Episode 28: A Mega Star is Born

The sounds of hammering and saws filled Dr. Light's house as a crew of construction drones set to repairing the infrastructure of the fire-damaged laboratory. Meanwhile, Roll and Mega Man were working together to clean up the debris—sorting into piles what could be salvaged, and what had to be thrown out. All the while, Roll gave Mega Man shifty looks from the corner of her eye.

"So who's Bass?" she asked finally as she dropped the burnt-out husk of a printer into a dumpster.

Though Mega Man didn't want to talk about it, he knew Roll must be brimming with curiosity. After all, she had missed out on the battle that had occurred only a few hours ago. "A bomber robot, like Proto Man and I, built by Dr. Wily," he responded gloomily as he swept up the ashes of a file cabinet (Rush waited at his side with a dustbin clutched in his jaws).

"Another bomber robot?" Roll whistled, then snickered. "Only if Wily built him, I bet he's pretty ugly, huh?"

"Well…"

…'Ugly' wasn't how Mega Man would describe Bass…though Bass's design did have Wily's trademark flair for drama.

"So what happened?" Roll prompted as she heaved an overturned lab table off the ground with the help of Met and her extendable arms. "You're acting like you were caught cheating at a science fair."

Despite his mood, Mega Man cast Roll a quick, reluctant smirk, then his eyes fell back down to the soot pile he was sweeping into a small black circle. Behind him, Rush gave a low whine. "Back when we were in the city, Proto Man told me that Wily had built Bass to use as a secret weapon against me, so I headed straight back to the laboratory. It was under attack by Wily's robots, and that's when I saw Bass, standing over Dr. Light who was lying unconscious on the ground, so I attacked him. …Unprovoked." Mega Man stopped sweeping, "I guess I thought he had hurt Dr. Light, but it turned out Bass was protecting him, and now he hates me. It's weird, I'm usually not that…impulsive…"

Roll shrugged. "Bass is a Wily-bot, right? Don't beat yourself up, it wouldn't have been long before that creep had shown his true colors anyway," she advised sagely. "If I had been there, I would have done the same thing."

But despite Roll's words, Mega Man couldn't help but feel terrible, not in the least of all that if it hadn't been for his rash actions, Bass may have defected from Dr. Wily. Now he had another enemy that he certainly did not want. He wondered if Bass would return to Dr. Wily to help with his schemes, and if he had accidentally extinguished any chance Bass would ever even come close to defecting again.

Quint had spent his afternoon as he spent most afternoons—staring at spreadsheets on the glowing screen of a computer monitor, puzzling over the data sets he had thus far collected on alien energy. He was quite caught up in his work, unaware of the time or even where he was, when he heard the elevator door behind him slide open with a polite beep.

"Hi~" Kalinka sang out, her voice echoing across his vast, dark laboratory.

Quint revolved in his chair to look at her. He had seen Kalinka only yesterday, and wasn't expecting her back so soon, yet here Kalinka was, dressed in (what Quint assumed) a trendy outfit of a sleeveless pink blouse with a full skirt of pale green. As usual, Beat trailed closely behind her as though he were a spring blue balloon tethered to her wrist. Kalinka gave a smile that would have made the paparazzi go into a frenzy of camera flashes.

…Quint was far from the paparazzi. In fact, he was a dull audience by most standards. "Oh, uh, hi," he said weakly, quite surprised. Though he was pleased to see her, after a night of thinking about their new partnership, he had doubted she would turn up again, and never so soon. It all still seemed like a strange dream! He stood up and pointed sheepishly to an adjacent alcove that he had cleared for her that morning. "I hope this will do for a workspace?"

Kalinka's olive green eyes grazed over the workspace—a neat desk with a lab top, an assortment of black pens, a fresh supply of notebooks, and a stapler, all arranged into tidy rows. "Oh…" she said, her smile falling. Then she began giggling.

"…What's so funny?"

"It's nothing, but you're so like Dad! No offense," she laughed. Then she waved her hand. "You know what, it's fine. I'll redecorate later!" She turned to Quint, Beat taking a perch on her shoulder. "So!" she said, clapping her hands together. "I'm here, ready to help with your research. Well, go on! Show me more of your work!"

"Uh…sure!" uttered Quint, still feeling baffled and unprepared. He stood up from his desk, "I have many prototypes," he said, gesturing to the obscure shapes of machinery that lay in the dark shadows of his laboratory. "State-of-the-art technology capable of impossible feats, all things to prepare us for an alien invasion…" he trailed off with sigh. "For example, I'd like to make Contact with friendly aliens forces that can help us."

"Do friendly aliens exist?"

"Of course!" Quint replied enthusiastically. "Aliens of green alien energy. I've seen them…back in an encounter at Red Gulch. It was…amazing. They had eyes like stars." He hesitated, recalling the encounter had not gone exactly well, but continued on determinedly. "They might be able to help us protect Earth, but they are currently in hiding."

"Somewhere in space?"

"No…a different dimension."

"Hmmm."

Quint was surprised by the lack of surprise Kalinka showed, her face blank and as poker-faced as it had been the day before.

"Hmmm," she said again. "So…you need like like an inter-dimensional telephone then?"

"Yes! Something like that," Quint said brightly, pleased and relieved that Kalinka so quickly understood the technology, for so few did. "Unfortunately, none of my prototypes work. Not yet, anyway. You see, all of my inventions need Quintessence as a power source. Like I said yesterday, Quintessence is a safer derivative of purple alien energy, and purple alien energy can make the impossible possible, but just how to harness that power has thus far eluded me. All I have is theories…"

He trailed off, gesturing toward a formula that he had printed out on a seven-foot sheet of matte poster paper and pinned to the wall. It was an intricate web of theorems and annotations—his humble masterpiece, and only Dr. Cossack had seen it.

Kalinka looked from Quint's prototypes to the printed-out diagram, frowning. Quint expected her to ask a question, but she did not—instead, with a sudden gravity, she reached into her purse, retrieving a pair of glasses with red rims shaped like daisies. She cast Quint a quick look that could have struck him dead and said in a dangerous whisper, "You must promise me not to laugh at my glasses. I really only need them when I'm doing engineering stuff."

"Oh, I wouldn't laugh….in fact, I rather like them," Quint reassured her earnestly, taken aback.

"So does Dad…" Kalinka said with exasperation, pushing the pair of glasses firmly to the bridge of her nose. Then, through narrow eyes, she began to examine the diagram.

Quint waited—now expecting her to take her time reading through the work before agreeing that this subject matter was quite complex and would take time to figure out. What he didn't expect was for her to give a sudden giggle.

"…What's so funny?"

"Why, it's this formula you're using! You should be using a different one, silly!"

"A different formula?" Quint said doubtfully. He looked quickly over his diagram, frowning. He had spent hours checking and triple-checking each calculation, each possible variation. It was inconceivable that anything could be wrong! …Right?

"Yeah…the formula you are using is holding back your work," said Kalinka, her arms folded as she nodded. "Your current model of thinking is built around the impossibility of what alien energy can do. But…if alien energy can do it, then it's not really impossible, right?"

"…I suppose, logically," answered Quint, though his voice had become a bit cold. What did Kalinka really know, anyway? He had spent most of his life since activation working on this, barely leaving his computer save to sleep. If there was an expert on alien energy, surely it was him!

"You're just running around in circles with this," Kalinka continued patiently. "What you need is a formula based on improbability—just like that sci-fi book. So, if you change your model like thus—" She made a correction on his chart using a pink marker from her purse. "—And here—" She made another correction. "Then I think you will be able to make a lot of these inventions work, just try it!"

Quint stared at her annotations, dumbfounded. He didn't completely understand. Not at first. It seemed so obvious, yet he had neglected to think of it it. Yet the more he stared, the more excited he became, and he quickly brushed aside his initial annoyance at her.

"Kalinka, you're a genius!" he cried wildly.

"Yeah, yeah, don't spread it around," Kalinka replied with stiff dignity, snapping the cap back on her marker (Kalinka considered 'science' and 'being nerdy' to go against her brand—whatever that meant). But then she whirled on Quint excitedly. "So! Now that that's taken care of," she said briskly, as though her new formula was merely a formality instead of the scientific breakthrough of a millennia, "You can help me become a superhero!"

"A wha…?" Quint asked without really listening, his eyes still glued to the chart, each pink stroke becoming ingrained in his memory chips.

Kalinka rolled her eyes. "…I'll be back tomorrow. Oh! And don't Dad I'm helping you with lab work."

Quint's happy bubble of concentration popped momentarily. He gave her a startled look. "Why don't you want Dr. Cossack to know? This is a major scientific feat! Surely you want credit?"

"Oh my god, he'd just be so embarrassing about it," replied Kalinka flatly, though she smiled ruefully. Then, with a wink, she dashed toward the door. "Alright, I gotta bounce. But I'll be back tomorrow, byyyye~!"

Beat hurried to follow her out, though he cast Quint an uncertain fleeting look—the kind one fugitive on a lifeboat might share with another. Quint didn't notice, for now that he had a new angle on his alien energy research, he had become reabsorbed in his work, and almost nothing—not even the harebrained scheme of a teenager—could break him out of it.

Dr. Wily had returned to his half-ruined laboratory without Bass and with a legion of attack-bots destroyed. He glowered angrily over a surveillance grid (whose monitors had spider-web cracks from after Bass had caused the ceiling to cave in).

"Curses, he's disabled his homing device!" he muttered. Bass's trail had gone cold shortly after the attack on Dr. Light's laboratory. Where Bass was now, no one knew.

"Don't blow a blood vessel over it, Doc," Proto Man told him brightly. "Any luck, the kid will get himself blown up. He'll turn up—though I still say we blast him if he does."

Proto Man was pacing slowly behind Dr. Wily, cracking his knuckles like a restless guard dog who had caught the scent of an intruder he was eager to fight.

Dr. Wily eyed this somewhat ominous behavior, and his face grew pinched and stubborn, like a toddler. He shot Proto Man a crippling look, then with an angry snarl switched off the surveillance grid and stormed off to his supercomputer. "Bass will return to my side and take his rightful place as my champion of evil. He is my creation." Dr. Wily glared at his reflection in the black computer screen for a moment, his teeth gnashed and his face shadowed.

Proto Man stopped pacing and leaned against the edge of a lab table, his arms folded. "I know you planned to use Bass to help you take over the world, but that didn't work out. So what's your next plan? Maybe we can try that instead."

"…Excuse me?"

"Next plan, Doc. You always have another plan."

Dr. Wily whirled on Proto Man, swelling indignantly. "I'm not some cheap charlatan pulling ideas from a hat! Each scheme was a work of art, a product of decades of scientific study!"

"Okay…but…isn't there like another B-movie you could rip off of?"

Dr. Wily stared at Proto Man, not liking the tone in his voice. "What has gotten into you?"

"Nothing."

Dr. Wily peered at Proto Man for a moment longer, his busy brows put together, before throwing up his hands. "I lack inspiration!" he admitted finally. He began to pace just as Proto Man had moments earlier. "Perhaps…I could visit a parallel universe to meet a parallel version of me who has conquered the world, take his work, and then conquer this world!" he mused aloud while rubbing his bony chin.

Dr. Wily paused by his desk to scribble this down on a notepad.

"Uh…sure." Proto Man resisted sighing in annoyance, boredom beginning to sink into him as he glanced out the open hallway door toward the western wing.

Dr. Wily resumed his pacing, still brainstorming aloud. "What I need is a powerful energy source. Something like what Citadel has, but better! Then the possibilities would be truly endless!"

"Want me to steal something?"

"No! Too risky. First things first, I must have Bass back. He will come to his senses soon, I know it. Then—then—the real work will begin."

"Alright, in the meantime I'll be in the western hangar working on jets. Let me know if you need me," said Proto Man, waving a hand as he strode out of the armory.

Dr. Wily watched him go, feeling slightly disappointed by Proto Man's lukewarm enthusiasm, but he brushed it off, still intent on the search for Bass.

It had been nine hours since Bass and Treble had jetted off from Dr. Light's laboratory, and almost twenty-four hours since their activation. The deep November night had long since fallen over them like a dark, chilling curtain. They were flying somewhat aimlessly, avoiding human aircraft and any remaining skullcopters that were patrolling the area looking for them.

Bass hadn't thought of what to do next. He was still too angry. He would have stayed in the sky far away from everyone for as long as Treble would carry him—yet, a strange, foreign feeling had begun sinking into him. His limbs felt heavy, and he kept rubbing his eyes unconsciously, which felt itchy. A strong inclination to lie down somewhere quiet and dark had overtaken him, yet he wasn't low on energy…what was going on?

Then, a horrible thought occurred to Bass.

"Wait, if I'm built to look human…does that mean I'm programmed to sleep like a human?" he said aloud to Treble. He gave an aggravated growl. "That old fool," he muttered, thinking of Dr. Wily. "Why would he program me this way? It's so…stupid!"

He scowled down at the dark, distant ground that lay a mile below. They were somewhere north of New York. Below, he could see ridged grids of yellow lights—human cities. They needed to avoid those at all costs, for if the humans saw Bass and Treble, they would call the police just as the humans had in New York City, which was an unnecessary nuisance. Yet between the cities and the line-like roads that connected them were wide expanses—fields of snow, and forests. Surely, few humans lived there.

They dropped toward one of the largest forests they could see, descending into a glade tucked deep within a mountain valley. Rugged cliffs rose like violet shadows in the darkness around them, and the bare trees were silvery in the waning moonlight. The snow was deep, and crisscrossed with the tracks of many animals—deer, foxes, and even a bear, but no humans. Perfect.

Careful not to make tracks of their own, they landed beneath a massive fir tree. The space below its snow-laden boughs was sort of like a dark tent filled with the sweet smell of pine. Outside, Bass could hear the wind creaking through frozen trees, the sounds of small nocturnal animals scuffling through snow drifts. The stars twinkled in a clear night above. A herd of deer passed by the tree, giving them a curious look. The herd kept their distance, but didn't seem too wary of them.

Far off in the mountains, Bass could hear the musical howling of wolves. Treble's ears gave a slight flicker.

"Friends of yours?" Bass asked him with a wry smile.

But Treble did not respond to the wolves, and instead curled up on the ground with his back against Bass.

Bass laid down in the soft snow with his hands behind his head. He could get used to this. He could tell Treble liked the wilderness too.

We're not bothering anybody, and nobody is bothering us, he thought as he closed his eyes.

It was very cold, yet Bass was exhausted from his first day of activation, Treble's body heat was warm, and soon Bass slipped into a deep sleep.

Kalinka lay on top of the puffy pink comforter of her bed, busy drawing in a spiral notebook. Though Dr. Cossack had given her lessons in charcoal, Kalinka had always brushed off such traditional mediums as 'dull' and 'old-fashioned', and was instead using gel pens and markers in striking doodles of pink, orange, and aqua, a rather silly smile fixed to her face. Next to the notebook lay her mother's enamel sun-shaped keychain. The bunny-shaped alarm clock on her nightstand read ten-thirty-eight, and the wind from an open window ruffed the gauzy curtains in a dreamlike dance while stars twinkled above the Los Angeles skyline through the ceiling to floor windows and the skylight ceiling.

Beat, who was sitting on his perch next to her bed, looked down at the design in Kalinka's notebook, noting some distinct familiarities with trepidation.

"Hey Kali…you're not still interested in that 'masked hero' with the red and gray suit and the black visor, are you?" He asked tentatively, though he was well aware of the answer. "It's just…you haven't had good luck with your, uh, 'love life.'"

"Beat, you are so mean!" Kalinka snapped, shooting him a reproachful look. She stuck her nose up in the air. "This time, it's serious—he is much cooler than the others."

"Uh…" Beat searched for something to say.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in!" Kalinka sang out, shoving the notebook under her pillow and snatching up the keychain before sitting up.

The door opened, and Dr. Cossack stepped inside, smiling sheepishly. "I noticed your light was still on, so I came to say goodnight."

"Daddy!" Kalinka cried, springing off the bed and bounding into Dr. Cossack's arms the same way she had when she was a little girl.

"Good evening, Dr. Cossack!" greeted Beat cheerfully, dipping into a small bow.

Dr. Cossack bent down to kiss Kalinka on top of the head, then nearly gagged on the overwhelming smell of her perfume. Quickly rearranging the grimace on his face as he pulled away, he smiled at Kalinka.

"I like your new perfume, stardrop."

Kalinka glowed with pride. "Thanks! It's my latest in my line, 'California Snow Princess'. It's been flying off the shelves, you could say it's all that."

Dr. Cossack chuckled. "Sorry I missed dinner again, I had to work late."

"You work late too often!" Kalinka chided, pointing a finger at him sternly. "Why, you haven't even changed out of your lab coat yet! You need to take more time off to relax!"

"I know, I know!" Dr. Cossack agreed, though without the faintest idea when that would be.

He noticed the sun-shaped keychain dangling from her hand. Wondering if Kalinka had been up thinking about her mother, Dr. Cossack smiled sadly. "She would have been very proud of you," he said in a gentle voice, nodding at the keychain. "I wish you had more time with her. It's not fair to have grown up with one parent."

Kalinka's other hand closed around the keychain as she whirled toward him. "Oh, but Daddy, you were the best dad!"

Dr. Cossack's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure that I am, you've been kidnapped a lot."

"Well no one's perfect." Like a ballerina, Kalinka quickly stood on her tiptoes to give him a light graceful kiss on the cheek. "Besides, you don't have to worry about that anymore—I'm going to start looking out for myself!"

"You are?" Dr. Cossack asked, amused. "Chief Fictus will be pleased."

Kalinka giggled, then gave a dramatic yawn. "Well, it's late. You should try to get some sleep, alright? Night night, Dad!" She skipped off toward her bed.

"Good night, Kalinka."

Dr. Cossack watched her for a moment, still smiling absentmindedly, then left her room, closing the door behind him.

Kalinka hadn't been getting into as much trouble lately, and had been spending more time in her room with Beat. Chief Fictus of the California State Police had even commented on it. Dr. Cossack found this less unruly behavior slightly ominous, yet shrugged it off. Teenagers would be teenagers, after all. You could never predict them.

That night, Mega Man had another nightmare.

The shadowy figure had returned—the figure who would put all he cared about in danger, making his family suffer—

"You're pathetic, Blue Bomber," it taunted, its form vague and indistinct like the smoke from the flames surrounding it. "Come, fight me, face your end with dignity…don't be a coward."

Like before, Mega Man found himself powerless to move or fight back, as though his body was not his own. He regarded the figure with cold contempt. It seemed so similar to himself, another bomber perhaps…

It's not Bass! Mega Man told himself furiously, for every part of his being wanted to believe it was Bass. After all, the dreams had started around Bass's activation…there had to be a connection.

He tossed in his bed, his flannel sheets twisting around him like a cocoon, furthering his sensation of being trapped. "Why do I keep having this dream?" he murmured miserably in his sleep, unable to fully wake up. "It's not real…it's not real!"

And, in the morning, it did seem pretty unreal, as mornings usually do cast light onto even the most strange of nightmares—though Mega Man once again woke up later than usual, missing his usual eight o'clock start time in the laboratory.

Bass had been asleep for five hours when a small sound echoed across the valley—a small, far-off squeak. Without opening his eyes, Bass grimaced, then rolled over in the snow. The squeak sounded again, this time somewhat closer. Bass draped an arm over his face, still ignoring the irritating noise.

It was only when Treble gave a short, warning growl that he finally stirred.

"What the hell is that?" Bass mumbled blearily, annoyed that he had been woken up so soon. He scanned the forest—it had gone still, all the animals were in hiding—then he saw it—a small, bowling-ball-shaped robot with red ripstop wings perched within the branches of an oak, its protuberant eyes watching them owlishly.

A spy-bat…

Footsteps crunched through the snow. Two Robot Masters were slowly edging toward him. One wore green armor with a black propeller anchored to his back, the other crimson armor with a sharp V-shaped crest on his forehead.

"Hey there, buck-a-roo, we just want to talk," said the first one. "My name is Gyro Man, this is Quick Man—"

"Can the small talk Gyro Man I'm freezing and remember the brat attacked Gemini Man and Star Man!" snapped Quick Man. "Let's nab him before—gaaaah!"

True to his growing reputation, Bass had opened fire on Gyro Man and Quick Man with alarming accuracy. Quick Man zoomed backward into the valley, snow fanning out behind him like the wake of speedboat. Gyro Man had dived head-first into a deep snow drift, the propeller on his back becoming stuck fast, his landing strut boots kicking wildly. Treble transformed into a jetboard, Bass climbed aboard, and together they jetted up into the sky, which was becoming a wooly gray in the growing twilight.

Once they had gained sufficient altitude to lose both Gyro Man and Quick Man, Bass flung his head back and gave an irritated yell. He felt extremely grumpy—he had, after all, been woken up much too early.

"This is stupid! If we get too close to the humans, they call the police, but if we go anywhere remote, Wily sends his robots after us. Why can't everyone just leave us alone! If only there were a way to hide among the humans without them noticing…"

Bass froze. He pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his hair and thinking back to his reflection. He had looked…human.

From below, Treble cocked his head backward with a low growl, as though reading his thoughts.

"I know, I know! I hate it too," Bass said, grimacing. "But it could be our best chance—the last place Wily will think to look for us is back in the city. I just need some human clothes—and you, you can pretend to be my robo-pet, alright?"

One of Treble's ears twitched, his head pointed forward, but he made no objection to Bass's plan.

Bass replaced his helmet and rolled a shoulder, feeling uncertain, yet determined. It could work.

"Hey Roll…can we train?"

It was ten o'clock—around the time Roll usually woke up and started work in her workshop in the basement.

Roll looked up from a workbench, which had a heap of assorted power tools laid out upon it, to Mega Man. "You're asking to train instead of working in the lab? You really are worried about this new bot!" she teased.

"Yes! …I mean no. I don't know. I don't want to fight Bass." Reluctantly, Mega Man told Roll that he was still having nightmares about an unseen figure that seemed to be his equal yet more.

Again, Roll was fascinated.

"I still think it means something—maybe you're getting a new rival!" she said excitedly.

The thought made Mega Man's circuits lurch. "I already have Proto and now Bass as rivals, how many more does a bot need?"

"Well it has to mean something—like Wily's planning something?"

"No. Not Wily. Something….weirder is going on," Mega Man said uncertainly, fidgeting slightly.

"Maybe you're like…clairvoyant!"

"There's no such thing as clairvoyance."

"You don't know that!" Roll countered, but then she grew thoughtful. "You said the figure seemed to be a bomber like you, yet you don't think it's Bass…" she began slowly and bracingly. "…Do you think the figure could be Proto?"

"No, there's no way it's Proto," Mega Man said firmly.

"Yeah, I know, but maybe, subconsciously, you still think of him as an enemy?" she said bracingly. "I mean, after all he's done, it'd be perfectly justifiable—"

Mega Man just shook his head. "No. Never. He's family."

Roll smiled and sighed. "Well then, maybe it's just a dream. I tell ya you're stressed. But don't worry, brother—no matter what you can count on me to look out for you."

"Thanks sis."

"And in the meantime, we'll fight off Proto and Wily's new ugly jerk lieutenant."

Mega Man couldn't help but smile back. "…I still never said Bass was ugly."

"Yeah, but I bet he is," Roll said wisely. She pulled off her work gloves and smock. "Alright, if it'll make you feel better, let's go train!"

Quint had little sleep that night. He was too excited, his mind filled with the possibilities Kalinka's formula had unlocked like a garden of ideas bursting into bloom.

That day, he was rooted to his desk, typing eagerly into the spreadsheets on his computer. He was so engrossed, that he hardly noticed when the elevator beeped behind him. He vaguely remembered he was expecting Kalinka, and called a greeting without turning to look. He hadn't paid much mind that Kalinka had lugged in a frilly pink suitcase, nor that she had taken it into a private office and locked the door. But then, five minutes later, she emerged, and gave a gentle (yet commanding) cough.

With some effort, Quint tore his eyes from his computer and looked up. He did a double take, then leaped up from his chair.

Kalinka had returned wearing what looked like a smart white titanium suit with candy pink armor with orange accents. Two puffing pigtails poked out from under her helmet, and the soles of her boots were styled like ballet shoes.

She did a graceful spin in front of Quint. "What do you think?"

Quint goggled at her for a moment. "Y—you look like a robot!"

Through the translucent aqua visor that covered her eyes, Kalinka shot Quint a quick, scorching glare. "I do not! …No offense," she snapped, wrinkling her nose. Then, her expression resuming a self-confident smile, she added, "This suit is the greatest creation of my career, and I shall call myself Mega Girl!"

"…M-Mega Girl?" repeated Quint.

"Yes, totally awesome, right? I did market research to come up with it."

"Yes, but—isn't that rather like 'Mega Man?'"

"Who?"

"You know…from New York?"

"Never heard of him."

Quint balked, then looked over at Beat, who only heaved a helpless sigh. Oh bother. But what did it matter what name Kalinka picked anyway? If Quint had his way, Kalinka's stint as a superhero would be kept as quiet as possible…

"I see you've completed a…er…superhero costume. It hides your identity well…" he said, stalling. "But…there hasn't been much of a need for a superhero lately, has there?"

This was true. The only type of threat that warranted the services of a 'superhero' was the type of threats Dr. Wily concocted—and Dr. Wily generally targeted New York City, the complete opposite side of the country. In fact, the last time any of Dr. Wily's schemes had affected Los Angeles was the day Dr. Wily had pulled the moon out of orbit, putting the entire world in chaos—and while that had been disastrous, it had been over six months ago.

Kalinka's brow arched in an intimidating manner. She seemed to sense Quint's reluctance. "C'mon, Quint, you promised to help!" she wheedled, grabbing his arm. "I've already helped with your glowy purple energy research," she added.

"Quintessence."

"Whatever."

Fear and doubt sunk their icy talons into Quint, while Kalinka's face shone with the brightness of a new star. He couldn't help but think how absurd the whole thing sounded. Kalinka, after all, was human—a very smart human, to be sure, but human—and humans did not become superheroes, only robots. But he was trapped—Kalinka had kept her end of their bargain, and it was only fair that he should do the same—but putting a human in danger was not something any decent robot would allow!

Quint thought fast, for Kalinka's superhero scheme had progressed much sooner than he had anticipated (he had far from expected that she'd turn up in a superhero suit already!). "Well, I was thinking…if you're looking for something to do as a superhero, there's a lot of vandalism in the city. Really vulgar stuff, like 'School Stinks.'"

"Vandalism? Like graffiti?" Kalinka asked blandly, her eyebrows raising. Then she rolled her eyes. "Quint, you are such a dork. It's just kids! Heck, I used to tag the police station 'Suck it, loser!' back when I was a freshman," Kalinka reminisced fondly. "No, what I really should focus on is taking down the real bad guys, which might involve espionage, maybe fighting if things get out of hand."

With this, she began punching the air, her movements as swift as a boxer, yet delicate as a dancer.

"Espionage? Fighting?" mumbled Quint, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he gawked at Kalinka. He quickly pushed them back up and said, "Uh…but you don't know how to fight."

"No, but I studied ballet for nine years," answered Kalinka matter-of-factly. When Quint continued to stare blankly at her, she began to explain, "Because I'm of Russian descent, everyone expected me to be the best in my class, and I was!" She smiled smugly. "But get this—did you know that some of cinema's best action heroes actually have no formal martial arts training, but instead have backgrounds in ballet? It's true! I've talked to a lot of them about it. It got me thinking that if I programmed the suit with martial arts routines and the ability to do a little self-correcting of my movements, it'd almost be the same if I did know how to fight."

Quint wondered if this was actually possible. "…But what if you got hit with a laser blast or some other attack?" he asked next. Kalinka's safety was his primary concern.

"Built-in defensive energy field," Kalinka said simply. "So long as I'm in the suit, I'm just as safe as a robot. After all, it's a superhero suit—kinda like that iron guy, but prettier. Cool, huh?" She gave him a level look. "Look, I can tell you don't believe me, but you can check the specs for yourself."

Thoroughly prepared, Kalinka extracted a pink ring binder from her suitcase and thrust it at Quint. Then she waited, pulling out a pink compact as she applied lip gloss, while Quint quickly scanned through the binder's contents, which contained many diagrams annotated in sparkly gel pen.

…It was as Kalinka said. The suit was as light as clothing, yet could render a human nigh-invulnerable while increasing their physical fighting capabilities to that of a robot. It was impressive, even by Citadel's cutting-edge standards. He could think of no way to improve it.

"You came up with this yourself?" he asked finally.

"Like it's hard?" Kalinka said sweetly, still examining her nails. "Like many of my outfits, it's one of a kind—what you engineers would call a 'prototype!" (she said with air quotes.) "But…there is one thing it's missing. I equipped it with a wrist-mounted mini-blaster, but the suit needs a more powerful power source for it to work, like something like your Quintessence—"

"We don't know enough about alien energy," Quint said quickly, finally finding something he could be firm upon. "Quintessence is still dangerous to incorporate in most robots, let alone in a human 'super suit'."

Still, Kalinka's plans for becoming a superhero were not so far-fetched as Quint once thought. He grew concerned.

Kalinka continued to glide gracefully over his trepidation. "So! I'm going to do a stake-out at Stiletto Street. Something is always going down there," she announced.

Quint had never heard of Stiletto Street. "Right now? And-and you want me to come along?" he stammered, feeling reluctant, though figuring he better. "But…my research…there's still so much left to be done!" he added ruefully, looking back at the unfinished documents still open on his computer screen.

"C'mon, you've got to get out of this lab! Otherwise you'll turn into Dad with all this darkness and work. Besides, it's not like there will be an alien invasion the moment we leave."

Leaving no room for further protest, Kalinka turned on the spot and marched toward the exit of the laboratory. Quint and Beat lingered behind.

"What do we do?" Quint whispered desperately to Beat.

"I've known Kali since she was two," responded Beat. "When she was five, she took up painting, at six she took up acting, then every year after that it was fencing, crochet, piano, chess, gymnastics, guitar, photography, archery, pâtisserie, and so on, all the way up to high school, where she started three different cosmetic companies and five different fashion companies. The only thing she ever stuck with for long was engineering, and ballet. With any luck, this 'superhero' stuff will be a quick phase, just like everything else."

Hope dawned slowly over Quint, warming his hands and feet which had gone as cold and trembly as someone about to dive into a tank of robo-sharks. "…So what you're saying is if she gets this out of her system, she'll move on to the next thing?" A grin spread across his face. "I can keep my promise to her and not have a big secret behind Dr. Cossack's back!"

"Well, at least that's what I hope will happen…" Beat said quietly.

From the doorway, Kalinka whirled on them, her narrow eyes like daggers. "Are you guys talking about me?"

"Uh—!" Quint and Beat both stammered guiltily.

"Hmmph. That's what I thought," Kali said primly. She beaconed them toward the elevator. "Well, c'mon!"

After changing out of his lab coat and into his own armor, Quint took Kalinka out the secret entrance. From there, they ran across the city, leaping from rooftop to rooftop—Kalinka keeping up with Quint easily without breaking a sweat, while Beat soared behind them.

Quint's nerves were coming back. Though they had taken care to avoid drawing attention (he had become adept at this during his own heroic midnight stints) he had never been to this part of Los Angeles before, and wondered what awaited them there.

Stiletto Street was less than two miles away from Citadel. It was a noisy, bustling district. He was somewhat relieved to see that this appeared to be a civilian area, filled with upper-class restaurants, shops, and nightclubs—safe enough during the day. Still, the humans flocking tipsily from bar to bar gave off an air of entitled rowdiness that made him wish they had just stayed in the laboratory, yet Kalinka seemed determined to find some valorous act to begin her career as a superhero.

From a rooftop perch, they scanned the street below. The crowds of humans were filled with anyone with a lot of money—from careless socialites, to ruthless business tycoons, to what looked suspiciously like off-duty gangsters, all out for a good time.

Kalinka seemed perfectly at home. "I'm banned from all the bars here you know," she informed Quint with a droll sigh.

"You're…underage…" Quint muttered, raising his brows. Beat just gave a small sigh.

Kalinka didn't respond. She drummed her fingers against the rooftop railing, watching the street intently. They waited. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, the steady stream of humans constantly moving throughout the street, yet nothing eventful happened.

Finally, Quint gave a small cough. "I know you want to be a superhero, but…maybe Los Angeles doesn't need one?" he told her tentatively.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's like I said earlier—nothing bad is going on," Quint began reasonably "Perhaps you've seen cartoons, or movies…right? There has to be some sort of call no one else responds to—people don't just become superheroes by just deciding it."

Kalinka only shrugged, unbothered. "Well, why not? Seems like it'd be just as nice if someone chose to be a superhero over being obligated."

Quint mulled this over, but ultimately felt unsure. "I suppose that's…a valid viewpoint, but it's a complex issue—"

The roof beneath their feet rumbled ominously, cutting off their conversation. They both froze. Beat hovered over Kalinka protectively while Kalinka and Quint both became alert. The happy babble of the crowd below died down as the humans looked around in confusion.

"An earthquake?" muttered Quint.

"No, look!" cried Beat, staring at the street.

What looked like a red spiked wrecking ball had burst like a geyser from the ground. It unfolded midair, and a robot landed heavily on the street.

Though the robot had sprung from the ground like a gopher, he looked like he would have been much more at home riding a large motorbike that spewed flames. He wore heavy red and yellow armor adorned with large, fang-like spikes. The robot had no neck, his helmet inset into his torso armor, his face a gap in the armor in which two large eyes peered. A saw-like ridge rose from his head like a mohawk.

The robot looked shiftily back and forth down the street (the crowd had parted around him and were beginning to flee) then became the red, spiked wrecking ball again, and crashed through the wall of the building directly beneath them.

"Oh no!" cried Beat.

"Oh shit," muttered Quint.

"See? Told ya something's always going down on Stiletto Street," Kalinka said calmly. "Let's go investigate!"

In a blur of pink, Kalinka took a fire escape down to the alley.

"Wait!" Quint called after her, though he himself felt it—an instinct to help the defenseless humans—even if he preferred to be doing research in his dark, comfortable laboratory.

Quint and Beat followed Kalinka down the fire escape. It was then that Quint realized they had been stationed above a bank—a very nice bank, judging by the marble facade and fountains outside of it—though it presently had a very sizable hole in its front. Through this opening, they could see the red robot inside the bank's lobby.

The robot gave a warlike roar and stomped the floor, his spiky boots clanging against the tile like a hammer striking an anvil.

"My name is Punk!" he thundered to the cowering humans within the bank. "I want all the money, now, or else I'm gunna knock every building in this block to the ground!"

The bank's security drones stepped in. They didn't stand a chance—Punk appeared to be built more powerfully than even most Robot Masters. He began throwing spinning blades at them, which cut easily through both their armor and the security cameras on the walls.

"Hahaha, too easy!" Punk jeered, the drones lying in pieces on the marble floor.

The bank teller, a thin human in his early twenties, shrank behind the counter, unclear what to do. The rest of the humans were screaming and running toward the exit.

"That's it, keep running, keep running! Booo! Hahaha!" Punk jeered to the fleeing humans while laughing like a ghoul. Then he towered over the bank teller. "As for you, I want all the cash in a burlap bag, now!"

"Okay! Okay! I'll open the vault, just please don't hurt me!" the teller wheezed with his hands over his head.

Fortunately, the robot hadn't yet noticed Kalinka, Quint, or Beat as they crouched behind the wreckage of the bank's wall, his back turned to them.

"Careful, that's a rogue robot!" Quint whispered to Kalinka, his eyes on Punk. The hand of his blaster arm tightened into a fist.

"We should get out of here!" pleaded Beat, flapping his wings in panic. "C'mon Kali, let's let the police handle this!"

Kalinka snorted. "As if! The police will take like ten minutes to get through traffic to get here (Trust me, I know their response time). If we don't do anything, he'll get away! …Though he must be pretty desperate to resort to something so obvious in broad daylight," she added musingly.

Then, before either Quint or Beat could stop her, Kalinka stepped into the lobby in plain sight of Punk. "Hey, you big bully!" she shouted, drawing his attention. "If you're not going to pick on someone your own size, then pick on me!"

Both Punk and the bank teller stared at her. "What the…who are you?" asked Punk, his large eyes blinking.

Kalinka struck a pose. "My name is Mega Girl, and I'm here to stop you!"

To be continued…