The Wards were a wonderful program, wonderfully exploitative, that is. On paper, they were a shining symbol of government accountability and parahuman reform, young capes, brought into the fold, trained under professional supervision, and transformed into the next generation of heroic icons. In practice, the program was a patchwork of government mandates, public relations tactics, and barely-disguised conscription, where superpowered minors were groomed into wearing skintight brandable uniforms and smiling for the camera between life-threatening patrols.

Whether a Ward saw actual combat depended entirely on which hellhole they were unfortunate enough to be stationed in. Cities like Los Angeles, New York, and Houston kept their Wards mostly on a leash, serving photo ops, goodwill events, and the occasional low-risk patrol. The idea of putting a teenager in the path of a bullet, or worse, a parahuman, was still frowned upon by the upper brass, at least, when the cameras were watching.

Brockton Bay, on the other black leather glove, seemed to delight in throwing its teenage capes into the meat grinder. Empire Eighty-Eight shootouts, ABB turf wars. Merchant drug labs erupting into chemical infernos, and Coil's Mercenaries up to no good. The city had become the Protectorate's unofficial testing ground, the perfect place to film the next season of Survivor. And now Robotnik was in the middle of it.

Her left eye twitched beneath her sunglasses. The idea of engaging in direct combat grated at her, offended her, even. She was a Tinker. A genius, someone that belonged in her lab, watching the operation unfold from her HD 4K screens.

Like Eidolon had said during one of their conference calls, while sipping tea and floating serenely above a gang compound, "Why risk our greatest asset when she can deploy a robotic air force instead?" He got it, the overweight man understood efficiency.

Robotnik wasn't afraid of danger, her minor Brute rating let her walk off explosions like bruises, but that didn't mean she wanted to play cape. She preferred commanding from her Eggmobile, hovering above the chaos, unleashing a swarm of precision badniks to subdue enemies while she blasted Fortunate Son through her custom surround sound system that made Mexican parties sound like a phone alarm on low volume. .

The baying of sirens? The screams of skinheads? The rattling crack of Tinkertech rifles? That was a symphony, and she was the conductor, though she prefered 70s psychedelic rock.

"Smile, you're almost up." Miss Militia said with her eyes smiling.

Robotnik gave her a side glance that was almost hidden by her sunglasses. She had been ambushed upon her return to her main lab, after leaving Decoe and Bocoe to clean up the mess of watermelon Robotnik had left in the girl's house.

"Let me go Boss Lady! I gotta get back pretty soon or they'll worry. People disappear in the Finger Lakes alll the time." Robotnik snarked with a large grin. She would've wiggled her arms, but given they were tied to the chair she was currently seated on, that would have to be later.

"I'll let you lose in a minute, once it's your cue." Miss Militia said in what was supposed to be a comforting tone. Thankfully, the woman had forgotten to remove her sunglasses and control gloves, from which Robotnik could easily send commands to her waiting badniks.

Robotnik leaned back, or tried to at least, her spine pressed against the uncomfortable metal chair Miss Militia had graciously tied her to. She wasn't sure if this counted as detainment, enhanced interrogation, or friendship. Either way, it was stupid. Wiggling her gloved fingers against the armrest, subtle pulses of data pinging off her built-in control nodes, sending them to her sunglasses.

Outside, the low murmur of a restless crowd filtered through the concrete walls of the backstage conference room. Cameras. Civilians. Journalists. Public school teachers with signs. Probably even a few PRT agents pretending to be concerned parents. A typical PR circus. This was all a waste of time, Robotnik was already known by the public as a veteran Ward and genius with 5 PHDs! With a thousand more on the way!

"Let's get this over with," Robotnik muttered, more to herself than anyone else. One of her sunglasses lenses lit up briefly with a live feed from a badnik currently perched on the auditorium rafters, quietly zooming in on the crowd. Several civilians wore buttons that read WELCOME WARD ROBOTNIK! and PRT SCIENCE IS COOL!

What losers, though they did have good taste in being her fans.

"You know." Robotnik said aloud. "This would be way more interesting if we opened with a giant disco egg descending from the ceiling with fireworks and a spaghetti gun."

Miss Militia glanced back at her from near the stage curtain. "That was vetoed by Director Piggot."

"Of course it was. The government hates creativity."

Then, over the earpiece still connected to her sunglasses, a familiar voice piped in.

"We're ready when you are Doctor." Orbot said through the communicator. "Bokkun and the confetti grenades are a go."

Robotnik's left eye twitched as she mumbled under her breath, to not cause any suspicion. "Wait for my signal, you moron."

"Well, what's the signal?"

"You'll know it when you see it!" Robotnik hissed but forced a large grin when Miss Militia turned around. Madam Fan Service gave her a skeptical glance, but said nothing, returning her attention to the stage.

"Five seconds." Someone called from off-stage, probably an unpaid intern who wanted to be anywhere other than here.

The house lights dimmed just slightly, and the excited chatter from the auditorium turned into the strained hush of forced anticipation. Robotnik could already imagine the camera flashes, the scrolling headlines, the awkward post-event interviews where Aegis would be forced to say false pleasantries.

Miss Militia stepped aside, pressing a button on the control she had at her hip, releasing Robotnik from her confines. She had already hacked it over an hour ago and could've left whenever she wanted. "You're up."

Robotnik shot up from the chair like she hadn't just spent the last ten minutes tied to it. At her mental command, the miniature badniks posted in the rafters gave her a silent salute via blinking LED lights.

"I hope you break a leg." Robotnik said with a thumbs up as she stepped through the curtains and out onto the battlefield.

Aegis was already at the podium, standing too straight, making his booty pop, and speaking too earnestly.

"—and with that, it's my honor to welcome our newest Ward, a transfer from the Houston branch. Please give a warm welcome to Doctor Robotnik!"

Wait for it.

Aegis handed her a microphone, which she promptly discarded by throwing it over her shoulder, and pressed a button on the side of her sunglasses.

Almost there.

Robotnik moved to the center of the stage, forming one of the largest grins she had ever made.

"HELLLLOOOOO BROCKTON BAY!" Robotnik's amplified voice boomed as she threw her arms to the side wide. Two banners showing her stylized smile, goggles and wild hair unfolded.

"IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK BABY!"

With that, a small black robot flew into the room, personally built by Robotnik herself, carrying two balls in its hand. Bokkun threw both grenades, each slamming into Robotnik's nose before exploding into confetti.

The room became deathly silent, so quiet that the sound of a pin dropping would sound like a roar. Crickets could be heard chirping as the entire auditorium stared at Robotnik, who kept her grin even as blood dripped onto the floor.

"Did anyone get that train's license plate?"

A/N

I'm sorry if it's not as funny as it used to be!