The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual.

"And Forever" Lyrics by Chie, Composition/Arrangement by Ken Shima

THE BIG O:

ACT 27

ROGER THE VIGILANTE

Chapter Thirteen: Created to be Loved

Dorothy Wayneright stood on the stone railing that overlooked the edge of Roger Smith's rooftop patio. The slender girl was still clad in the wetsuit she had worn nearly a week ago when she had rescued the negotiator from drowning when Big O had been sent to the bottom of the sea. Her petite and delicate body seemed painfully fragile, and her normally expressionless face held surprise and vulnerability. The wind rushing through her hair made it appear as if she was swaying unsteadily as the rain poured down on her. It was easy to believe that she was flesh and blood instead of steel and silicon chips.

Before her, a bedraggled Roger Smith was beseeching her from the patio, afraid to go to her side in case she might jump. His black double-breasted suit was wrinkled, his tie missing, and the collar of his white shirt was crooked. His arms were spread with his palms facing her. "Dorothy?" he said gently, lowering his arms slightly. "Did you hear me? I said that I love you."

Dorothy was as still as a statue, her face betraying her shock. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. "You must be lying," Dorothy said mechanically as the wind buffeted her hair. "No one could love me."

"No," Roger shook his head as the rain waned to a slight drizzle. "You're wrong. Anyone who gets to know you can't help but love you. That's why you were created. You were created to be loved." As he spoke, Roger stepped tentatively towards her.

"I…" Dorothy crossed her arms and looked away.

Roger went on the attack before Dorothy could find another reason to take her life. "Those are Red Destiny's thoughts you're hearing! She is not you! Once we give you your own memories back, you'll know that I'm telling the truth! You were created to be loved, and I love you! That is the truth!" As he spoke, Roger took another step closer to Dorothy… Closer… He had to get closer…

"Roger, my memories…" The girl stood still, but her head jerked like a bird's as she struggled to sort her thoughts out.

As Roger crept closer his mouth seemed to speak on its own. He didn't mean to shout, but the adrenaline running through his system made his appeal more passionate than he intended. "Your memories are compatible with a megadeus because a megadeus is the most advanced computer your father could use as a template!" Were his educated guesses factual? Who knew? Roger believed it, and when making an emotional appeal, sincerity was what counted. "Timothy Wayneright didn't understand it all so he had to use a technology he only partially understood. He had to use the memory drive of a megadeus because that was the only way to insure that you'd be a real person, that you would have a mind of your own!" Finally Roger could dispense with the theories and get on to the things he was certain of. "Your father didn't create a robot, he created a daughter! He created a woman! A woman that I love! And I'm not going to let her go without a fight!"

"Roger… help… me…" Dorothy's body trembled as if she was attempting to move her paralyzed body. Making a decision, Dorothy crouched and slid off the railing and onto the patio as if she were a human girl. A frail human girl who was afraid of falling. It looked like Roger was winning. If only he could get to her side before she changed her mind…

"I will," Roger nodded, gaining confidence. "Just follow me inside, and we'll restore your memory drive. Your real memory drive, not that that faulty knockoff RD was stuck with. We can restore you, let you have your life back. Come on, Dorothy, slowly. Come to me. One step at a time…" He extended his hand. He had stopped walking forward. Dorothy had to make the next move.

Roger's heart soared as Dorothy mimicked his actions and extended her hand and walked stiffly over to him. Her lovely face was marred by nervous tics and twitches. Dorothy must be fighting the directives that commanded her to kill with all of her might. She was trusting Roger and allowing him to risk his life in order to save hers. He had to play it cool, he couldn't afford to make a mistake now.

"That's it," Roger smiled. "Come over here, Dorothy. Don't worry, you won't hurt me." The rain paused momentarily, allowing them to see each other clearly by the patio lights. "I trust you, Dorothy. You just have to trust yourself."

Was it Roger's imagination, or did he see a weak smile cross her lips? Perhaps it was a reflection from the lights, but he thought he could see a sparkle in her eye. Perhaps even an android could hope.

As they drew together, Roger grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. As his right hand clutched her shoulder, his left arm went around her back and drew her close. Dorothy's eyes were wide with surprise as Roger leaned forward towards her. Her lips parted as Roger's mouth closed with hers…

Just before their lips could touch, Roger whispered: "I'm sorry."

Without warning, he drew back as tiny blue lightning bolts crackled across the android's twitching form. The look of helpless surprise on her face caused a tear to form in Roger's eye as she pitched forward into his arms. When the girl went limp, the taser that Roger held in his left hand was revealed. During the embrace, he had placed it against the nape of her neck. With a flick of his thumb, the taser became the large yellow comb that Roger had confiscated from Beck a few days earlier. With the water dripping off of his body, it was a miracle that the negotiator hadn't electrocuted himself with the little gadget.

"You'll be yourself when you wake up," he whispered into her ear as he pocketed the comb. "I hope," he added as he picked up the slender android and carried her back inside as the angry sky released another downpour. He had to get her back to Norman's workshop before the adrenaline wore off and the full effect of the evening caught up with him. Despite her small and slender build, Dorothy's android body weighed over 280 pounds, and Roger was too proud to ask for help moving her.

Later, back in Norman's robotic workshop, Roger Smith was swallowing some painkillers with the assistance of a glass of water. Norman had finished examining Dorothy's memory drive. "Well?" the negotiator asked, his weariness making him irritable and impatient.

"I am happy to report that this is indeed the genuine article," Norman replied. "This drive definitely belongs to Miss Dorothy. There doesn't seem to be any damage to it from the time it spent installed in the white megadeus."

"Thank goodness for that," Roger sighed as he sat in a chair and leaned on a desk. "We'll know for sure once we reinstall it back into Dorothy's head."

"It's a pity you weren't able to save Mister Beck, sir," Norman said sadly. "I don't know what emotional damage this ordeal has done Miss Dorothy, but knowing that she killed someone will not speed her recovery."

"What?" Roger suddenly became alert. "Beck?"

"Yes, sir," Norman nodded. "Mister Beck. I was lamenting the fact that you were unable to save Mister Beck and what effect that would have on Miss Dorothy…"

"Beck!" Roger slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. "I forgot all about him!"

"Yes," Norman sighed. "Since you didn't come back with him I assumed…"

"Damn it all to Hell!" Roger growled as he got up angrily.

"I must agree, Master Roger," said the old man. "It is quite disturbing…"

"It sure is!" Roger grumbled as he marched to the door. "I have a nasty feeling that Beck is still alive!"

Outside, dangling on the end of a slender cable and grappling hook, Jason Beck suffered as the rain soaked his canary colored double-breasted suit, flattened his curly blond hair onto his head, and dripped down his arm, onto his chest, past his torso, and out his pants legs to fall over ten stories to the ground below. His dislocated shoulder refused to go numb, and in defiance to popular belief, a sufficient amount of pain did not cause unconsciousness. On the contrary, pain is a natural stimulant, and it was sufficient to keep Jason Beck awake through the most excruciating experience of his life. He idly wondered how long he had been hanging there, his life depending on the cord that attached him to a pillar on Roger Smith's rooftop balcony. He was dangling by Roger's watch around his wrist, and didn't have the strength to pull himself up so he could see what time it was.

His shoulder suddenly found new ways to torture him with a new kind of pain that managed to be both throbbing and stabbing. It was like some sadist was pulling on the other end of the rope trying to pull Beck's arm off. The criminal managed to whimper, but didn't have the energy to give the pain the earsplitting scream that it truly deserved.

Beck bounced against the wall of the white tower that was Roger's home and could sense that he was ascending. Was Dorothy going to finish him off? His arm hit the stone railing of Smith's rooftop patio and was pulled at an unnatural angle, eliciting a shriek from the gold suited crook.

"There he is!" called Roger's voice. "Dammit, he is still alive!"

Roger Smith to the rescue. Woo-pee.

The next few days were rough on Beck. He had trouble breathing and his body hurt all over. Somebody put his arm in a sling, but the next few days were a delirium of pain and exhaustion. His next coherent memory was lying in a bed. He coughed on phlegm and moaned pitifully. His left arm felt like pins and needles were poking into it and his body ached all over. He heard voices, and that made his head hurt.

Norman hung up the telephone. "I'm sorry, Master Roger, but most of the phone lines are still down. All of the hospitals I've been able to contact are full. Big Fau's attack on the city caused a lot of injuries, both inside the domes and in the illegal residence districts. Every doctor's office that I could get a hold of is busy. I'm afraid we're stuck with him."

"Are you sure he has pneumonia?" Roger asked irritably. "This is Beck we're talking about. He could be faking it."

"He must be a talented fake indeed if he can raise his temperature above a hundred so easily," the one-eyed butler retorted. "His ability to conjure mucus in so many different colors is especially noteworthy."

"As soon as he gets over it, he's just going to try something," Roger grumbled. "He's going to pretend to be sicker than he is just to get us to lower our guard."

"We could turn him over to the police," Norman offered. "The prison is one of the few buildings that wasn't damaged in Big Fau's attack."

"I don't want Paradigm to get a hold of him until we find out what kind of government is going to replace Rosewater's 'New Order'," Roger sighed. "Besides, the prison doctors are probably out treating the general populace." He smiled at the thought of Jason Beck dying of pneumonia in a lonely prison cell. A slow painful death seemed fitting for a fiend that had made Dorothy suffer like she had…

Roger smiled mischievously. "Couldn't we just kick him out and let him fend for himself? He must have a hideout somewhere where he can hole up until he recovers."

"'Kick him out'? In his condition?" the butler was aghast. "Master Roger, in his condition, that would be murder!"

"I know," the negotiator sighed. "A man can dream, can't he?" He rubbed the back of his neck and glared at the door to Beck's room. It was slightly ajar, and the weakened criminal was able to overhear their conversation. "I just can't stand the thought of that parasite mooching off of us in the meantime," Roger grumbled. "Having a punk like that living in my house is bad enough!"

"Not to worry, Master Roger, I think that Mister Beck will be in a hurry to leave here as soon as he is able," Norman assured him with a twinkle in his eye.

The door to Beck's room opened and a small, slender silhouette entered. His eyes bulged in fear as the familiar form of R. Dorothy Wayneright, clad in a dowdy gothic style reddish black dress advanced on him carrying a bowl of steaming liquid. Beck tried to scream but was too short of breath, so he had to settle for gibbering mindlessly.

The apparition marched towards him, but he was too weak to get up, let alone flee. Dorothy's lifeless eyes appraised him as if he was a spider or some kind of pest she was about to squash. Her ghostly hand reached out for him and gently grasped his back to force him to sit up and face her as her cold, mechanical voice spoke without a trace of human warmth or pity. "It is time to eat, Jason Beck. Norman made you chicken soup."

"I don't like the idea of Dorothy alone with him," Roger grumbled.

"She insisted, Master Roger," Norman pointed out. "Out of all of us, only Miss Dorothy is completely immune to any disease that Mister Beck has contracted. Besides, there is a certain poetic justice. Now Mister Beck is at Miss Dorothy's mercy, rather than the other way around."

Dorothy left Beck's room and walked morosely over to the two men. "Norman," the android girl said in her slightly melancholy voice, "I do not believe that my presence is speeding Beck's recovery. My presence seems to make him sicker."

"There, there, Miss Dorothy," the elderly butler assured her. "It is always darkest before the dawn. I'm sure his fever will break soon."

"Look Dorothy," Roger chimed in, "you don't have to take care of Beck if you don't want to. You've been through enough without having to spend another second with that animal."

"Nonsense," Dorothy replied evenly. "If Beck has contracted a serious illness, it is better that I am exposed to it than either of you. I don't mind taking care of him, and in any case, he is no threat in his condition. I am merely concerned that his stay will be prolonged."

"If you say so, Dorothy," Roger sighed.

"Perhaps if you wore a nurse's uniform it would reassure him," Norman offered. "I'm sure we have one around here somewhere…"

Roger elbowed the butler, who grunted and rubbed his arm.

Later, the android girl stood on the stone railing of the rooftop patio, staring at the sunset. The wind swept through her pageboy haircut and her reddish black dress.

"R Dorothy Wayneright!" Roger's scolding voice called behind her. Dorothy turned to see Roger Smith storming out onto the patio wagging his finger. "What are you doing standing up on that railing? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"It never bothered you before, Roger," she replied calmly.

"Well it bothers me now," a red faced Roger fumed. "If you need to be up on a high place, use one of the pillars! Get down from there now!"

"As you wish," Dorothy answered. She spread her arms and executed an impossible back flip to land on her feet at Roger's side. "I will agree to stay off the railing if you answer a question for me."

"What now?" Roger whined irritably. He gasped, and then looked away and scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, Dorothy," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. Tell you what, you can stand on the railing as long as it's not raining."

"That would be acceptable," she agreed, "but are you trying to avoid answering my question, Roger Smith?"

"That depends on the question," Roger smiled, surrendering gracefully. "Go ahead. What is it?"

"Did you mean what you said when you said that you love me?" Only Dorothy could make her voice sound flat, yet shy at the same time. "Or did you only say that to save my life?"

"I…" Roger blushed and looked away. He then took a deep breath and remembered the response he memorized for when she asked this very question. "Of course, Dorothy," he nodded as he looked into her unreadable eyes. "Norman and I both love you. I guess in a way, you're the only family we have."

The silence that followed could have lasted a second or an entire minute. Roger stared at Dorothy's perfect, lineless face, a face forever frozen in timeless youth. Her voice, quiet as it was, seemed loud and jarring when she responded to his answer.

"Norman and you both love me?" she asked. Her voice was cold and emotionless, but then it was always cold and emotionless.

"Yes," Roger smiled and nodded. "Timothy Wayneright may be gone, but you've still got us, Dorothy. We'll take care of you."

Once again the rooftop was silent. Dorothy coolly stared at Roger and stood as still as a statue. When she finally responded her voice had a feminine scold: "You really are such a louse Roger Smith."

We have come to terms.

Dorothy and Roger sit on a large hourglass the size of a barstool. Behind them is an orange background. The sound of a piano and the duet of a man and woman singing can be heard.

Sometimes I feel so all alone

Finding myself callin' your name

When we're apart, so far away

Hopin' it's me that you're thinkin' of

Could it be true, could it be real?

My heart says that you're the one.

There's no one else, you're the only one for me.

Yes, this time my love's the real thing.

Never felt that love is so right.

The world seemed such an empty place.

We need someone we could give our all.

Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever.

Could it be true, could it be real?

My heart says that you're the one.

There's no one else, you're the only one for me.

Yes, this time my love's the real thing.

Never felt that love is so right.

The world seemed such an empty place.

We need someone we could give our all.

Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever.

Never felt that love is so right.

The world seemed such an empty place.

We need someone we could give our all.

Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever.

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

Scapegoat