A/N:
Pen: Sword and the author are currently indisposed. I suspect that as soon as this story is over, the author will go back to sappy, romantic pieces. Obviously, I cannot allow that to happen. So from now on, you people will deal with me. If doing these stories is to be my fate, then I will demand realistic, serious drama on this site. Robotnik and all related material belong to Sega. The story, Sword, and the author belong to me, as does my likeness. Now, I give you the next chapter.
Chapter 4- Conscription
The materials arrived the next day shortly before work. Robotnik was able to fashion a slap-dash container for the rabbit's legs that eased the pain. It barely allowed the rabbit to move, but Robotnik planned to create a better prosthetic after work.
He was sure he knew of the other neighborhood that the police had mentioned. On his way to work, he scattered a few bills in the neighborhood's direction. Hopefully, the police would be drawn away from him.
The rest of the day, he was lighter. The heaviness in his heart was disappearing and he believed things were looking up for the better. Work was pleasant and smooth. When he came home, he was able to build a fully-functioning prosthetic for the rabbit- whom he decided to call Galileo. The end result was a pair of metal legs in the same design and shape as a rabbit's feet. Galileo was able to hop to his heart's content. In fact, he was able to hop higher than the average rabbit by Robotnik's estimation.
In the evening, Robotnik sat down at his desk and began work on his Ball-mobile. There were a number of improvements he thought of from his experience with the machine. He tried not to think of the dismantled parts tucked away. He would deal with those later.
He worked on the Ball-mobile until he finished it well in the night. Robotnik tried to encourage one of his creatures to try it. While they had forgiven him, only Gregory was brave enough to try it. He ran the hedgehog through the new Ball-mobile's functions, such as increased reaction, speed, and comfort for the occupant. Once he was satisfied with every aspect of it, he put Gregory away for the night.
Before he headed off to bed, he went to the room where he had stored the machine's pieces. Each one was lying there, harmless apart, but menacing when he imagined the whole. Robotnik decided to save its total destruction for another day and turned in to bed.
The next few weeks were much the same. Robotnik almost felt like his life and returning to normal. He went to work everyday with a cheerful attitude that drew some odd stares. The police only bothered him on occasion, simply asking if he had any new information. They did appear to be following another trail besides his.
At night, he would send in his proposal for the Ball-mobile to every company he could find. There were some businesses that he hid his actual identity from for fear of his preceding reputation.
Often, he received rejections from the companies, if any response at all. Yet he kept at it, hoping that someone would accept his invention sooner or later. As the deadline for the rent loomed near, he grew anxious. Again, he would not have the money for the rent, having spent nearly all of it on necessities and materials.
It was during one evening as the month was ending that he sat at his dining room table, going over the possibilities. If the Ball-mobile is accepted before the month, any check would still have to clear and be sent. In his experience, companies took a while to clear checks and the postal service seemed especially slow when money was expected.
He was at an impasse as before, with only two options open before him: hoping for the best with his invention or- He glanced at the room where the machine's parts were. He had continued to put off destroying them. Either lack of energy or a fearful urge, as if they might come in handy, had prevented him.
Now, the temptation to rebuild the machine was strong indeed. He cursed his procrastination. The parts were calling him, begging him to be whole again. Though silent, their cries were as yearning as the animals' begging for food.
It would be easy. So very easy, he thought.
Easy does not mean it's right. Easy is not better.
He looked up at the clock. Tick-tock. It was nearly midnight. It soon started to tick down another day. Another day he was slowly losing before the rent was due. Another day closer to being evicted.
Something will come up. It has to. He was so close to regaining his former life. One free of crime or wrongdoing. Robotnik was sure of it. He covered his head, burying his face into the table. Don't build it. Don't build it. Destroy them if anything, but don't build it.
Tick-tock.
Don't build it.
Tick-tock.
Don't build it.
Tick-
Robotnik pushed away from table and ran to the room. He grabbed his tools, selected a wrench, and thrust open the door. He flipped on the lights. The accursed parts were in the spots on the floor where he had left them. He went for the torso, dropped the rest of his tools. He raised his wrench high, and hit the chest. The wrench bounced off the exterior, vibrating violently in his hand. He growled and whacked it a second time. Not even a dent was left.
Then with heavy shoulders, Robotnik sighed. Okay, okay. You win. It-It's necessary I rebuild it. He dragged one of the machine's arms over and shoved it into the torso's socket. Then he tightened it with his wrench.
The imposing Station Square Bank loomed high among the lofty clouds. It was one of the tallest buildings in the city. One could see its rooftop from almost any street in the inner city. It was the wealthiest and most used bank around.
And the most secure, Robotnik thought from the seat of his machine. He stared at the bank from far off. There was no chance he would be able to break into it. Stories upon stories of security beyond what he was currently capable of bypassing: trained guards rather than minimum wage grunts, exterior shielding during lockdowns, supposedly trip lasers, and the piece de resistance of thick, heavy vaults.
Without some kind of unstoppable machine or serious back-up, Robotnik would have to settle on the smaller Tetric Bank that he watched from an alleyway. He had worked on one of their other locations, so he was not as familiar with their security layout. He assumed it was the same, with two guards at most, but less security equipment. To make matters worse, he had had little chance to fully test the functionality of his machine after finishing it last night. He had improved the speed a little, but not as much as he would have liked.
No use worrying about it now. I got a job to do. He pulled the black beanie down further on his scalp and closed his eyes. For them and me. Just like before.
The bank had a single camera outside the ATM. It was easy to approach it without being spotted. Robotnik stood up and disabled the camera with his tools. Then he snuck around the side of the building. He expected a security guard to come out soon.
The front door of bank opened. He peered out of the dark corner. There was a guard, hand on his gun. Robotnik almost came out until a second one followed behind. He breathing quickened. So there were two guards.
Relax, relax. He calmed himself, slowing down his frightened nerves. You can handle two guards. It shouldn't be a problem.
One of the guards checked the camera, shining his flashlight at it. Robotnik backed away, slinking into the pitch black shadows. "Looks like this thing is acting up," the guard said.
"What do we do?" the other asked.
"Call the repairman. Leave them a message and they'll fix it tomorrow." The flashlight's beam swiveled around the area, checking Robotnik's hiding spot. The light narrowly missed him. Then it disappeared.
Robotnik slipped back to the corner and leaned out. The two guards had their backs turned. "Should we leave a watch out here?" the other one suggested.
"What's it matter?" the one with the flashlight said, shrugging. "If anyone messes with the ATM, we'll hear them. And if they do, we'll just have the repairman fix that too. Hey, you hear that?"
Without warning, they were struck from behind. They tumbled into the glass doors. The machine trembled as its arms drooped. The console in front of Robotnik flared with lights. No, no, no! He banged on the console's display screen. Not now! The screen told him there was an alignment problem in the arms.
Meanwhile, the guards were rising to their feet. One unholstered his pistol and aimed it at Robotnik. "Stop or I'll shoot!"
Robotnik whacked the console and gripped the controls tight. He had an idea. He pulled back, rearing the machine away. Then he rushed forward, the arms dangling on the side. The guard fired, hitting the leg. The machine buckled, but the arms swung around. They snapped back into place. One mighty swing and the guard was disarmed.
He knocked the guards down again. Finally having a moment's peace, he checked the console's screen. The leg was pierced. Looks like it's on the fritz, he thought, tapping the display.
"Hold it right there!" Robotnik spun around in his seat. There was a third guard at the bank's entrance, armed and talking on a phone. "That's right," he said to the person on the line. "That egg thing is here! You sure you got the address?" Robotnik tried to move, but the guard yelled. "I said 'Hold it!' You may as well give up. The police are on their way."
Robotnik sat back in his seat. He nervously tapped his chin. He had to get to that ATM. His gut told him to flee, to abandon that folly. The guard could very well kill him. But the rent, the animals, the money. He could not leave here defeated and empty-handed. He grabbed his mustache, pulling it hard. I have to make a decision!
"Now," the guard said, stepping out from the entrance. He jerked his pistol downwards. "Stand down and put your hands on your head. I don't want to have to hurt you. You have ten seconds, alright? Ten." When the machine's only response was a fizzle from the leg wound, he said, "Did you hear me?"
The machine turned around, stomping its legs. The guard's pistol wavered and he backed off. "What are you?"
"Desperate," Robotnik said. He sprinted toward him, yelling. The guard yelped and fired off several shots. A few struck the cockpit, missing its pilot. Others hit the limbs. As the guard ran out of bullets, Robotnik swatted him. His third foe fell.
Panting hard, Robotnik took stock of the situation. His machine was now severely damaged. It refused to stop wobbling and when he tried walking, there was a delay. He had to shove and yank hard on the controls at that point. He looked at the ATM. It was completely free for the taking.
In the distance, he thought he could hear sirens. Robotnik glanced back and forth between his prize and the distant noise. He was not sure if he would have time to gather the money. After a few seconds, he growled. "I definitely won't be able to if I stand around here like a nincompoop. I have to try." With that, he smashed the ATM. Money poured out for him.
There was more cash there than at Lockheed. He gathered as much as he could carry. He stuffed wads of bills into his clothes, making his bulky body as round as a ball. When he was brimming with money, he fled down the street. Or rather, he waddled as his busted leg kept giving out.
He escaped the scene, but the police were nearby. "Come on," he hissed as the leg buckled again. "Come on!"
A flash of red and blue appeared down the street. The shrill wail was coming toward Robotnik. He searched his surroundings. There were no alleyways to hide in. The police car would be on him before he could reach the next street corner. He certainly could not take them on in his condition.
Think, Ivo. Think. He saw a closed electronics shop across the street. Inside were televisions, gadgets, and most notably, a giant robot. Robotnik smiled as a plan hatched in his mind. Perfect.
His machine was beginning to fall apart. With great difficulty, he turned it to the shop. He took large, lumbering strides across the street. The siren was coming every closer. But as he passed the halfway point, his machine stalled. It tipped over in a lunge, threatening to spill him out.
Robotnik clung to his seat and banged the console. "Not now," he said, watching the police car. "Don't do this now. Move! Move!" He slapped the outside of the cockpit.
That kicked the machine back to life. Slowly, Robotnik dragged himself to the storefront. He about-faced and stood the machine upright, raising its arm in a welcoming manner. Not a moment too soon for the police car drove right by. It passed him and swerved onto another street.
Before he could ask "What was that?" a blue streak followed the police car. Following a second later was a very strong, gusty vortex that kicked up trash in the street. Sonic.
Robotnik dropped his machine's arm. It died briefly a second time, but another good smack woke it up. Hoping his luck would hold out, he headed for home.
The rest of his getaway was much the same. The police seemed to be out with a large force intent on catching him. Robotnik stuck to the shadows and patiently snuck around speeding squad cars and sturdy police barricades of several vehicles. It was nearly sunrise when he returned home. He hid the machine in its regular spot and quickly patched the leg, afraid its sparks might draw attention.
Inside his house, he hid the money in his pantry, making use of any innocuous empty boxes and cans he could find. When he finished, he pulled off his beanie and slumped to his bedroom. Along the way, he passed by the animals. As soon as they saw him, they raised a stir, begging for their breakfast early.
"Would you all shut up?" he roared. "I've been out all night for you ingrates! The least you can do is let me get a bit of sleep before going to work!"
He collapsed onto his bed, lamenting that he would have to be up in an hour. Try as he might, he could not fall asleep. He kept thinking about the robbery and how close he had been to getting caught. I need to upgrade the machine. Give it hands at least.
Robotnik decided he would keep the machine intact this time and continue to use it. Until I can sell the Ball-mobile, there's nothing else I can do. No point in debating this anymore. The machine stays until everything is through.
The machine also needed some kind of weaponry. Weapons? Are you planning to kill people? He argued for the weapons in the name of defensive capabilities. Better speed too. Perhaps some an escape pod in case things get too hairy.
But he was still left with the biggest problem: he was only one man. One man against security guards of every shape, kind, and number strength. He might not be lucky the next time. There could be a larger security team or the next guard could be a firearms expert. Whatever the case, he needed to level the playing field. Robotnik did not trust anyone enough to bring them in on his operation. So short of duplicating himself, he was alone.
He laid on his side and watched the clock. Forty-five minutes until sunrise. Outside the open window behind the clock, the rosy tinge of morning was filtering through the dark sky, breaking up the dark clouds and replacing them with fluffy, orange ones. Robotnik willed himself to go to sleep, but he could not keep his eyes closed for long. As soon as he had shut them tight, he had opened them to watch the clock. He kept expecting the police to bust down his door and arrest him at any moment.
Half an hour before he was supposed to wake, he saw a pair of ladybugs fly in. He lazily shooed them away and they landed on his clock. Robotnik followed them, too tired to actually put them outside. Within moments, a beetle joined them, touching down on his clock. Need to close my window before every bug makes its home here.
But he stayed in bed, watching the three. The ladybugs flickered their wings, standing stock-still. In response, the beetle charged aggressively and tackled one of the ladybugs. The other jumped onto the beetle's back and they tumbled off behind his clock.
Robotnik thoughtfully looked at where they had been. On his dresser was the Ball-mobile, sitting on its side. When he squinted his bleary, tired eyes, it appeared to be the bottom of an insect.
Maybe-Maybe I could create a partner, he thought. It would not be terribly difficult. After all, he had created his yet-unnamed machine. A smaller, faster version to compensate for his stronger, heavy nature would be perfect.
The main problem lied in its control. He needed a person to control his robots. He could attempt to create one that did not need an occupant, but that would require a complete overhaul of the design, expensive parts, and a territory he had not branched out into often. I couldn't control it directly. I'd have to split my attention and I'm already too occupied during the robbery. But if I left it to be automated, it would be slower and take longer to decide what to do.
He needed someone or something to control any robot he built. His mind wandered to Gregory and the other animals. He feared to put them in harm's way. Then again, this is for their benefit. He was not a one-man army. Robotnik needed help. It was as simple as that. If we hope to survive, they have to pull their weight. I can't do this alone.
Soon, his clock's alarm went off. He rose and headed to the animals' room. He did not bother to speak to them and instead merely filled their dishes. He did pull Gregory out though and stroked his fur. "Sorry for earlier," he mumbled. "Hey, I'm going to need you for a big job soon. Think you can do it?"
Gregory sniffed his fingertips. Robotnik took that as a "Yes" and put the hedgehog back in the cage. Then he made himself breakfast.
Over the next several days, Robotnik worked tirelessly throughout the night. He patched up his machine and ordered parts to build some hands. He also picked up some materials he thought he could use to put in defensive weapons to his machine.
While he waited for the parts to come in, he modified the Ball-mobile's design. Starting from scratch, he built a full-round ball with a wheel. Like his machine, it had fingerless arms. Yet its arms ended in sharp points rather than blunt nubs. He added red paint to the backside with blue spots, and blue on the head, deciding that he would need to be able to spot Gregory in the dark. He did not want to step on the poor hedgehog accidentally.
A better inventor than he was a painter, the end result was a sleek, deadly Ball-mobile that looked like a child had painted it. The glowing, neon green angry eyes and fanged teeth did not help matters. Robotnik had tried to make it appear intimidating. He eventually chalked it up to a lost cause and left it as is. He did install an engine in the back hatch under the shell, complete with exhausts on the side to help Gregory move faster. On top of the head, he attached a pair of yellow antennae that functioned as radio receivers so he could command Gregory.
He tested the antennae when he finished building it. "Testing, one, two," Robotnik said, tapping a microphone. He cleared his throat. "Sega. Syllabus. Testing. Test, test."
When he was satisfied with the quality of the signal, he fetched Gregory. He opened the device and tried to put Gregory in the comfortable seat inside. Yet the hedgehog fought to escape. He stabbed Robotnik's hand, causing the doctor to drop him. "Yeowch! You little pest!" He grabbed Gregory by the quills and forced him into the seat. "Now get in there and calm down. I'm trying to save us and you're going to help me, like it or not!" Several Flickies squawked in the other room. "Quiet down in there!"
Robotnik closed the casing and set the creation on the floor. Then he picked up his microphone. "Gregory, come to me." The device sat there for a few moments before it tentatively rolled forward. "Good, good. Now turn around." He also checked Gregory's ability to move and slash the arms. Robotnik laid the microphone aside when he was through.
"I suppose I should name you something else besides Ball-mobile," he said, putting the creation back on the table. He took Gregory out and set him aside. "How about the Moto Wheel? Nah. Or the Moto Bug?" He rolled his head from side to side. "Hm, better, but not very threatening. I'll think of something else later. For now," he said, facing Gregory, "you'll be piloting the Moto Bug. Got it?"
That afternoon, his orders arrived. He immediately set to work putting together a defensive bumper to repel attackers. While he built the device on the kitchen table, he watched the news. During the week, his latest caper had been the talk of the town. One of the guards had seen him despite his dark clothes. With that piece of information, the media had dubbed Robotnik "The Eggman". He hated the moniker. It was humiliating compared to before when they simply described his machine as egg-shaped.
"Police are still searching for the mysterious Eggman, trying to determine any significant patterns in his behavior," a reporter said.
"Robotnik!" he growled, attaching the casing to his weapon.
"Earlier, the police commissioner spoke about the Eggman attacks and she had this to say."
Robotnik gritted his teeth. Of all the stupid names they could come up with, that has to be the worst. My machine doesn't look that much like an egg. Neither do I. He rubbed his stomach unsurely. Well, when I'm done, my machine will look more terrifying and scare people off. That's for sure. No more of this egg business.
He returned his attention to the news, catching the tail-end of the commissioner's speech. "We're establishing a mode of operations for the culprit at this time," an older woman said from a stage. Cameras flashed nonstop and there were a dozen microphones before her podium. "At this time, we are pursuing several leads and are looking into potential suspects. That is all."
That set Robotnik to thinking. The police might be staking out any and all ATMs from that point on. But there were no other avenues open to him. Places like jewelry stories would only be good if he had a way to sell the jewelry and Robotnik knew nothing about fencing.
People would also be hurt. It was true that, while the stores would be insured, a theft would deal a blow to business and their insurance payments. People like him would suffer. No, I have to stick to the banks. But if they are watching the ATMs, I'll need a new target.
Turning off the television and stroking his mustache, he considered the vaults. They were loaded with money, but would put up heavy resistance. No doubt there would be some kind of mechanism to trap any thieves as well. Although the rewards were far too enticing.
He rummaged through his materials. Maybe I can assemble a welding torch or flamethrower of some kind. Something that could cut off the hinges and then pry it open. Or maybe I could burn through it and have the machine punch its way through. He added the ideas to his documented design.
Knock, knock. "Who's there?" Robotnik asked.
"It's me, Clarissa. Can I come in?"
"Just a minute." He snatched a tablecloth and covered his work area. Then he ran to the front door, opening it. "Hey. How's it going?"
"Everything's good."
"That's good," he said, waving her in. Petey was chirping on her shoulder. "Hello to you too, Petey."
"He misses his friends here," she said.
"Oh, well come this way," Robotnik said, smiling. He led her to the animal room and opened the Flickies' cage. "Hey there, guys. Guess who came back to see you." But the birds stayed huddled on the other side of the cage. Robotnik laughed it off and placed Petey inside. A blue Flicky nipped his finger. "Ouch! They're a little bitey today."
Clarissa raised an eyebrow, but did not say anything. "So, how are your jobs going?"
"Great, great," Robotnik said. "Yeah, really well. I think I'm getting into the whole routine. It was a little stressful at first, but I'm better now."
She nodded. "Okay. I was worried. You seem like you haven't been getting much sleep."
"Oh, I've just been working hard. That and the customers at work can be difficult to handle. But a little coffee and I'm right as rain. Speaking of which, I could use some. Can I get you a cup too?" He hurried to the kitchen and put out a pot to boil.
"Sure, I'd love some," she said. Her eyes were drawn to the kitchen table and its odd assortment of lumps. She started to lift up the tablecloth. "What's under here? More machines?"
"Yeah," he said, taking two cups down from the cupboard. "Some little things I'm working on. Don't take off the cloth!"
She released the cloth, eyeing him. "Why not?"
"Because," he started, turning around. He hung his head from sight. "Because when they were delivered, some chemical spilled and corroded parts of them. I'm trying to dry it off and save what I can."
"Oh, okay. Sorry."
He shook his head. "No, no. It's alright." The coffee boiled and he poured it into the cups. He badly wanted to bash his head into the counter. Once again, he was deceiving her and he felt awful about it. I have to do it. Can't let her find out what I'm up to.
He passed her a cup and they silently sipped their coffee for a while. "Well, I'm glad things are going well for you," Clarissa said. She reached into her pocket. "I actually came by to give you this if you were interested." She handed him a business card with a number scrawled on the back. "A friend of mine is looking for a technical assistant. The pay isn't great, but the hours might be a little better."
Robotnik studied it, noting it was for a computer store. That would be up his alley. "Thank you. I'll be sure to check it out. So, how've you and Petey been?"
"Good. His wing is still doing well. Yesterday, he flew around the house for hours. Had a hard time catching. Thanks a lot." She chuckled.
"Well, you can't claim I don't give you your money's worth," he said, smirking. "So how's work going for you?"
She took another drink. "Good. As good as can be."
"Something happen?"
"Kind of," she said. "They're planning to raise our health insurance at work. Take more out of our paychecks for it."
"Couldn't you opt out of it?" Robotnik asked.
"I wish I could, but it's required." She finished off her coffee and set the cup down. "It's not being put into effect until next month, so I don't have to worry about it until then."
His mind was already traveling down the kitchen and to the pantry where he had hidden the money. As he drained the last of his coffee, he wondered if he should give her some. Normally he would without hesitation, but the circumstances were anything but normal. She would ask questions. Questions he may not be able to answer. He quickly thought of her most likely reactions and inquiries, formulating a lie for each and every one.
Steeling himself and trying to play everything off nonchalantly, he said, "I'll be right back." He headed to the pantry, working out the particulars of his lies along the way. Sold a few smaller inventions and got advance payments. A company bought a few patents. Leftover money from a family member's life insurance. All viable and all requiring that he rid himself of the queasy sensation in his stomach.
He grabbed several hundred dollars, tightly shut the pantry door, and went back to Clarissa. "Here," he said, handing her the money.
"Wha-What's this?" she asked, holding the bills completely dumbfounded.
"Sold a few small inventions to a company. They gave me an advance payment."
"I couldn't accept this," she said, trying to give the cash back.
He held up his hands. "Take it. You need it more than I do."
"It's your money. You might need it."
"I'll just sell them some more inventions," he said, bracing himself. He feared his smile would waver, destroying the charade. "I think they'll take me on soon."
"But your animals-"
"Are fine for now," he said.
She bit her lip, searching for another excuse. "This is far too much though."
"Then keep it for the month after as well." He closed her fingers, wrapping the money in her fists.
Out of excuses to refuse, she threw her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Awkwardly, he patted her back. She was shaking a little and there was a sudden cold spot on his shoulder. "You're welcome."
When she released him, they talked for a while longer before she left. She took Petey with her and they bid Robotnik farewell on their way out. He leaned against the door once they left. Everything had gone well. He was in better spirits than he had been that morning.
One good deed does not excuse your terrible others, his mind reminded him. He bristled at the notion. It seemed that no matter what happened, today was determined to sour his mood. Of course I know that. But look, some good can come of this. Sure, it was only one particular instance that happened to fall into his lap. Yet he would take that and run with it all the way. If I had plenty of money, I would give her as much as she needed. Her and everyone else who needed it. He smiled at his noble ideal. Robotnik could picture himself in the future, powerful and sharing his fortune with the world.
Returning to the table, he ripped off the cloth and continued to build the weapons. By nightfall, he had an assorted array of defensive items that should help, including the bumper. He installed them on his machine. "Tomorrow," he said, nodding at his work. "Tomorrow, we can hit a vault."
A/N: Hey! We're still here!
Sword: Yup! I even snuck in an Easter Egg for a Sega game! See if you can spot it!
Not now, Sword. We don't have much time. No need to worry. We'll take care of Pen. In the meantime, please let us know what you think of the story so far. Now c'mon, Sword. Let's get out of here and get ready to take back control.
Sword: Yeah! En garde!
Agh! Don't hit me!