping directly in front of the bed's side, Robotnik shrugged. "Probably the house settling." There was another rumble.
"Mind if I look under there?" Pointe came closer, crouching down.
Robotnik cursed his lack of foresight. Why had he chosen the bed? It was like a child trying to hide something from their parent. Stupid! He stayed in front of the bed, swinging his arms good-naturedly. "There's nothing much under there. Nothing worth seeing."
Pointe was on his knees. He pushed Robotnik's legs aside. The doctor fretted. What should he do? He could not be arrested. Not now. Pointe was lifting up the blanket. Should he stop him? Knock him out? Then the entire police force would be on him, eventually leading to a stand-off where he would be forced to take Pointe and Fitz hostage. Either way, he lost.
At that moment, Tesla scurried out from underneath the bed. The cat hissed at Pointe and ran to the other side of the room. Then a sudden odor wafted into the air. Pointe released the blanket and covered his nose. "Ugh, looks like your cat isn't quite housebroken. Might want to spend some time in that instead of fixing them up."
Robotnik sighed and covered his nose. I'll have to give Tesla some treats later. "Yeah, it happens now and again. Bad Tesla!" he said. He shooed the cat out of the room. "Use your litterbox!"
"I think we'll be leaving now," Pointe said. He grabbed Fitz and they headed to the door. "Thank you for your time." He took out a business card and handed it to Robotnik. "If you can think of anything that can help our investigation, call me."
"Will do," Robotnik said. He waved farewell to them and shut the door. Then he collapsed against the wall. That had been far too close. He pried himself away from the small foyer. After feeding Tesla several treats, he counted up the money. He had plenty of money to order the supplies he needed. More than he originally thought. He could improve his machine while he was at it.
Improve it? As in use it again? He did not want to use it again. Sure, it was easy money, but his theft had come with serious repercussions. He thought he should use the materials to build another Ball-mobile. I could try to pitch it as a freelance inventor.
But until then- He gazed out the window into the backyard. Anyone who did not know where to look would not see the machine hidden amongst the fauna and overgrowth clinging to the wooden fence. He bit his lip. Until then, I have to keep all of us sheltered and fed.
He hid the money and set about ordering the materials he needed. As he completed his orders, someone knocked anxiously on his door. "Ivo?" Clarissa called. She knocked again. "Ivo? Are you in there?"
He opened the door to her. She walked in, a little shaken. "Clarissa? What is it? Please, sit down." He pulled out a chair for her. She took it and rubbed her arms. He sat beside her. "What happened?"
"Had a visit from the police," she said. "They came around, asking questions about the robbery last night and our landlord."
"Same thing happened to me," he said. "Can I get you anything?"
She shook her head. "No, no. I'm fine. They did ask me to corroborate your statements. About how you were home those nights."
"Oh? What did you tell them?"
"The truth. That I saw you home those days in the evening, but that I usually go to bed early." She scratched her head. "That's about all I know."
He nodded and folded his hands. "Good, good." The conversation lulled as she caught his eye. She gave him a hard, curious stare that unnerved him. "What is it?"
"You didn't have anything to do with either of those, did you?" she asked.
His breath hitched. He sputtered, but turned it into laughter. "What? No. Don't be silly." He grinned widely. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"I don't know. You've been acting a little off since you were let go from your last job. Maybe I'm just too shook up to think straight." She rubbed her eyes and cupped her cheek in her hand. "One of them was pretty intimidating."
"Detective Pointe? Yeah, I know," he said. "It's okay. No harm done." He patted her hand.
She grasped his hand, squeezing tightly. "Thanks."
"Anytime." Underneath his reassuring facade, he was sick with guilt. He had lied to her. Not only to her, but to the police. He had officially obstructed justice. What had become of him? Lying to the police, lying to Clarissa, theft, extortion- where does it end? This isn't me. He had to stop this madness before it continued. He was losing himself to this easy, amoral route.
When Clarissa left, Robotnik tended to the animals. The rabbit was doing better, but was still in pain. He did the best he could and tried to coax the others out again. He failed though.
He slumped to his bedroom and took out the money. He could not go to the bank like he wanted and open an account today. That would be too incriminating. While he gathered the money together, his hands touched something else under the bed. A cardboard box, which he slid out.
He smiled and opened the box. Inside were various gizmos, gadgets, and small inventions he had created throughout the years. He picked up a caved-in device with little bells falling off of it. It was a crude alarm clock he had made for his father. It had never worked properly, always ringing at the wrong times, but his father had appreciated it.
Another invention was a pair of thin, metal extensions for one's feet to give a person a few inches to their height. Robotnik had often used them to reach for the sweets on high shelves when he was younger. Unfortunately, he had never accounted for his large girth as a child. They lied broken in the box.
These were some of the many inventions he had kept over the years. He could not bear to part with any of them, even if like the ones before him, they were broken, useless, or required more repair than was worth it. He had rarely taken apart any of his machines. He had always chosen to salvage, improve, or save them if he could. They were treasured memories, pieces of him that he lovingly poured his heart and soul into making.
They were also inventions that were, mostly, meant to help others. Inventions meant to change the world for everyone in a better way. He sighed and looked out the window where his machine was hidden. What had become of him? Where had he traded that helpful spark for a machine built only for his own needs?
It was necessary. Yet he found he could not claim the same for his lies, his manipulation, and the pain he had caused. He yearned to return to creations like the ones sitting before him, ones that could benefit everyone.
Robotnik waited until the dead of night before he went outside. He had his tools in hand and headed straight to the machine. The way he saw it, the machine was a symbol, one of the causes of his behavior lately. If he took that out of the equation, everything would be fine. He could not hope to avoid any more misdeeds as long as the tempting machine was around.
He brought it out of its hiding place. He looked it over as if committing it to memory. I have to dismantle it. A part of him suddenly found it hard to do so. It was a safety net and the only surefire way he could continue to survive. That part wanted to improve the machine, take himself to new heights where he was no longer on the bottom of society. This large machine was one of his greatest creations
Before he could become lost in that fantasy, Robotnik took a wrench to the machine. Greatest creation or not, he would not be tempted into more wrongdoing. What about improving it to benefit others? Maybe as a suit for the disabled? It was an enticing thought. Yet like the oft traveled path of good intentions, he knew his benevolent ideas would be corrupted down the line.
Besides, if all goes well, maybe the Ball-mobile could be applied to humans one day by a company with more restraint than I. So he worked quickly, taking it apart piece by piece. It was difficult. It felt like chipping away at himself with every nut he loosened and every piece he ripped off. Shortly after midnight, he had the machine in several large, scattered parts: head, separated arms, torso split in two, the legs no longer joined, and the feet.
Reason reasoned that he should tear it apart further. On the other hand, his strength and willpower were drained. He could not handle anymore that night. Already, his heart had taken several powerful blows. Robotnik was tired and had work early tomorrow. He would finish the next day and start building a second version of the Ball-mobile. So he dragged the machine's parts into his house. Then he settled down for the night. Sleep did not come easily. He tossed and he turned, sweating in his bed. For hours, he thought of the machine and the desires to both rebuild it and completely destroy it.
In the late night, Robotnik finally did sleep soundly. He dreamed of finishing his new version of the Ball-mobile. But while he was putting the final touches on it, his machine, now rebuilt, stomped on it. Nothing larger than a small shard was left as it stamped on the Ball-mobile repeatedly. As the machine lifted its foot for him, Robotnik saw himself driving it. He could not tell if the other Robotnik looked thrilled or pained. He caught a snatch of a word from the doppelganger. "Necessary."
The foot came down on him, destroying the dream and waking him. He panted heavily. He gulped down air and settled back down after several minutes. Robotnik slept very fitfully for the rest of the night.
A/N: How's it going in here?
Pen: Wonderful. It is absolutely wonderful.
That's good. All of your out there, thank you for reading. Please, let us know what you think so far.
Sword: I got a baaaaad feeling about all this.