#Robotic Soldering Machine

[foone]

Idea: an inverted seniority robot race: the youngest robots are the most senior, because every robot is a virtual machine platform. At "birth", each parent robot donates a copy of their own VM platform to their child. The VMs they run are their minds.

So each robot is running their own mind, plus a copy(or more) of each of their ancestors. Each robot has the knowledge and skills and memories of all their ancestors, so the youngest are the most knowledgeable, with the oldest being the most ignorant.

It's a little like the human idea of a kind of immortality though having children, except literally. The last copy of you can't die until all your descendants do.

Thus we have a good reason for robots to reproduce: it's immortality through duplication.

It also, amusingly, gives you a reason why robots would have a human-like incest taboo: if your parents have any ancestors in common, you'd inherit multiple copies of that person. And you have to keep both copies because they've diverged since then: one copy has been living in one parent for years, another copy in another. They have different experiences now, and are distinct people. This adds complexity and headaches and is generally a bad idea: you want as many distinct experiences as possible, not nearly-redundant copies of the same people.

If you want to think of it in human terms, this sort of robot reproduction is kind of like being plural, but getting your parents as headmates at birth. And then it turns they brought along all their headmates: their parents, and their parents headmates, and their parents' headmates' parents, and so on until you get to The First Robot.

This both:

1. Explains how a robot made in a factory has "parents": it's nothing biological, a robot's parents are the robots who copied their VM stacks into the newly made robot. (also: there's no limit on how many parents you could have. Why not have it be like 20 robots? That makes a better robot, because it's a robot with More Robot per Robot!

2. Makes the death of any robot a fucking tragedy (I mean, more so than any person dying is). You shoot a human and one person dies, you shoot a robot and you kill millions. This suggests the robots are going to be very cautious, as if they are in danger it threatens an city's worth of souls. If nothing else, it suggests some unique trolly problem solutions: like someone threatens a robot with a knife (ok... Screwdriver? Soldering Iron?) and the robot instantly snipes them in the head with a laser. It was the lives of millions vs one person, what's the problem?

It also would be interesting for any traditional sophonts who know robots. Imagine you make friends with a robot while serving on a distant space station, then lose touch for a while. You hear through the exonet that they died when an orbital shuttle was shot down, and the next time you're in the area you see another robot that looks vague like them. You go up to introduce yourself, to see if they knew your friend, but before you can even open your mouth a different face appears on the robot's CRT head. It's your friend. "oh hey Daviid, how's it going?" like no time had passed and nobody had died.

(the robots call this thing where a personality is in control "fronting", because you're being displayed on the front monitor)

PS: before anyone replies, I know of and don't care about the geth

[phone4pills]

robot!Chris has a strange obsession with the microwave

there had been multiple scenarios where you’d caught chris playing with the buttons and knobs on your microwave. when you’d be making something in the kitchen he’d get carried away and stand there, eyeing the machine like they were silently communicating.

you didn’t think much of it at first, considering he was a droid. but when he started patting it on the ‘head’ every time he walked past or playing. with its wire, your concern grew. one night, you warming a bowl of soup and your ears were already ringing from soldering Chris’ finger back on earlier in the day so you ran towards the machine right as the time reached one second.

the boy was leaning a against the counter, when you pressed the ‘stop’ button he frowned. “what’s wrong?” you pondered, already presuming it’d be about the microwave. he played with his new finger, speaking quietly. “you never let the microwave finish. it’s not fair.”

your brows lowered, hooding over your eyes that were already filled with exhaustion. now he was messing with your head again. then you remembered Chris was your creation, you were kind of stuck with him. “what do you mean? you like that annoying beeping?”

he looked taken aback; offended. you waited for his response, not expecting any of the words that next left his lips. “it’s not annoying! it’s beautiful, the microwave is definitely the best singer in the house. better than the vacuum for sure.”

oh. sweet. sanity.

[sendpseuds]

I really love the "Runaway Roomba" fic, so.....

Obi-Wan getting the roomba back to his owner?

(Thanks a lot❤)

"Ah! Fuck!"

Anakin is deep inside the circuitry of his blender when the doorbell rings, breaking his concentration and scattering sparks across the breakfast table, burning into his bare chest with a curse and a surprised shout.

"Just leave the package at the fucking door," Anakin mumbles under his breath, shaking his head in frustration and trying to refocus on the task at hand, taking a deep steadying breath before reaching for the wires once again.

Knock knock knock

Growling in irritation, Anakin pushes away from the table, rolling his shoulders back and stalking toward the front door and whoever the fuck feels the need to interrupt him, not sparing a second thought to his current state as he slinks through his dark street-level apartment and reaches for the handle, wrenching the door open with a scowl.

"What!?"

Anakin isn't entirely certain who he'd expected to find standing at his front door but it definitely hadn't been James fucking Bond.

The man looks almost too perfect, each hair combed meticulously in place, stubble trimmed neatly along his jaw, dressed in an impeccably tailored sapphire suit and crisp white shirt.

"Oh— hello there."

Well, fuck. He even sounds like James Bond.

"Hi," Anakin breathes, barely managing the single word, standing a bit stunned in his doorway as the stranger's silver stare studies his face and when the man's attention tracks lower, his eyebrow raised curiously, Anakin suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that he still has a soldering iron attached to his prosthetic, shifting his weight to hide his right arm behind the door, "I— uh— how can I help—"

A series of loud beeps and screams interrupts his awkward stuttering and Anakin's eyes fall immediately to the man's feet and the mischievous droid waiting at the door.

"Artoo!" Anakin exclaims, both in surprise and chastisement, abandoning the modesty his half closed door provides and bending down to greet his disk shaped friend and help him over the threshold. "How did you get out!?" He asks the whirring robot, concerned and more than a little impressed before glancing up briefly at the man still standing in his doorway, "Where did you find him?"

"Up on Temple Street," the man responds matter of factly, his voice soft and smooth, "Quick little bugger."

"You know that's outside your WiFi range," Anakin scolds Artoo softly as the vacuum that absolutely no longer has the ability to clean in any capacity sounds a few annoyed beeps before proceeding into the apartment like he's done nothing wrong. Slowly, Anakin gets back to his feet, suddenly very aware he's standing in front of one of the most attractive men he's ever seen in nothing but a pair of ratty gym shorts, only able to stutter out a quiet, "Thank you."

"Of course," James Bond responds brightly, "I couldn't just leave him out there."

For a long moment they just stare at each other, silence stretching longer and longer and it feels like they're swaying closer and closer to one another.

When a car honks on the distance, they both startle.

"Yes, well," the man says, a small shy chuckle in his soothing voice, "Now that he's home I should probably—"

"Coffee?" Anakin asks nonsensically, his voice filled with a strange irrational hope, "Threepio— I mean— I have an espresso machine. I can make you anything you want."

The man simply looks at him for several long moments. Then a dazzling smile spreads across his face.

"I did skip the cafe this morning—"

[part one] [sketch]

[p1nkcanoe]

We Depend (I Depend) On You

[ jayvik multi-chaptered fic ]

summary: Viktor has always been alone, so he uses his brilliant mind to assemble the crude, metal frame of a “friend”. His self-modifying robot quickly becomes his obsession and the center of his young adulthood. But it was designed to record a lifetime of memories – and Viktor’s life has never been glamorous enough for tape. What begins as artificial intelligence becomes something more, something unexpected, and against all odds, his creation learns to love.

“I’m going to call you Jayce.”

or: viktor builds a robot to document his life, but somewhere along the way, it begins to feel

• inspired by “sad machine” by porter robinson

Chapter One is posted below the cut, continue to read on ao3

In the dim yellow light of a cold, cluttered lab, a twenty-five-year-old engineering student tightens the final screw into the metallic panel covering the delicate inner processors of his latest project. He exhales, lifting his safety goggles off his head and setting them carefully on the workbench beside him. His spine sinks into the soft backing of his chair at the same time his goggles hit the wooden surface. So far so good. Nothing has popped, cracked, or bent under pressure. He isn’t sure he has another piece of scrap left if the screw managed to dent the plate again. His free hand drags down his face, heavy with exhaustion – from too many sleepless nights and a grueling number of failed diagnostic tests. But this time, he thinks, this time will be the last. This time, it will work or Janna help him.

His creation is nothing spectacular – just six repurposed metal panels soldered into a crude steel box. On the front, a screen flickers, displaying endless lines of code he once wrote and has since forgotten how to read. Silver ones and zeros shift and rewrite themselves in real time, a chaotic stream of digital language pulling from the many mechanical nuclei he’d designed and installed inside of the box’ rigid frame. Above the screen, a hole no larger than his thumbnail houses a recording device for visual media. To the right, another opening, shielded by thick, spongy mesh, for the purpose of capturing sound.

It’s not a large prototype. It only stands about two feet from the floor and barely eighteen inches wide. But it’s far heavier than what’s healthy for his back and his hips. It’s been weeks since the last time the thing was moved, and it will continue to stay in its spot in front of the workbench for as long as it continues to be modified and upgraded.

The young engineer watches as his creation speaks to him in code, the nucleus he recently connected seemingly doing its job. A self-modifying computer – entirely capable of squashing its own bugs and learning from the diverse input it records. He wants it to evolve, to speak in his language, to respond in a complex alphanumeric code instead of the one it was built from. To recognize his voice, to obey his commands, answer his questions with answers he would have never thought to consider – not out of programming, but from its own discovery and worldly understanding. But alas, after his last adjustment, all he can do is stare at the endless stream of ones and zeroes as they rush across the screen from left to right.

“Hello?”

Even his voice sounds tired. Weak. He rolls the handle of the screwdriver back and forth over his palm and talks again towards the box.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

For a brief second the code falters, and he holds his breath readying himself for the imminent [ERROR] message. The text cursor blinks and blinks and blinks. And then–

→ 01100001 01100011 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 01100100

The code skips a line and continues to run as it had before. Endless and chaotic.

It hadn’t failed.

A sharp exhale escapes from his lungs as the young engineer loosens his grip on the screwdriver. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it so tightly, but now his fingers are marked with a mottled pattern of red and white and he watches as the blood slowly pools back into place. Back to normal.

“How strange,” he mutters to himself, though whether he’s referring to his own sudden tension or the hesitation in his creation’s programming is unclear. Most things in his lab are. He moves to set the screwdriver aside but stops when he sees the code falter a second time from the corner of his eye.

The cursor blinks…

→ 01100001 01100011 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 01100100

The code skips a line and continues.

He should be happy when his code runs without failure. He should feel relieved that his project isn’t breaking down or spitting out a concerning stream of smoke towards the concrete ceiling. But as he watches the endless lines scroll across the screen, all he feels is bone-deep exhaustion and grey indifference.

With a sigh, he reaches for his cane, planting it firmly before him as he pushes himself upright. Pain flares in his right leg and down through his tibia, drawing a sharp curse in his native tongue. It always aches when he forgets to take breaks. He knows this, and yet he never seems to learn. Maybe he continues to do it for an excuse to feel.

→ 01100001 01100011 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 01100100

He glances at that code again.

It continues on as normal.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

→ 01100001 01100011 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101100 01100101 01100100 01100111 01100101 01100100

He grabs his coat from the hook and heads for home.

— continue to read on ao3

[barelysleepyy]

A.L.A.N ; Artificial Linguistic Answering Network

Thanks to my dear sister, @get-shortcaked (Blithe) for helping me with the layout.

Turing Test debacle + Smidge of Hermann angst woahh

In the novelization of Pacific Rim, there is a section with the following.

" Gottlieb was soldering together a robot can I build an intelligence that will pass a Turing test and if I could of course I can I must never say anything about it until it is done or Father will "

This suggests that young Hermann had planned to create and build a robot/artificial intelligence that could potentially pass the Turing Test.

The Turing test is, as the Oxford Language site explains, " a test for intelligence in a computer, requiring that a human being should be unable to distinguish the machine from another human being by using the replies to questions put to both. "

And so me and Blithe went down the RABIT hole (pun intended) and we came up with the idea that Hermann did actually attempt at cracking the Turing Test (around early 2000s), but failed. He later used the model for his personal use as some sort of friend/adviser. However, he quickly dropped it as he slowly felt that the mere concept of talking to a robot about his woes to be embarrassing.

A.L.A.N is a model that takes heavy inspiration from E.L.I.Z.A, who was originally programmed in 1966, the first 'artificial intelligence' to attempt the Turing Test. Like E.L.I.Z.A, A.L.A.N is programmed to have the personality of a psychotherapist.

Also, A.L.A.N, Alan Turing. The name was Blithe's idea.

[perilegs]

they couldn't stop me

if i was let into the electronics lab they couldn't stop me

[just-an-emily-existing]

⚙️The Gears of The Metal⚙️

Facts and Silly Things

The Metal engines have some sort of armour on them at all times.

They can then use that armour to summon a whole suit of armour or summon metal spikes for a certain area that’s being attack like if Mavis if going to be struck in the arm, she can summon spikes on her arm to defend herself.

Or they can turn their skin to our metal, making them almost indestructible.

⚙️Now onto their Prowess (Abilities)!⚙️

Electromagnetic Control: Increase, decrease, alter and remove the properties of the magnetic fields surrounding beings and objects.

Super Endurance: Keep going even through the toughest challenges and obstacles.

Gear Creation: The ability to create metal gears from existing metal or from thin air.

Liquid Metal: The ability to control and create liquid metal and heat it up to attack or solidify to defend.

Gladiokinetic Combat: The user can infuse knives with their physical combat.

Alloy Manipulation: The user can manipulate the substances of red gold, white gold, sterling silver, steel or silicon steel, solder, brass, pewter, duralumin, bronze or even that of amalgams.

Appliance Summoning: The user can summon appliances such as ovens, fans, washing machines to wherever the user is located.

Liquid Metal Mimicry: The user has the power to mimic and/or become liquid metal.

Bio-Metal Manipulation: The user can create, shape and manipulate bio-metal, a special metallic substance that has all the properties of metal while also being biological/organic of nature. Because this metal is alive, it can think on its own, change shape, and bond to a host.

Bio-Metal Mimicry: The user is made up of or can transform their body completely into malleable living metal, which grants them superior physical strength, high resilience to most kind of attacks and first-rate regenerative abilities (no structural weakness).

They can harden/soften and mold their body to fit the needs of every situation, shapeshift all kinds of bladed weapons, strengthen their defenses via additional layers, conceal themselves by mimicking their environment, or even scatter their body to cover more ground without attracting attention.

Some users may also grow more powerful by consuming metal, and even gain a variety of new abilities by consuming exotic metals with unique properties.

⚙️What sets them apart from the other Elements?⚙️

These engines will have a robotic looking body along with one piece of armor.

⚙️Stained Glass⚙️

⚙️Axe: Metal's Signature Weapon⚙️

⚙️Tapestry⚙️

⚙️Roller Skate Mechanics⚙️

⚙️Sigil Of The Metal⚙️

[schellis]

whoops another prime soul got loose, huh.

TERMINAL DATA ICARUS PRIME TYPE: PRIME SOUL DATA: [read more for a lil bit of lore]

Compared to the other Prime Souls, Icarus is incredibly young, having lived during the tail end of humanity, creating machines and mechanical augmentations, even going so far as to replace some of their own flesh with steel.  Humans weren't made to become more than they already are.  Icarus' father already toed the line between man and machine by creating armor for the soldiers they worked to assist, but without the necessary resources, only a few were made, laden with bugs and small errors that nobody had time to fix.  He was only supposed to be an assistant. Assisting with the final screws, making sure the wires were in place, making sure that everything was at least functional, usable. But there had to be a better way, right? Instead of just armor, why not make use of the machines that they've all been working on? Why not just mesh flesh with machine, make our own flesh and blood power the machinery that makes up our skin, become an immortal being.  When he ended up in Hell, he tried something similar. He couldn't die twice, right? So he searched through Violence, running through the wastelands, picking up bits and pieces of robots long gone, soldering the pieces together, placing it over his flesh, sticking small wires and tubes through the skin, feeding the metal his own blood. After all, he had plenty to spare, right?  The Angels took notice.  Husks shouldn't be trying to make themselves stronger. They should be serving their time in Hell. Doing their punishment.  Justice and Splendor carved through his body, slicing through both metal and flesh alike.  His blood was not enough.  Too many injuries, not enough time to heal, to pull it all back together. He screamed- or at least tried to.  The Angels pulled apart his cut limbs, separating them into locked boxes, buried deep within the levels of Hell, keeping them from ever coming back together, from ever sewing his sinew back together. His soul survived.  They didn't notice, paying more attention to his body, making sure that nothing- neither drop of blood nor shard of bone- could touch.  He ran back to the train tunnel to the labyrinth, dodging the beams of the spotlights, away from the eyes of the Angels. 

[jadedwoman]

Another mad scientist idea

He's constructed what he's called "remote body use" and with it you can transfer your conscience to a robot body, your body will still be here, and mind as well, strapped to this large machine, but from your perspective you're a robot girl now! Thou issue arises if both you and robot you see each other but not to worry, won't happen.

If only he wasn't a square cause you wake up in a bog standard box robot body, and scold him for not making a proper body! So the next project is making you the best body ever, no, the best fem bot ever, with all the features you could ever want. Working tirelessly, sparking flying, soldering, 3d modelling, etc.

Until it's completely, laying in it's charging table is your dream fembot body, just waiting to be transferred. You jack yourself in to the rbu and find yourself now in your new body, exploring it before the mad scientist is even done running diagnostics!

But now to stress testing!

Aww~ that sounds lovely!~ I'd have to make sure he makes the chest modular though, having huge tits can be inconvenient at time~ maybe even a specially designed inflatable type chest that I can grow to whatever size I see fit. It would be extra fun watching him try and remain professional, assuring he's not staring and actually just observing but from the way he's drooling I know exactly what he's doing~

[haereticus]

(   sophie wilde   ,   demi woman   ,   she/they   )    did you see them ?!   that was FALLON FLUX, the winner of the EIGHTY-FOURTH hunger games. they’re back for the 92nd games as a MENTOR, and you know they’re one of my favourites!  the TWENTY-FOUR year old brought such honour to DISTRICT 5 when they won their games with EXPLOSIVES.  they’re known all over panem for being so ALTRUISTIC despite being so DIFFIDENT. they remind me of flannel stained with coffee and soldering dust, notes that only make sense to you scrawled on bare skin, bloody hands from fingernails picked raw,  and when i think of them, i think of HOUNDS OF LOVE by kate bush  .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

full name. fallon opal flux nicknames. lonnie date of birth. march 9th, 68th year age. twenty-four district. five occupation. mentor & engineer victory year. eighty-fourth gender. demi woman orientation. bisexual biromantic

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

positive traits. brilliant, altruistic, loyal, strategic negative traits. diffident, obsessive, controlling, detached mbti. intj – the architect enneagram. 5w6 – the troubleshooter moral alignment. true neutral deadly sin. pride heavenly virtue. diligence zodiac. pisces character parallels. angela moss, mr robot / raven reyes, the 100 / lisbeth salander, the girl with the dragon tattoo / ellie williams, the last of us / clarisse mcclellan, farenheit 51 / petra arkanian, ender's game

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒.

mother. luna flux father. edison flux sibling(s). faraday flux (older brother, deceased) significant other(s). none

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.

tw: death, violence, explosives

There is an ever-present hum in the air of District 5. A static in the breeze, electricity crackling just below the surface. This is the world into which you are born – a purely natural thing in a manufactured world. You come of age beneath the glow of power lines, the smog of factories. You learn to trace the currents the way others might trace stars, find beauty in circuits and machinery as others might in flowers or fields.

You are a peculiar child, even from a very young age. Your hands are constantly busy. Taking things apart, putting them back together. You never play with children your own age. Instead you build, wire. Burn your fingers on hot metal and crack open batteries just to see what lives inside them. You learn how to coax dead circuits back to life, how to breathe energy into rusted parts and create things with your bare hands. You shun connections with your peers in favour of sequestering yourself away in your makeshift workshop. People are complicated – but circuits, mechanics, machines, they make sense. They have problems which can be traced and remedied. They can be predicted. They make you feel in control.

We would be remiss not to mention Faraday when telling your story. Faraday Flux is your brother – older, by a little more than thirteen months, though he often joes that he was not truly alive until you came along. The two of you are opposite sides of the same coin – where you are quiet, he is loud. Where you are reserved, he is bold, defiant. Where you are callous, he is kind. Faraday is charming and charismatic, a wildfire keeping you warm. He jokes so you don't have to, fights when you freeze. He can explain away your peculiarities with a grin, distract Peacekeepers when you are caught with stolen copper from the scrapyard. He is your protector, your shield – a trait which would ultimately seal his fate.

It is your name drawn from the Reaping bowl. Not Faraday's. Yours.

You ascend to the stage in a trance, a ghost marching forward – already dead. But, before your district's escort can dip their hand back into the bowl, a voice emerges from the crowd. "I volunteer," It says – and you would recognise it anywhere. Nobody stops Faraday as he follows you up onto the stage, as he bids farewell to your parents, as he boards the train to the Capitol with his hand in yours. Nobody stops him – not even you.

The Gamemakers can hardly believe their luck – siblings in the arena. They dress you in matching outfits like dolls. Like they know at least one of you won't be coming home. Brother and sister entering the arena together – how poetic. How brutal. The audiences are instantly smitten with Faraday – he knows exactly when to smile, when to laugh. He knows how to win their sympathies and earn their trust. He holds your hand and waxes poetic about volunteering to protect his baby sister – about how devastated your parents would be to lose both their children in one fell swoop. The donations come pouring in – though none of it is for you, the strange, sullen figure standing in the shadow of your brother. No, the gifts and the praise and the love are all for your brother. He is the perfect tribute. He will make the perfect victor.

They build your brother a playground. The arena you are thrown into is a shrine to your home – rusted metal and broken towers, powerlines sprawling like spiderwebs, buried cables that hiss like serpents beneath your feet. It is a decaying power plant spread across a vast, ruined city landscape. For most tributes, it is a death trap. But to you, it is home. You understand the mechanics of the arena instantly, know exactly where to step. You know where the current still pulses, where the ground is unstable. You and Faraday are made for this place, and, suddenly, the two of you stand a fighting chance.

So, you survive. You rig traps out of batteries and acid packs, you wire landmines from salvaged circuits. You turn the enemy's weapons into parts for your next bomb. Each kill makes it easier – each bloodied corpse keeps you alive for another night. Faraday talks of the future – they let two win before, and they weren't even related. He tries to reason as you lay out traps, they'll bend the rules for us again if we make it to the end, I know it. You hum in agreement – though you don't believe his words. You know you won't be surviving this. Your traps and bombs can only take you so far – at the end of the day, Faraday is the victor the Capitol wants, and so he must be the victor they get. You figure you owe it to him – after all, he had followed you into hell. He had made sure you you wouldn't have to die frightened and alone. The least you can do is get him as close as you can to the finish line before saying goodbye.

The games drag on for ten days – but you have a plan to finish it. You had rewired the central node beneath the arena's main tower. It was supposed to be a failsafe. When the final tributes converge, you will trigger an overload and disable their weapons. Non-lethal, you promise. Just enough to give Faraday an edge. But things move far more quickly than you anticipate. The Gamemakers trigger surges across the arena – funnelling the few remaining tributes towards the central tower. Your plan is rushed, you're terrified – but Faraday takes your hand and tells you he trusts you, before picking up his weapon to defend you as you make the final adjustments.

A surge hits too soon – your circuit is overwhelmed, and, instead of a non-lethal power surge, a capacitor explodes and the main tower erupts in a dazzling spectacle of fire and metal. You are thrown by the blast – but Faraday had been standing closer. You was fighting off the enemy, protecting you. By the time you pull his body from the wreckage, the light has already left his eyes –��he is a mangled husk in the shape of your brother. You scream and wail and wait for one of the other tributes to come and finish you off – but they never do. Instead, a hovercraft descends and scoops you up. The other tributes had perished in the same explosion that claimed your brother.

You'd won.

The Gamemakers rewrite the story. They air the footage with a heroic score – the claim that Faraday had shielded you from the blast in a final act of love. They turn him into a martyr and you into a hero. They paint your face with silver, dress you in chrome, and parade you around like a trophy. They call you Silent Spark – mysterious, calculated, tragic. You sit through interview after interview – they call your brother selfless and you nod quietly in agreement. Yes, Faraday had been selfless – but he had not saved you. He wasn't dead because he had given his life for yours. No, Faraday Flux was dead because you killed him. You are a monster parading as a victor – but you bite your tongue and swallow your words and recite the lines you are given. You've heard horror stories about what happens to victors who don't fall into line – and you refuse to let anybody else die for your sins.

So, they send you back to District 5. You are a ghost haunting the victor's village, a spectre in a house that buzzes too loudly with faulty wiring. They offer pills to help you sleep – but whenever you close your eyes, you see him. And the hum grows louder. Instead, you return to the only thing that brings you comfort. Late at night, you tinker. You unmake bombs and disarm traps. You rehearse, again and again, what you should have done. You dwell on how things might have gone differently, had you just been a little better. How Faraday might be here, instead of you. You're trying, always trying, to build something you can't – a way to go back.

[vinniehorrible]

So much better [short story]

Description: Sometimes, I wish to take a jab at what bothers me and writing is a great tool for it. A near-future sci-fi about a man and his encounter with the rise of thinking robots.

Word count: 5256

Few would take joy in a pair of dead eyes staring at them across a perfectly bland white room. Dick didn’t mind how the machine stared at him. He was the only thing changing in the environment, and therefore it made sense it would keep scanning him. It was precisely for his lack of disturbance in this situation that he volunteered to help with the research.

The only downside, perhaps, was the silence. Out here there were no windows, out of fear of corporate espionage, and they were now so deep in the facility that the hum of the heavy machinery coming from nearby rooms was barely heard.

“Tell me something. The silence is uncomfortable,” Dick asked of the robot.

The humanoid apparition tilted its head slightly. Its eyes changed to the colour green, indicating debugging. “Eye contact… impossible. Person looking aside. Not required. Ambient noise… 23 db. Lowering volume for optimal conversation.” Dick rolled his eyes as those that stared at him returned to their original bright yellow. “Of course. What would you like me to tell you? Or… would you prefer something I choose of my own?”

“Just something to talk about before we start. Hell, can’t you do at least some small talk?”

“Processing input parameters… adjusting tone for ‘small talk’. Emulating informal conversational patterns…

Alright. Small talk. I can do that. Did you know that the first practical use of electric motors wasn’t in the industry? Rather, it was in a fan, built in the 1830s. They called it a rotary blower. Inefficient and noisy, but it worked.”

Dick let out a heavy sigh. Compared to the talk he could have with his coworkers, this was barely considered a conversation. Not to mention that what he had just heard may have been complete nonsense. Small talk, as he imagined it, wasn’t something he would have to fact check. “You know what, forget it. Just wait until I’m done.”

“Understood. Returning to standby mode.”

The machine waited there patiently until Dick read through the list of instructions he was given by the institute. His excitement to help push forward the technology of thinking robots was only briefly overshadowed by how much preparation it would take and how impossible it was to stand them outside of actual work.

“Alright. Come here,” he instructed the robot and it followed him to the nearby table, waddling like an overgrown penguin, yet surprisingly fast. “Can you read this wiring diagram? What do you see in it?”

“Scanning provided documents…

Yes, I can read the wiring diagram. This is a three-phase motor control circuit. The main power enters through the L1, L2, and L3 lines—connected to the contractor. The overload relay is in series with the motor output. Control logic is routed through auxiliary contacts, including a normally closed stop switch and a normally open start switch. I also detect a thermal protection loop. Would you like me to simulate a fault condition?”

That last part was what always fascinated Dick. The question. The constant urge of the artificial brain to ask for more. More work, more information, more data.

“Excellent,” he replied, ignoring the question. “Now, what about these tools on the table? Do you know what they are called? How they’re used?”

“Processing…

Yes, I do recognize the tools. This is a multimeter. Used to measure voltage, current, and resistance. It is currently set to…” it leaned closer to have a better look. Dick got goosebumps and a slight smile appeared on his face. Such behaviour, for some reason, seemed so human to him. “DC voltage mode. The tool to the left are wire strippers. Used to remove insulation from electrical wires without damaging the conductors. These are adjustable. And then here is some soldering iron. Used to bond wires or components with solder.” Its eyes narrowed for a moment. “Caution. The device is turned on. Current tip temperature is 356 degrees Celsius. Would you like me to switch to Farenheit? For the use of optimal measuring units, you may also tell me our current location, so that I may adjust accordingly.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Dick replied to its question this time.

“I understand. Is there anything else—” This was the annoying part. The fact that it would always have the last word. That it would always respond, no matter what one said.

“Now, please, take this document.” Dick placed a stack of papers on the table and the robot carefully picked them up. “There’s a mistake in the notes. Can you find what is wrong with that system?”

He leaned against the table and stared at the machine with stars in his eyes. It read so fast. Its eyes barely moved as it scanned one page, then flipped to the other, then the next, the next, and so on. It could read faster than any human, yet it understood perfectly what it read. Or at least it was supposed to. That was, after all, the purpose of this test.

“Parsing schematic annotations. Cross-referencing circuit logic.

Yes, I have identified a discrepancy. In the notes, it states ‘Contactor coil is energized when both the overload relay and the stop button are closed.’ That is incorrect. The stop button is a normally closed contact. When functioning properly, it remains closed, allowing current to flow until it is pressed. Therefore, the coil is de-energized if the stop button is open. Would you like me to update the annotation for clarity and safety compliance?”

Dick smirked. “Oh yeah? And how would you do that?”

The machine looked at him for a moment, then back at the paper. “Selecting a proper course of action.” It went silent for a minute, then placed its hand on the page and tore it out, much to Dick’s shock. “Please, pair me with the nearest printer so I may pring the corrected information.”

Dick rubbed the root of his nose. “No, that… That won’t be necessary.”

“Very well. Is there anything else I can—”

“Actually, yes.” Dick interrupted it. There was nothing else in his notes, but his mind could not spare him the curiosity. “Can you improve it? The design in the document, I mean. If you were an engineer and you had to improve it, what would you do?” That was what he yearned to know. He was, after all, using his knowledge of electrical engineering to teach the machine. Knowing if it could eventually think on its own interested him greatly.

“Affirmative,” the machine said almost immediately, much to his surprise. “Evaluating system design. Optimizing for safety… reliability… serviceability… complete.

Existing design lacks fault detection to prevent potential hazard. I would integrate a ground fault sensor upstream of the contactor. It would shut down the circuit on fault detection, enhancing safety. Another possibility is to add indicator light for coil status. It would offer an immediate visual confirmation of system state. The indicator lamp would be added in parallel with the contactor coil to assist in diagnostics and to improve operator awareness. Would you like a redrawn schematic based on these improvements?”

Dick slowly walked over the machine without saying a word. It stared at him as he approached, and even after he passed it. “Let’s leave. Follow me,” he said.

“Alright. Please tell me when we reach our destination.”

Now there was nothing that could’ve taken Dick’s smile off his face. The robot could think. It had ideas. It had a brain. Not a real one, of course, but the artificial one would do. Or perhaps, it would even be better than the real thing. All the possibilities of what it could do out there in the world. No more messy wiring. No more being called to fix someone's botched job. The perfect coworker. “Just that small talk function needs some work,” Dick thought as they left the room.

“So, everything done?” Matthew welcomed Dick as he entered the much cosier and colourful cafeteria. At this time of day, there were only the two of them.

Dick had to blink a few times to flush all that dull gray of the institute walls out of his mind and take in the much more pleasant light yellows and greens. The head developer handed him a glass of water and he took it without hesitation.

“Yeah. It’s one incredible piece of work. I only wish one could chat with it in a more pleasant way.”

“We’re working on the communication functions. You need to realize that AI is still in its infancy.”

Dick smiled at that notion. Still in its infancy? As a student, he cheated on tests using the predecessors of the models used today. That was more than fifteen years ago. How long exactly was the infancy period of a robot?

“I’m curious to hear about your insights regarding its skills. Does it seem professional enough? Any mistakes?” Matthew inquired.

“Not really. It knows the theory, but practical application is not something you can effectively simulate in a lab,” Dick offered his bit of honesty. “I guess you won’t give me one to take along while I work, eh?”

“You know we can’t do that. The error margin is still around ten percent. That is a lot. We cannot offer something like that to join you, a professional engineer. It could hinder your work.”

“I meant, it could just watch me, ask, learn.”

Matthew shook his head. “I cannot. Though I still appreciate you volunteering to help us test it.”

“It’s my pleasure. This kind of tech is exciting. I can imagine so many kids wanting to be electricians, or engineers of any kind if they get to work alongside these machines. Imagine the day when they’ll actually be able to do stuff for you. This job will become available for anyone, really.”

Matthew did not say a word. He sat his glass down and approached to shake Dick’s hand. “Thank you, Richard, for your help. As agreed, you will be mentioned in the documentation as one of the testers.”

“Not a problem. Glad I could help.” Dick shook the man’s hand with enthusiasm. In his head, he could already see it. His name would be among those who helped bring forth the technology of the future. He saw it clearly, like an acknowledgments page in a book.

Upon mentioning it, Matthew briefly imagined it too. Unlike Dick, he had already seen the current version of the page. Or rather, pages. All five of them, filled to the brim with names, font size ten, aligned to a block. He made a mental note to add Dick’s name to it later, along with the seven other testers from the past two weeks.

It had been twelve years since Dick last set foot into the Institution. Even now, as a fresh fifty-year-old, he could recall his past in this place. Every time more testing was needed, he would answer the call. For two years, he was here even twice a week, sometimes for a few minutes, other times for hours. There was some money in it too, but it got lost in comparison to Dick’s reasonable paycheck his day job would earn him. As time went on, less and less requests came. And as they stopped coming, robots began appearing. One hardly registers the rise of technology. One day, it is simply there, and you ask yourself how it was even possible for it to appear oh so quickly.

The Institute looked different now. It wasn’t even called that anymore. Now it was the “Office of Necessity.” For many, it became a boogeyman, and Dick was slowly understanding why, as he was led through the hallways. The dull gray of the past was still there, but now it was adorned with running lines of ruthless red, which sometimes boasted the logo of the company—a black lightning above what was supposed to be half a brain and half a circuit. This alone would perhaps not look all that frightening, were it not for the two bodyguards escorting him. Each time he would even slow down or attempt to look behind his shoulder, they would tell him “Keep going Mr. Jirak.” Their voice wasn’t hostile, but it hit one’s ears in a similar fashion a concrete wall would.

All it took were a few turns before the maze of corridors would end and Dick would find himself in front of a dark wooden door with a label hanging right next to it. “Thomas Kazmer.” Was Matthew not around anymore? With all the restructuring the Institute went through, one could hardly be surprised, yet Dick silently hoped they’d meet again, especially when they called directly into his workplace to request his immediate presence.

“Mr. Jirak, please, have a seat,” Thomas told his guest. There was something ominous about the whole place. As Dick entered, the two men that were accompanying him closed the door behind him, yet remained in the room, standing by the entrance, both holding the wrist of their other arm, perhaps only to seem more intimidating. As cliché as their looks were, it worked remarkably. Dick was sure that if he tried to do anything out of the ordinary, those two would escort him right out without breaking a sweat, no matter how much he’d try to fight.

He cautiously sat down. Thomas Kazmer was a peculiar man. Young. Maybe in his thirties, with a look that immediately showed his mind contained more pride than his wisdom would entitle him to, as he smiled at Dick without squinting his eyes even a tiny amount. Despite that, Dick could only really focus on the man’s unnaturally long nose and a truly massive Adam's apple. He tried his best not to stare at either, but considering how close they were to one another, it was a most challenging trial. Instead, he decided to shift his focus onto the person standing next to Thomas. They looked about as normal as one could. Dark hair, just like Thomas’, similarly clean shave, and an expensive suit, which was something everyone in the room shared, apart from Dick, whose attire, while still very formal, barely remembered leaving the store almost ten years ago. Suddenly, Dick’s eyebrows popped up. Only after looking at Thomas’ assistant for a moment did he notice the tiny sparks in his eyes. He was a Myslit. One of the Institute’s assistant robots. The model that had slowly replaced all other models over the last couple of years, and the one that had been allowing them to gradually and effectively monopolize the market.

“Welcome, Mr. Jirak. I hope your trip here was a pleasant one?” Thomas asked. Dick was surprised that he didn’t even offer an introduction or a handshake, but it was true that some younger people were keeping away from such traditions.

“Yes. Thank you for sending the car. I could’ve taken my own though.”

“It is customary to send it to people when we request their presence. Now, I hope you will understand if I skip any further formalities and go straight into the core of things?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Here is your document of irrelevance.”

Dick gasped as Thomas slid him the signature light-blue paper. He scanned the lines only briefly. Most of it was just formal jargon few actually understood. The meaning was clear from the file’s existence alone.

“You’re removing me from my work? Why?”

“On the request of your employer.”

“Malik? But…” Dick tried his best to compose himself. “He never told me that there would be any problems. If I’m fired, there should be a warning letter, or—”

“Mr. Jirak, you misunderstand the situation. You are not here because you are fired. You are here because you are irrelevant. The Office has received a message that you may be suspected of irrelevance so we did a background check on you.” Thomas picked up a stack of papers from the table and began skimming through the information. “You worked as an electronics engineer for… well, many years, I can’t find that now. During that time, you have not educated yourself in any other field that would matter. Upon asking Mr. Malik about what work you perform at his company and with what salary, your presence there has been deemed obsolete. A Myslit has been purchased by Mr. Malik and will be delivered to the company next Monday. Its monthly expenses are eighty-four percent less than your salary, thus saving the company money.

“I… A Myslit? But… the company has its own—”

“Yes, the GTP-C4T informant intelligence. We know. I don’t have to tell you that the difference between an AI assistant and an AI worker is astronomical. Especially with the latest Myslit model. Do not worry, you are not the only person to be replaced.” Thomas leaned closer, interlocking his fingers. “But that would not really be irrelevance. Problem is, Mr. Jirak, that you have nothing else to benefit the society with. Your education in the field is admirable, but obsolete. And you have nothing else to offer to any potential employer.”

“But I helped train those things! Ask Matthew Catcher! We’ve done so much work together back when this was just an Institute!”

Thomas raised his hand. “Please, quiet down, or I will have you escorted out.” Despite the mind threat of the sentence, his voice stayed the same. “Yes, it is true that I have found your name among the testers. Yet you have never purchased a single Myslit yourself.”

“Well… I never needed one. I paid for the information robots though!”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. Your contribution to the AI training is appreciated, yet minuscule, with barely any impact on sales.”

“Then… Okay, but I can do other jobs!”

“Oh? Can you now? I did not see any other education or training certificate in your files.”

“I can get an education!”

“In what field?”

“Well… construction engineering? My father used to do that.”

“Myslit?”

“Yes?” The robot moved almost too much like a human.

“Are you familiar with construction engineering?”

“Indeed. Do you require any specific knowledge?”

“How many books on construction engineering do you have in your database?”

“Over 720 000. Though some are outdated or specific to a particular geography and its laws.”

“See, Mr. Jirak?” Thomas said, his voice like creeping winter. “Any Myslit knows more than you will learn in ten years of studying, and they know it all with utmost precision. Their memory contains every word. Every sentence on the subject, as well as countless demonstration videos and data gathered directly from the field. Not to mention that our Myslits come in various forms that might offer extra appendages or carry capacity that would vastly surpass you, should you turn to construction as a field of work. Therefore, your education and training would merely be a waste of time.”

Words refused to leave Dick’s mouth. What was this man even talking about? Surely there was still much more he could do with his life. Quickly, he searched his memories for similar situations. He always tried his best to keep away from all the negative news and political talk, but he did recall people losing their jobs. What did they do in that case? What if they were deemed irrelevant?

“Perhaps there is something your personal files do not mention?” Thomas asked, as if eager to give him hope. Though given his visibly fake smile, Dick assumed it was only because he would enjoy tearing it down again.

“I…” he went silent for a few seconds, imagining how his days were spent. “I can play football.”

“Myslit?” Thomas asked, not even looking at the machine.

“I can simulate any sports match. Using random parameters, I can create virtual footballers, generate their visual representation, and then animate their matches. Perhaps, as a football fan, you’ve heard to Christian Red? He is currently the top rated player, created by a Myslit in Egypt. Though, according to programming, his statistics are declining over time to simulate aging. Predicted time until he will be overtaken by another virtual sportsman is around seven months. Shall I try to create a football team for you?”

“No, thanks, that will not be necessary,” said Thomas. “You see, Mr. Jirak. A footballer? That is no profession for the modern ages. And if it is exercise you seek instead, then you can simply go running through the parks in the city. For that, such a career is not necessary.”

“I read a lot!” Dick spurted out. His mind returned to all those nights spent with detective stories.

“And that is a profession?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Well, since I read, I will also be able to write! I’ve gone through a lot of detective stories! I—”

“Myslit, can you write me the first chapter of a detective story? Something classic, old-school, that Mr. Jirak might appreciate.”

The Myslit went quiet. A few seconds were spent by just quietly waiting, then suddenly a printer in the corner or the room sprung to life.

“Done. First chapter of 32 632 words has been written and is printing now. Would you like me to make any changes? If you’d prefer to stay in a virtual creative space, please pair me to a screen of your choice.”

“Well, there you have it,” Thomas said. “Obsolete. Give me a list of your most favourite books and a Myslit can write you whatever you’d like. Chances of you being a writer are next to none. You have no experience whatsoever, and those few that are still active in the world rarely do so for monetary gains, which, given your situation, you would need.”

“I… I used to build model tanks…” Dick whimpered.

“I am paired to a 3D printer next door. Would you like me to print a model for you?”

“That will not be necessary, Myslit,” Thomas dismissed it. “Unless you can design models yourself, it is not a hobby fit for a living. Not to mention that a Myslit could do that as well.”

Dick went quiet. His mind offered him no further escapes. He felt as though he was standing at a wall. His executioner was telling him of crimes he did not commit, and the firing squad behind him was ready to seal his fate at Thomas’ command.

“Now, there are certain possibilities. Please, do not look so alarmed,” Thomas told him, his smile unnerving. “Your life is far from over. Let’s go over some options.” He flipped through the pages of documents until he reached the very last one. “Now, becoming a doctor is an option. Myslits have a staggering error rate in the field of medicine. Myslit? Can Mr. Jirak become a doctor?”

Its eyes did not change. It did not even need a moment to think. This model knew the answer as if it had been prepared long before this meeting. “Highly unlikely. Training requires high intelligence and a long time. Mr. Jirak is past the optimal age threshold for a doctor as well, and has no political connection, making it highly improbable that he would be accepted among other doctors, or trusted by patients. Estimated probability of success is around 11%”

“Ah, well, that’s not the best. What about a scientist then?”

“Mr. Jirak’s background would be compatible. Certain scientific disciplines accept mature entrants for data modeling and applied research. However, Mr. Jirak would need extensive education, might lack necessary intelligence, and grant access for late-career entrants are limited. Probability of 34%.”

“Well, that’s better. Now what about a psychologist?”

“Also possible. Training duration is moderate and due to decline in average public mental health, such professions are always necessary. However, Myslit presence has been steadily growing in this field. Given the lack of experience and length of training, probability of Mr. Jirak’s success is around 28%.”

“Well, it gives us options, see?” Thomas exclaimed, almost enthusiastic, as if any of the information given by the machine would be comforting in any way. “Now, please, have a look at this page,” Thomas slid the document over to Dick. “There are many other options for you. Caregivers are always needed, as Myslits aren’t well-developed for this particular profession. Bodyguards or soldiers are also always an option. Military will take anyone really. Machines are far too easy to disable with modern technology.”

Dick did not like a single option on the list. Most of those he never even heard of, and given the slowly escalating tensions between his homeland and the neighbouring giant of Grand Acirema, he did not enjoy the thought of dying somewhere on the front lines, should a war break out.

“Now, before you go, Mr. Jirak, here are the keys to your new home.” Thomas reached into a drawer in his desk and gave Dick two small keys.

“My new home? Where… Why?”

“Well, you live at… Where is it written? Ah! Here it is! Starry street 859. That’s a nice apartment, three rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. But for someone of your status? As an engineer, you were a citizen of class seven. I hope I don’t have to explain to you why you are lower now. But don’t be alarmed, it is not as bad. You have no debts, so that’s nice, no political presence either, that is less nice, but that AI testing in the past does grant you some benefits, albeit small ones. So… you’ll be moved to Stone street 542. Wonderful apartment. One really large room for all your needs, a cozy kitchen, and an equipped bathroom.”

Dick blinked a few times, trying to see anything like a hidden camera. Any hint that the person would be only joking and that he could still walk out of there with his life intact.

“Do you have any further questions?” Thomas asked, his fingers interlocking as he lay his arms on the table.

Dick shook his head in response. Nothing else was coming to his mind.

“Splendid then. Now, you are given three days to sort out your stuff. Since you’re unemployed as of now, that should be quite easy. Keep in mind that the new apartment is smaller, so take only what you consider necessary. The extra stuff you can give to us and we’ll sell it for you, or you can sell it yourself, should you not wish to pay the processing fee.” Thomas stood up and buttoned his suit. “And, of course, do look for work. Right now you are a citizen of class ten. For each six months of remaining unemployed, you will drop one class lower. If you could therefore look for a profession or education available to you, so that we do not have to meet again in the near future and do all the necessary paperwork, that would be much appreciated.”

Dick swore that after this incident, his life fast forwarded. The security guards escorted him out of the building. The light blue paper sat in his hand and anyone they passed on the Institute grounds would look at him, perhaps a little sympathetically.

The first afternoon, he was not able to pack anything. Could not bring himself to believe it. When the sun set, he took his car and drove to the address written on his papers—Stone street 542. The people making their beds under the nearest bridge were certainly not a good sign, nor were the policemen dressed in black and red that he saw detaining the same group of people as he was going back.

The house looked awful. If there had once been a facade, it had long moved to a better place. The exterior had been battered, broken, and the whole structure looked to be ready to crumble any moment.

The inside only served as proof of that premonition. Finding a wall that would not be sprayed with graffiti was a miracle. The elevator still worked, but the awful sounds it made as Dick boarded it said much of its age, as did all the texts written on its walls with a permanent marker, or directly carved into them with a sharp object.

“Eat, sleep, consume, die,” Dick read the largest writing right next to the buttons. “Lovely,” he muttered to himself.

The apartment itself was almost like heaven when compared to the rest of the building. No graffiti, no destroyed walls. Wet stains on a cracked white paint certainly didn’t look nice, but it was better than nothing. The fifth floor also offered a nice view directly into a window of the next house, sitting only about five metres away, at least as Dick guessed.

Everything in there was barren and empty. He would have to bring his own furniture, but that night, he could not force himself to even think about where to place what or what he could leave behind.

That realization only came the next morning. He partially wished that it had all just been a horrid dream, but when a reminding email landed in his inbox, the truth of it all came crashing down on him.

He packed all he could. Books were not necessary. As much as he loved owning a few physical copies, they were taking up too much space. Almost everything decorational had to be thrown out. He would only keep the most expensive stuff or something he knew was directly useful. His heart wept of each and every memento tossed into the box labelled “maybe”.

They came for him on the fourth day. Two policemen—one Myslit, and one human. That’s how they always travelled. An officer and their assistant. The moving van was parked outside, proudly bearing the logo of the Office of Necessity. Dick didn’t have to do almost anything but open the door for them and hand over his key. The small army dressed in black and red with the signature lightning and half-head on their shoulders did everything else, while the Myslit and the other policeman gave him a speech of how important technology is.

“It is simply the advancement of our era. Do not see it as a Myslit taking your work. Humans take each others’ jobs all the time. When someone better shows up, the other workers need to adapt. But do not be ashamed of failing to do so. Myslits are simply faster at learning, yet they learn just as we do. They do not take away your knowledge or steal information. They take it and process it just as we humans do. They are a tool at our disposal. One that pushes out old technology. When photography became available, people also complained, yet they learned to accept its presence. Just as you will learn to accept the presence of Myslits and find meaningful job opportunities in the future, perhaps in a different field. Nobody says you can’t be happy doing something new.”

Dick did not bother listening to it too attentively, but the Myslit always reminded him how paying attention was important to prevent “accumulation of needless malice.” As far as Dick was concerned, their speech was doing the opposite.

But what else could he do but listen? He once sang a similar song. He praised the technology’s advancement when they came for the journalist that lived at the ground floor. He praised the robots as they came for designer living next door. He praised the Myslits as they escorted out the accountants, the librarians, and the bus drivers. But that all felt so long ago. The age was different now. And he no longer felt like singing.

[ronniezhou]

Is that BROWNYN 'RONNIE' ZHOU? I heard the THIRTY THREE year old belongs to the NIGHTSHADE as a BOMB MAKER. I’d stay away from them if I were you. I heard they were OVERCONFIDENT, but they can also be RESOURCEFUL, so proceed at your own risk.

S T A T S

FULL NAME: Bronwyn Lan Zhou NICKNAME(S): Ronnie OCCUPATION: Bomb maker, although she tells everyone she's in animation

GENDER: Cis Woman PRONOUNS: She her NATIONALITY: American ETHNICITY: Chinese + White HOMETOWN: San Francisco USA SOCIAL CLASS:  Grew up lower class, currently upper middle class EDUCATION LEVEL: BS in robotic engineering, unfinished doctorate FATHER:  Frank Zhou MOTHER: Nina DeTourneau SIBLING(S): TBD CHILDREN: NOPE PET(S): TBD

B I O G R A P H Y

Bronwyn Zhao—better known as “Ronnie” to friends and fixers alike—was never meant to survive the world she grew up in, let alone outsmart it. Raised in a shitty apartment on the edge of Chinatown, Ronnie clawed her way through life with sharp instincts and a sharper tongue. Poor but preternaturally gifted, she made a name for herself by acing other people’s exams, ghostwriting dissertations, and building machines in her bedroom that schools couldn’t afford in their labs. The system never rewarded her, so she stopped pretending she wanted its approval.

She tried the route everyone told her to take—college, a future, something safe. Ronnie enrolled in a robotic engineering program with dreams of becoming one of those stories they trot out on scholarship brochures: girl from nowhere, makes it big. But it didn’t stick. The lectures bored her. The structure stifled her. She didn’t want to build robots for clean energy initiatives—she wanted to see what happened if you overclocked them and wired them to tripwire sensors.

She was social, shameless, and just cynical enough to stay two steps ahead. Ronnie didn’t ask questions when strangers paid her online to build “experimental timers” or “hypothetical detonation chains.” She figured it was some weird reddit survivalists, they were always into shit like that. She liked the challenge. It never crossed her mind that the message board was a recruitment net—until Nightshade showed up with real money, real consequences, and an offer she didn’t have the sense (or desire) to refuse.

Now, as one of Nightshade’s most inventive bomb-makers, Ronnie thrives in the liminal space between brilliance and disaster. She tells herself she’s just an inventor—that what happens after her creations leave her hands is above her paygrade. But deep down, some part of her knows she’s helping build the most lethal empire the city’s ever seen.

She lives well now—modest apartment, full fridge, occasional sushi—but makes a point not to look too closely at who’s holding the gun she just designed the trigger for. Ronnie’s charm, deflection, and occasional delusion keep her functional in a world she helped arm. She may be the friendliest face in Nightshade’s roster, but behind the grin is a mind that could burn this whole city down and still be proud of the blueprint.

H E A D C A N N O N S:

Ronnie still keeps her first homemade detonator in a cigar box under her bed—not because it works, but because it almost did.

She has a rule about never dating anyone who asks too many questions about her job, which leaves her mostly single and totally unbothered.

If you give her a soldering iron, a busted microwave, and 45 minutes, she can probably make something illegal.

She once blew up a car in a crowded parking garage just to test a containment method she invented—then calmly walked away eating a popsicle.

For someone who builds weapons for a living, she’s weirdly sentimental—she still sends her family money every month, even though they haven’t spoken in years.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S H E R E

[ultragift]

FROM: @zerosocialskillz TO: @vicesario A Gift For The Security Bot

A/N: V1 goes by it/they, V2 goes by he/they.

Also this takes place in an AU I made but it ain’t really that important.

It’s Christmas right now.

A red robot sat underneath the Christmas tree, making a replacement for their left arm after someone stole his original arm.

It is going to be a replica for his original arm after it is made clear that his predecessor is not going to give it back, as it has taken a liking to that bulky thing. That bastard.

V2 thought as he soldered a couple of wires in place. It’s going well so far, his predecessor not entering the room he is in, which is somewhere in the lust layer, where everyone is staying. For some reason.

He didn’t really care for the history of this place.

A knock on the door.

V2 stopped soldering. He got up, then opened the door.

It’s his predecessor, V1. It’s carrying a present, lovingly wrapped in red with yellow ribbons. Knowing them, Gabriel helped with that too.

V2 pointed at himself while tilting his head. V1 nodded gleefully. Remembering that one prank that has something to do with a box (and a lot of glitter, courtesy of that angel), V2 glared at them. V1 shook its head.

The security robot doesn’t believe them, but he lets the war machine in anyway.

...when the heck did they get along, after they tried to fight each other to the death?

Well, V2 did die, but that’s in an alternate timeline only V1 remembers anymore. Long story.

(Perhaps that previous timeline turned V1 into a magnet for enemies to friends—and even lovers—scenarios.)

Setting the present on another table separate from the knuckleblaster replica, the two V units unwrapped the box. It’s rectangular, very much so. It’s long, but it is a little wide. Long enough to fit a...!

Once the present is unwrapped, the two V units saw a brown box. Both of them are very hyped for what is inside, although V2 is pretty sure V1 already knows.

V1 and V2 grabbed the lid simultaneously, much to the two machines’ shock. They decided to do a little countdown and open the present together.

V1 brought up three fingers on one of their free arms, making sure V2 saw them. It then counted down from three.

Two fingers.

One finger.

A fist.

The two Vs opened the cardboard box that seemed to be custom made for whatever is inside, and wow was it gorgeous.

It’s V1’s standard left arm, the feedbacker. But... V1 already has one. Unless...

It’s a replica, isn’t it?

Oh, there seems to be a letter alongside the blue arm.

“I asked the angels (read: Gabe) if they could make a copy of my feedbacker! They agreed, even though I killed some of their inhabitants in both timelines.

Odd, isn’t it? I am a war machine and you two tried to kill me both times, and yet I chose to save and befriend you all.

And you know what? I prefer this over dying alone after running out of fuel! -V1”

V2 looked at the blue robot. He then mimicked a laugh, gently moving his shoulders up and down. They then gently pushed the war machine.

“Did the winged crybaby make it for me?” V2 asked through sign language with a smug look on his face.

V1 fell to the floor, ‘laughing’ very hard by the nickname V2 had assigned to poor little Gabriel.

While V1 was busy rolling on the floor laughing, V2 plugged the feedbacker on his left alongside his whiplash. Apparently, in the original timeline, V1 stole that too. After he died by falling off that pyramid. That bastard.

(To be fair, the knuckleblaster fell from his arm after the first fight, a fight it participated in after it was clear to V1 that it had no other choice but to, lest it die once more.)

(He’s still pissed that V1 decided to keep it, still.)

Moving the joints on the feedbacker replica, V2 tested the blue arm out. It seems to be well-made. Gabriel can seriously do that? Or did he actually get help from someone else?

Preferably not their creators. They suck. V2 and V1 can agree that much. V2 stood up, beckoning V1 to stand up. They seemed to know exactly what V2 was thinking. “Spar?” V2 asked through sign language. V1 excitedly nodded. They can’t wait to see how V2 does with the blue arm.

[lamuradex]

Short Story: Trust and Nemesis

Tales of Hero City Collection

Wordcount: 10858

Synopsis: When Justice Man's daughter is kidnapped, the hero turns to the only person he can trust... His nemesis, Mr Intellitron.

But can Intellitron tolerate the hero he hates long enough to rescue a little girl? And who could be so evil to kidnap Justice Man's daughter?

AO3 Link, for those that want it:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63833536

Please reblog, share, and enjoy the story!

Full Story Under The Break

Trust and Nemesis

Machinery buzzed and beakers bubbled. Screwdrivers tightened joints and soldering irons sizzled. Electricity sparked and lab-coated scientists ran between their stations. The laboratory was a bustle of unceasing activity, though the focus of the chamber was undoubtedly the gigantic computer at one end, where one man worked, sat in a large mechanical throne with little gears and cogs decorating it.

The man himself was something to see. His skin was a dull, sapphire-blue, while his hair and beard were a metallic-grey. Every hair zigzagged back and forth like lightning bolts, though his head was balding, exposing a shiny scalp with a failed lightning comb over. His face was sharp and crooked, his robotic left eye glowing green, the organic one just being a similar colour. One arm was mechanical, but moved as dexterously as the real thing, protruding from the sleeve of a long doctor’s coat which buttoned up one side, all dyed a darker shade of azure-blue to contrast with his skin.

He tapped ferociously at the keyboard with practiced ease. Data flashed across with alarming speed, alongside images of gigantic robots, airships and tanks. Finally, with a dramatic flourish, the plans combined into one giant machine. He stood and the entire room of scientists came to an abrupt halt. One was still holding a flask of chemicals, sweating nervously, unable to put it down.

“Finally!” their leader shouted. “I, Mr Intellitron, have devised the ultimate weapon. With this, I will be able to bring the world to its knees. They will grant me anything I desire, and in return, I’ll consider not destroying everything they hold dear,” he shouted malevolently, a mild mechanical hum edging his voice.

“Congratulations,” called the nearest scientist as everyone else broke into applause. There was a small explosion as a glass beaker was shaken unnecessarily.

“With this, no hero will ever threaten me again,” Intellitron continued, as if not noticing the crowd. “Not Stealth Watcher, not D-Fender and most notably of all, not even Justice Man! Even he will bow to the might of Intellitron!”

He stood with his arms extended dramatically. He remained so for a few seconds, then glared at his underlings until they applauded again. He stood, taking in the admiration, then without waiting for them to stop, lowered his arms and turned away.

“Get to work,” he bellowed. And they did.

With a start, everyone dropped what they had been working on and began the new project. Circuitry, mechanisms, jet engines. Every part was prepared, as Mr Intellitron loomed amongst his workers examining their labours. Completing a lap, he returned to the computer at the head of the room. He stood beside it, knowing that, soon enough, the world would fear him yet again.

Then an alarm blared as orange lights span on the ceiling. Intellitron watched as his scientists all stopped working. It was an orange alert. An orange alert meant an intruder in the complex, but that wasn’t anything to worry about. They were hidden beneath an old hospital, with over 50 levels of security between them and the entrance floor. Soon enough the henchmen upstairs would deal with the intruder, or at least they’d provide a report after they’d been clobbered by whoever it was.

“Come on, you slackers,” Intellitron shouted. “You’ve all seen orange alerts before. Keep working.”

And so they did, though some a little nervously. The orange alert continued to shriek for several minutes. As the seventh minute rolled past, even Intellitron was getting suspicious. There’d been no report from upstairs. No shut down of the alert. Maybe it was a glitch in the system. He’d have to check later. At least it wasn’t anything to be worried about. It wasn’t like it was a…

The sirens changed tone and the lights turned blue. A blue alert. The bottom 25 floors had been breached. Still no report though. All the scientists had stopped working. Intellitron turned and walked to his computer, pressing a button on the keyboard.

“What the hell is going on up there?” he roared.

“He’s coming your way, sir,” came the crackly reply. “We can’t stop him. He’s-”

The communication cut off with a burst of static.

Intellitron turned to the crowd, thinking. Who could have found his secret lab? It had to be a high calibre hero to get past this many defences. So, not D-Fender. It seemed too direct to be Stealth Watcher. Maybe someone with super strength, like Big William or The Wandering Fist? No, Fist was abroad fighting Mantis Monster and Big William wasn’t smart enough to have found the entrance. Maybe it was Gun Shooter? He could manage it on a good day. But he hadn’t heard gunfire. It had to be super strength. Maybe it was a villain? The Brutal Bruiser or maybe Dreadnought Face? Someone he owed money too, maybe.

The blue alert still squealed as he thought. The noise was infuriating, but it had to end soon. The Central Sanctum was guarded by Doom Droids, Terror Tanks, and even his elite guard of Henchmen. There were only two, maybe three heroes that could survive that onslaught alone.

Suddenly, the room was lit by spinning red lights. The siren ceased, replaced by a robotic voice repeating: “Red Alert. Sanctum Breached.”

The entire room erupted into panic. Per protocol, every scientist grabbed their work and ran for the exit. Intellitron stood near his mechanical throne, turning it to face the entrance.

This didn’t make sense though. Why would someone be attacking him now? He hadn’t done anything wrong yet! Also, who could it be? Of the heroes that could manage this sort of attack, two were currently dead, expected to be back fighting in a month, and the only other never would. It just wasn’t Justice Man’s style.

Justice Man, the powerful, grandiose, pompous buffoon. Super strength, telekinesis, flight, and an indestructible cape which he used as a shield. Beyond that though, he was an absolute chump! He thought he was the master of disguise, but just went around wearing a trench coat and a fake beard. It was idiotic. Most of the time the henchmen just ignored him. It was easier than confronting him and getting clobbered. He only fought if provoked, self-righteous to a fault. He was not the type to just attack out of the blue. This was not his style!

The sirens suddenly stopped as the door burst inwards, a man was launching though the open doorway. He landed near the throne, having flown quite some distance, wearing a shirt with “14” on the front, one of Intellitron’s 20 Elite Guard. He only managed a few words before passing out.

“Justice Man for you, sir,” he slurred, then fell unconscious.

The caped crusader walked in, marching towards Intellitron. His outfit was bright orange with a blue stipe down his chest, J.M printed across the middle. His cape was blue too, hung proudly behind him, flapping in some destruction born breeze. In build, he was practically triangular, broad chested with comparatively little legs. His head was shaved bald, as was his face, little eyes peering out from under a sturdy brow. Perhaps most unsettling of all though was he wasn’t disguised. No fake beard or anything. This wasn’t like him!

Intellitron leapt into his throne and pressed buttons on the arm rest. The chair began to levitate, energy cannons appearing out the sides. Intellitron himself drew a gun from his belt, the barrel glowing with strange light. As the dust from the door settled, Justice Man came to a stop some feet before the throne, the laser sights of all three barrels trained on him. Something of his expression was strange though. Serious and severe, but with taut, restrained emotion. Intellitron had never seen him like this, and it stayed his hand from the cannons.

The superhero stared at the supervillain.

“I need your help… They have my daughter,” Justice Man said simply.

Intellitron stopped. He checked his ears, wondering if he’d heard right. But Justice Man’s expression confirmed it. Behind whatever anger he was feeling, there was worry. Maybe even fear. Intellitron had never seen him like this. They’d fought for years, and the only anger he’d ever conjured was overdramatic and laced with self-righteousness. This was new. It looked strange on the hero’s features. He looked… scared.

“And so, you come to me?” Intellitron asked hesitantly.

“I need your help.”

“And you tore up my facility to get to me?”

“I tried to just ask at the entrance, but they wouldn’t listen.” Distress tinged his tone.

“Why me though?” Intellitron asked. “We’re enemies. Why would I help you, Justice Man?”

“Because I can’t get anyone else involved, and for all the horrors you’ve committed, I have never seen you hurt a child,” he said sincerely.

Intellitron thought again. It was true. He did have his own code, and hurting innocent people wasn’t especially part of it. Not unless he had to. Or it made things easier. But what if this was some trap by Justice Man? He quickly abandoned that thought. The big lug was a terrible liar, as proved by his disguises. He genuinely wanted his help. But even so…

“Look, if you’ve gotten yourself wrapped up with some other supervillain, that isn’t my problem,” Intellitron dismissed, waving his mechanical hand. “Whoever they are, and however they found out about your daughter, I can’t help you. Villains are just as secretive to each other as they are to you heroes. So please, if you would-”

“It wasn’t a supervillain,” Justice Man interrupted.

“What?”

“It wasn’t a villain. The government has her. They kidnapped my daughter,” he said through clenched teeth. His body was shaking with rage and he honestly looked close to tears.

“Oh…” Intellitron said feebly.

“Please, help me,” he pleaded, falling to his knees. “I can’t get another hero involved in this. Not where this is going. Not against the government. But I know you’d leap at the chance. And I wouldn’t trust any other villain to do this. Not with my daughter at risk. So please, please, help me!”

Intellitron looked down from his floating throne at the kneeling figure before him. There were so many occasions where’d he have relished this. Savoured it. But not like this. This wasn’t his victory. It was someone else crossing a line. The government had been getting more and more involved in super affairs for years, and that was to be expected. Super fights were something to be concerned about. But by messing with Justice Man, they’d messed with Intellitron too. He was Justice Man’s nemesis, his greatest nemesis, and that was something sacred. Something that the government just didn’t understand.

Intellitron looked up and noticed his henchmen had entered the room. They were slowly surrounding Justice Man, all armed with stun prods, and all looking like they were about to try and tickle a great white shark.

“All of you. Leave us,” Intellitron proclaimed. With some confusion, and then great relief, all the henchmen hurried out, one only stopping to drag 14 out with them. The moment they were gone and the doors locked, Intellitron cleared his throat. “So, what happened?”

“We were just out and about, when we were ambushed,” Justice Man described, almost wrapped in his cape like a comforter. “They hit me with something and out went the lights. When I woke up, she was gone.”

Intellitron went wide eyed. “They attacked when you were out as a civilian? Do they know who you are?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I was out in costume. She sometimes likes to fly before bed. I carry her over the city and she drops right off.” A small smile creased his face at the memory, then it fell as he recalled the rest.

“And how do you know it was the government?”

“I saw them. Vans, goons, tech. The first two shots missed, I tried to escape, and then they blasted me. Then I woke up and an hour had passed. And she was gone, stolen by those dumb creeps.” Justice Man welled up again. Intellitron didn’t know if it was appropriate to comfort him, and also didn’t know if he wanted to.

“So, were there any identifying marks? Letters on the vans? I mean, there’s a lot of difference between the FBI kidnapped her and a rogue police force kidnapped her.”

“I just told you. She was taken by those dumb creeps,” Justice Man said as if it were obvious.

“I don’t follow.”

“The DUMB. The D.U.M.B.?”

Intellitron stared at him blankly.

“The Defence Ultra Mobile Bureau,” Justice Man explained. “We heroes have only heard rumours about it, but a few villains have supposedly gone missing, disappeared into their vans. They’re some kind of anti-super initiative, government funded, and when they arrest a villain, the villain stays arrested.”

Intellitron turned and typed the letters D.U.M.B. into his computer and a few files popped up. Justice Man was right, surprisingly. There were reports of villains being snatched away, and even a couple of heroes, however those were unconfirmed. But no one had ever proved the agency even existed. Well, one person had… Intellitron saw the name in his files. Proof suddenly felt like the wrong word.

“Urgh,” the supervillain groaned, then reached for a phone concealed in his chair. “I have an idea how to track this stupid organisation, but for the record, I’m not happy about it.”

Without awaiting a response, Intellitron dialled and held the phone to his ear. He waited, tapping a foot. The phone picked up.

“Hello, you’re on with the Conspiracy News Room. What do you have to say, caller?”

“Jeff, drop the act. It’s Frank,” Intellitron said, barely holding the bile in his throat.

“Frank? As in the one and only Frank Intellitron? Well hasn’t this just made my day,” Jeff audibly grinned in a rehearsed radio chatter. “What brings you to my station, soul brother?”

“Jeff, I need everything you have on the D.U.M.B. You know who they are?”

“I do,” he audibly smirked. “The government’s black ops super-secret agency for fighting supers. They have spy satellites watching Cosmo Derringer’s house and they’ve bugged every phone booth in the city in case a hero changes costume in one. So far they’ve only caught the lizard people in them.”

Intellitron rubbed his eyes tiredly. From Jeff’s tone alone, he could tell the nut was wearing his tinfoil hat. He usually was.

“Yes. Those ones,” he sighed. “Any clues on how to find them?”

“I’ve only found a few clues myself, but THE MAN doesn’t want them broadcast,” Jeff complained. He pressed a button and played the recorded sound of booing. “But, if you really want it, I can leave the intel in the usual place,” he continued.

“How much do you have?”

“A few maps, the brain reading patterns from one of their machines, and the dental records of someone who worked there, though he died in a freak accident. But of course, THE MAN would call it an accident, wouldn’t they. I mean, how many people are killed in rain induced traffic accidents really. Pancaked by a semi-truck indeed,” he doubted.

Intellitron rubbed the bridge of his nose. Despite all appearances, Jeff and his Conspiracy News Room were one of the best sources of information in the city. He gathered info from everywhere, you just needed to work out which bits were sane. Sure, he ran a radio show, but his viewing figures rated in the low single digits on a good day, and somehow in the negatives on an average day. No one would overhear. Even so, it was most people’s last resort to avoid hurting themselves in frustration.

“I’ll take anything you’ve got,” Intellitron said finally.

“Well, not for free, soul brother,” Jeff said slyly. “I’ll want my fee. You know what I want.”

“Do I have to?” Intellitron almost begged.

“Of course you do. Next week, I want you in here. An interview with you might even put my viewing figures into the double digits,” Jeff imagined dreamily. “Plus, I really want to hear your thoughts on nanobots being put into Q-tips by big ear cleaning companies.”

Intellitron slapped his own forehead. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“Good. The files will be in the old post box on third. I’m pretty sure that’s only a few streets from that old hospital you’re hiding under. And I’ll see you next week, soul brother. And now, for our next caller.” And the line went dead.

Intellitron kept his hand on his face. He was annoyed for several reasons. One, the D.U.M.B. Two, the nanobots in the Q-tips had actually been one of his own failed plans, and now he felt like an idiot. And three, he already knew that, somehow, every villain in the city would tune in to hear him interviewed by Jeffery “I think the Government are putting mind control in the meatballs” Beckham.

He put the phone back in his pocket and groaned.

“You owe me for this,” he said to Justice Man, who had only heard half the conversation and was now huddled in the fetal position.

“Who did you call?” he asked meekly.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re a trustworthy source…. most of the time. And you still owe me.”

“I can’t pay you.”

“We’ll sort something out later. Now follow me.”

Mr Intellitron led Justice Man out the way he’d entered, observing all the damage the hero had caused. Broken shutters, destroyed Doom Bots, henchmen smashed through walls. One wall had a perfect silhouetted hole of Henchman 7, identifiable because he was still lying unconscious in the next room.

As they reached the main elevator shaft, the rest of Intellitron’s personal guard were cleaning up, each of them numbered 1 through 20. Intellitron stopped and all stood at attention.

“Henchman 4? You go and start mopping the hall. Henchman 8? Go and wake up Henchman 7. Henchman 19? Clean out the fridge. It was filthy last I checked. And Henchman 14?” he turned to see 14, who was sat up and rubbing his head. “You’re in charge while I’m gone. Make sure the scientists are brought back in, then prepare evacuation procedures and contact Mr Derringer. We’re going to need to move.”

“Yes, sir,” 14 groaned through his headache.

Intellitron and Justice Man headed for the elevator and stepped in. As the doors closed, Justice Man cleared his throat.

“You put a lot of responsibility on those guys. Do you even know their names?”

“Their names are 1 through 20,” Intellitron stated. “That’s all that matters to me,”

“Even that 14 fellow?”

“I think his name’s Ted or Jed or something? I don’t learn the names of my underlings.”

* * *

The Old Post-Box on Third, as Jeff put it, was an old abandoned pillar box on an empty street corner. Or at least, it had been. With recent improvements to the city, the pillar box was now on the corner of a busy intersection with a mall nearby and eight restaurants surrounding it.

“Stupid gentrification,” Intellitron cursed from a nearby rooftop. His hover throne was several feet behind him, Justice Man beside him, similarly examining the problem.

“Lots of people, and we don’t want to get spotted,” Justice Man assessed, stating the obvious.

“Yes,” Intellitron tried to skip past it. “Unfortunately all the intel is in there. We need to get close.”

“Oh! I have an idea!” Justice Man leapt back from the edge, his voice taking on its familiar heroic tones. Intellitron didn’t even have to turn around as he heard the flurry of clothes. He groaned pre-emptively.

When he turned to look, his fears were confirmed. Justice Man was in his “disguise”, wearing a tan trench coat, a fake beard, and some fake glasses. It did nothing to conceal the florescent orange of his outfit, nor the gargantuan muscles on display.

“No…” Intellitron interrupted, but Justice Man just smiled.

“I can go down there and no one will be any the wiser. Admit it. You only realised it was me now, because who else could it have been.”

Intellitron was torn. Just let him try, and have the illusion collapse around him, or take the opportunity to tell him to his face that the disguise was terrible. But, with the amount of denial on display, it was entirely possible the big lug wouldn’t believe the truth either way, and they were on the clock.

“As impressive as that is,” Intellitron said, trying his bloody hardest to sound sincere, “might the civilians think it strange if another civilian, as you clearly are, starts messing with a post-box?”

“Blast, you’re right.” Justice Man snapped his fingers in annoyance. “Then how? It’s not like I can just go down there and steal from it. I’m a hero, even if there is something on the line.”

A metaphorical lightbulb went on over Intellitron’s head.

“You can’t go down and steal it, but I can.”

A few minutes passed while they planned, then everything went into action. With a villainous cackle, Intellitron descended in his hover throne. People spotted him and fled in all directions. He continued to laugh, and make vague yet significant declarations.

“This city will be mine. None shall stop me,” he said loudly. He usually prepared a little better, but it would serve its purpose. “And no hero could ever defeat me!”

On his cue, Justice Man swooped down. All he had to do was perform a little banter, throw the letter box at Intellitron, and then they’d leave. The plan almost immediately came apart when Justice Man was still wearing his trench coat and beard.

“Halt, villain!” he announced.

Intellitron ground his teeth. “Oh, who could this heroic figure be?” he played along unwillingly, doing his best to try and point it out in case the hero hadn’t actually noticed.

Justice Man looked confused, looked at himself, then a flash of realisation crossed his features. He threw off the disguise and stood proudly in his costume.

“It is I, Justice Man! I am here to stop you, Mr Intellitron. For too long you have stalked our streets, haunted our highways and tormented our towers. You must be stopped today!”

Intellitron scowled. Even for Justice Man it was stilted. Either his head wasn’t in the game, which would be understandable, or he usually prepared more… and considering his unusual standard, that would be pretty embarrassing.

“I will stop you myself, for I am Justice Man. I am justice, and goodness, and the soul of this city and all its-”

Intellitron subtly tapped where his watch would be.

“Oh, right,” Justice Man realised, then threw the pillar box. He had to wrench it from the ground to do it, but he threw it like a tennis ball with one brutal swing.

Intellitron was, quite frankly, a little surprised. He would have panicked, but he honestly didn’t have time. The pillar box hit his throne’s shields like a car crash, exploding into two pieces, its contents spilling out into the open air. Amongst the wreckage and metal chunks, there was a large file in a sealed plastic bag. Intellitron had just enough wherewithal to grab it out of the air and conceal it under his seat.

“Oh no,” he said theatrically. “You have damaged my chair. I must retreat to repair it. Curse you, Justice Man!” he announced as boldly as he could. He didn’t care if he sounded convincing. If anyone doubted his authenticity, they’d just think he was trying to trick Justice Man. With a few button presses, the chair rose and swooped away over the rooftops.

“Get back here, you scoundrel,” Justice Man said awkwardly, putting the emphasis on all the wrong words. He then took off in fake pursuit.

* * *

As annoying as Conspiracy Jeff was, his file was comprehensive. It described some of the origins of the D.U.M.B. and their purpose as a government agency. They had once been just an anti-villain operation, but under new management and the amazing revelation that heroes could turn evil too, the operation had gone a little rogue. Of course, it was difficult to be sure how accurate the file was, with Jeff’s occasional references to snake people, in league with the lizard people, as well as ley lines, but it did include a location.

Justice Man and Intellitron were perched on a cliff, overlooking the rocky plains which were located just 20 miles outside the city. Hero City and its surrounding Super County truly were a freak accident of landscape geography, featuring rocky plains, mountains, ice caves, lava veins and even a shoreline. However, even without Jeff, they might just have found the base sooner or later.

The D.U.M.B. facility was a set of eight or nine domes, slap bang in the middle of the plains. The domes were only the surface layer of a larger complex, but it was still outstandingly prominent. A feeble attempt had been made to write “Plastics Factory” across a dome for cover.

Government agents really needed to improve their secret base skills, Intellitron thought to himself.

While Intellitron examined the facility, Justice Man was tensely quiet, crouched by some rocks. Their little performance in the city had been fun, but seeing the facility had brought back the horrid reality for him. His daughter was in there and he had to save her.

“So, I suppose you want to smash your way in?” Intellitron said, trying to pull him out of his funk.

“No,” Justice Man answered flatly. “Can’t risk it.”

“Well, trying to get in stealthily is going be a real challenge, Justice Man, not that I don’t appreciate a challenge. Just saying, the amount you’ll owe me at the end of this is raising by the minute,” the villain half joked.

Justice Man’s brow darkened.

“Is that all this is to you?” he growled, shooting to his feet. “You help me, then I owe you some devious favour? Especially when I can’t possibly say no? Or are you going to use my daughter against me too, just to make sure I obey?” he snarled.

Intellitron froze, raising hands in a familiar gesture of surrender. Against his usual goofiness, the big guy’s anger was honestly intimidating. It was a stark reminder that, even with his silly powers and his silly manner, if he wanted he could snap an ordinary person like a twig.

“I was joking, big guy,” Intellitron soothed. “I’ll admit I’ve been considering how you’d pay me back for this, but it was never going to be a big deal. Lift something heavy for me, turn a blind eye to a theft or two, something like that. Maybe you pay for the damages to my hideout or the mortgage on my new lair. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh,” Justice Man deflated and sat back down. “Apologies, my old nemesis,” he said, his heroic tones returning, seemingly as a coping mechanism.

“It’s no big deal. I do have some standards, and hurting children is beyond my threshold. Plus, these D.U.M.B. thugs are a threat to both of us, aren’t they? Targeting heroes and villains?”

“I know, but still… I’m kind of amazed you’re not raking me over the coals on this,” Justice Man said honestly.

“The enemy of my enemy is my…well, you’re not my friend,” Intellitron amended.

“I do get that, my old nemesis. It’s sort of why I’m surprised you’re not siding with them, just to spite me. I know how much you hate me, and I’ve never blamed you for that. It’s understandable considering… you know,” he finished awkwardly.

Intellitron stopped, looking away from the facility. His interest was piqued because, in fact, he did not know.

“Justice Man, why do you think I hate you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Justice Man sat up straight again, shuffling uncomfortably. “Surely you know. Why wouldn’t you know? Why don’t you tell me why you think you hate me?” he dodged childishly.

“I know why I hate you. It’s because of your insufferable arrogance, your entrenched optimism for the human condition, your unwavering enforcement of the status quo. It’s because of your unflinching refusal to accept that the world might need to change if it’s going to move forwards and, to a lesser extent, your denial that I’d be the best man for the job. Why? Why do you think I hated you?”

“Your arm…” Justice Man said meekly.

Intellitron stopped and looked down at his robotic right arm. There was something he hadn’t thought about for a long time.

“I blew up your escape chair the first time we fought,” Justice Man recalled. “Then, when you next appeared, you had a robot arm. I’d always assumed it was my doing. And, if I’m honest, it has always been one of my few genuine regrets. I didn’t realise that the chair would explode, and I didn’t realise what could come from it. If I’d realised that I might motivate one of the most sinister villains in the city, perhaps I wouldn’t have done it.”

Intellitron stared at his arm, partially reflecting and partially admiring his own craftsmanship. He looked to Justice Man and saw the veiled guilt on his features. Another new sight today. The villain smiled.

“Justice Man, I haven’t given that a second thought since it happened,” he admitted.

“Pardon?” Justice Man stared at him.

“Sure, I lost my arm after our first fight, and it was your telekinesis blast that did it, but I never blamed you. I blamed myself for not shielding those fuel cells properly. Also, you’re assuming that I grieved for it for one moment. I didn’t. I don’t know if you realise this, but having a robot arm is rad! Why would I want to be an ordinary plain human when I can be a cyborg? But I don’t need to tell you that, do I? I’m assuming you’re originally human, so your powers came from somewhere, and you chose to keep them, right?”

“Experiment gone wrong when I was a kid, but yes, I take your point.” Justice Man nodded. “So you don’t hold your arm against me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then what about your eye? I can’t remember when you got that.”

“I had it when we first fought, don’t worry.”

“Then how did you get it?” the hero asked curiously.

“Did it myself. Only one eye needed glasses, and there’s no way I’m paying those prices for lenses. Not when science could do better,” Intellitron answered proudly.

“And your skin?”

“What about it?”

“It’s… blue,” Justice Man said awkwardly.

“Oh, that’s just a skin condition,” Intellitron shrugged. “My dad had it too, and he was bricklayer."

“Huh.”

“Now to get us back on track,” the villains stated, refocusing the conversation. “You don’t need to worry about your daughter with me, Justice Man. I know most days I want to destroy you, but I wouldn’t hurt her. I have my own code and sense of honour. Besides, I have a family myself.”

“You do?!” Justice Man blurted.

“A sister, a brother-in-law, cousins. I even have a little niece who I hear admires me. I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she looks at me with stars in her eyes,” Intellitron recalled, a genuine smile creasing his features. “For all my villainy, I could never hurt your daughter. This fight is between you and me. No one else.”

“We will battle to the end,” the hero agreed triumphantly.

“I do have one last question though, before we start,” Intellitron cut him off, almost sensing the dramatic music that would lead them to battle. “Does your daughter have your powers, or any of her own?”

“No. Nothing of the sort.”

“So they haven’t taken her for study, or if they have they’re ill informed,” Intellitron resolved.

“Right.”

“Then you realise she’s likely bait for you. This is almost certainly a trap.”

“When has that ever stopped me before?” the hero said proudly.

It was true. The amount of times Intellitron had laid plans and traps, and the hero had knowingly walked into them, “sneaking” past his best guards, through lairs and bases and warehouses. How often Justice Man would charge in headfirst, like a bull in a China shop?

But he always survived. It was honestly impressive, even if it was usually to Intellitron’s disadvantage. The odds never scared Justice Man, and for today, they wouldn’t frighten Intellitron either.

He looked at the hero proudly and smiled.

“Let’s do this,” he said simply, and jumped into his hovering throne.

* * *

The pair flew over to the closest dome and slipped in via a roof panel, Intellitron leaving his hover-throne outside. Down a few air ducts, along some circuit conduits, and finally having Justice Man punch through a grate, they found themselves inside the facility. Steel floors and walls surrounded them, though there was a notice board on one wall and a few pot plants in the corners. Carpets had been put down, leaving the steel visible at the edges. While still sinister, it had all the banality of a tax office.

“Urgh. Government buildings really know how to suck the soul out of evil, don’t they?” Intellitron observed.

“There’s a certain charm to it,” Justice Man disputed, a man who had clearly never worked an office job.

“Let’s get moving,” Intellitron led them on.

The pair crept along the corridor, but it was silent and empty. After a few minutes the tense drama of it all gave way to casual walking, until Intellitron spied a glowing screen and stopped them.

“Information,” he said, entering the room and approaching the computer. The room was dark and there were rows of computers, but only one was switched on. Justice Man followed him in, shifting his bulky form between several desks.

“Is this important, Intellitron?” he whispered.

“Any info we can get could help us. Who knows how big this place is.” Intellitron reached up and pulled a small wire from a port on his bionic eye. The cable had a USB plug on the end. He fed it into the computer, taking a moment to get the USB the right way, then began searching through their files.

* * *

In a control room elsewhere in the facility, a worker at a computer bank received a flashing red warning.

“Uh oh,” he said, then ran to get his boss.

* * *

“Map, map, map, where is the map,” Intellitron murmured to himself.

Meanwhile, Justice Man waited. He was both impatient and unsure what to do next, so he just stood tapping his foot. He spotted a pot of coffee steaming away, so walked over to examine it. He didn’t like coffee, but it was something to do. In fact, he generally steered clear of caffeine. Being hyper didn’t mix well with super powers. But he smelled it, and the rich beans were pleasant enough. Then a little lightbulb went on in his head. It flickered on slowly, like a light in a gas station bathroom. Justice Man wasn’t stupid, but his planning rarely went past smash things until the villain’s plan stopped. As such investigation was a little out of his way, but something slowly dawned on him.

“Um, Intellitron?” he said as the realisation came into view.

“What is it? I’m cracking passwords,” Intellitron grumbled, focusing on the data in his eye.

“This coffee is still hot,” Justice Man stated.

“Coffee tends to be…” Intellitron stopped and turned, the same realisation already on his features.

The room light switched on and a man in a shirt and tie walked in with a report.

“Vanessa? That you? I swear, if you take my stapler again I’ll take those novelty pencil sharpeners from your desk and I’ll-” The man froze as he saw the hero and the villain in the room.

“Well, as stealth goes, this is not my finest hour,” Intellitron said.

“Intruders!” the man went to yell. He didn’t manage it though. He only got to “Intru-” before he was lifted into the air by Justice Man’s telekinesis. A purple aura surrounded him and he suddenly went very quiet.

“Where is my daughter?” Justice Man asked, turning the man to face him.

“That’s not my department.” The man did his absolute best to shrug.

“Well who’s is it?”

“Human resources?” the man said. It was unclear if he was joking or if it was a genuine serious guess. Either way, Justice Man scowled. The man grinned in terror. “Oh, Vanessa will know. I’ll just call her.”

The hero’s scowl vanished for a look of worry. “No, don’t call Vanessa,” Justice Man warned.

The worker paused. The cogs turned and he suddenly realised his advantage. With the devilish smile of someone with the opportunity to screw over someone else and make havoc for his bosses at the same time, he inhaled to yell.

“Vaness-” was all he managed, before a beam fired from Intellitron’s eye and froze him in a new blue aura.

“Wow, you are bad at this,” the villain commented, then walked over, stretching the cable to the computer. “Basic stasis beam. He’ll be frozen for about ten minutes. Might suffer a little memory loss if I calibrated it correctly.”

As Intellitron reached the frozen man, utterly unharmed but fixed in time, he picked up a piece of paper and a pen, wrote something on the paper, and then affixed it to the frozen man with some tape. The sign read:

“Sorry. Experimental Stasis Weapon Accident. May cause memory loss or hallucinations. If he wakes up shouting about seeing things that aren’t there, then please ignore him. May have also done something to the computer. Signed, Vanessa.”

“Wow! Good thinking,” Justice Man admired.

Intellitron almost did a double take at this opinion, but before he could, his eye sparked and he flinched, pulling the cable from the computer. “Blast it!” he cursed.

“What?”

“They locked me out of the system. Still, I got a map and a few files. We should move.”

“Does that mean they know we’re here?” Justice Man worried.

“They might suspect, but for all they know it’s an embezzling employee. Just keep an eye out for cameras.”

* * *

In the control booth, the boss had arrived. She was a thin woman with tightly put up bronze hair wearing a buttoned up black suit. In perhaps her late twenties, her features were sharp and fierce, with thin lips and piercing eyes. Makeup adorned her face, with blush on her cheeks and barely a suggestion of blue eyeshadow.

“Did you seal the leak?” she asked. Even her tone was sharp.

“Shut off access, but we can’t be sure what they got,” her worker reported, typing at his console.

“And who are ‘They’ in this equation?”

“Not sure yet. A hacker maybe, but they’d have to be inside the building. This facility is off the grid. We don’t even have proper internet.”

“I know. I designed it that way,” she hissed.

“Of course, Ma’am…” the worker floundered for a moment “I’m sending a squad to investigate the access point. I just hope it isn’t Jerry trying to up his pay again.”

The boss just glared at him, then mercifully rolled her eyes.

* * *

Following the map, the pair hurried along the corridors keeping a cautious eye out for cameras. It was actually a novel experience for Intellitron. Sure, he’d broken into and robbed a ton of places in his career, but very rarely had he done it stealthily. Usually, it was: Blast open door, announce presence and intentions, then set henchmen to their tasks. Sneaking about was fun, with its frisson of danger. But, much to his surprise, there were no cameras. He’d honestly expected to have been caught ten minutes ago.

The staff were equally lax. They’d encountered one person directly, but two floors down now, and they’d only heard a couple of people in the distance. If this was a government agency, it was either woefully underfunded or deeply unpopular. Probably both.

As they rounded a corner, Intellitron held up a hand. They both stopped. The tell-tale sounds of a man whistling were coming from around the bend, and he sounded incredibly bored. Intellitron reviewed the map in his head and suppressed a groan.

“The next stairs are just past him,” he whispered to Justice Man.

“He’ll move on. These sorts of guards always patrol in loops,” the hero said knowingly.

Intellitron paused. Those were the instruction he gave his own guards, to patrol in little predictable patterns. In hindsight, it seemed like a blatant design flaw. He put that thought on a to-do-list, then moved on.

“He’s not moving. Looks like he’s guarding some lab vault. I don’t know why you need a guy to stand there when you could just have a key card or a code, but…”

“So we have to sneak past him,” Justice Man considered, stepping back. Intellitron was tapping his robot hand and thinking when he heard the familiar, unsettling sound of cloth. He turned to see Justice Man in his full trench coated disguise.

Intellitron tried not to grind his teeth further. “Justice Man, I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Not alone it won’t,” Justice Man affirmed, producing a second trench coat. There was even a second false beard, which Intellitron felt was a little redundant. He did wonder how Justice Man had changed so fast… Actually, the real mystery was where the hero had gotten either disguise from, as his hero costume didn’t look to have pockets. The villain decided not to question it. Sometime it was just best not to.

“It really won’t work,” Intellitron reinforced.

“Not with that attitude.”

Intellitron could see there was no dissuading him. Not unless he could think of a really good reason. Luckily, he found one.

“J.M., my skin is blue. I’m sure he’ll notice that.”

“Damn, your right,” Justice Man cursed under his breath, as Intellitron breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright. I’ll get him to leave, then you can slip past.”

“Wait, what?” Before Intellitron could object further, Justice Man was around the corner and approaching the guard.

“How do you do, fellow D.U.M.B. member?” the disguised Justice Man greeted.

The guard, to his credit, kept a straight face. He was armed with a machine gun and looked the newcomer up and down, from the trench coat that was almost bursting with all his muscles, to the obviously fake beard hanging from his ears. His eyes stopped on the pair of glasses over Justice Man’s nose, noting how they didn’t even have lenses in them.

“And who are you?” he asked, his voice like gravel.

“I am from accounts. I was sent to tell you there is a problem with your paycheque and you must go to human resources to have it sorted out,” Justice Man announced, his voice stilted and flat.

“But why would someone from accounts know that? They don’t deal with the paycheques.” The guard was clearly just playing along, unsure if this was a prank or an actually intruder. Either way, they were likely getting shot.

“Oh, Stacy from the chequing department told me to tell you-” He paused to desperately search for a nametag. To his glee, there was one, hidden partially behind a combat knife. “-Alan. We were chatting at the water cooler and it came up. She asked if I could tell you.”

“But there are only three people in the chequing department, and all of them are men,” the guard stated. He’d definitely decided this was an intruder who was about to get shot.

“Well, that’s the glass ceiling for you.”

“What?” the guard asked in bewilderment.

“Anyway, you should go and sort out that paycheque thing. I need to get back to accounts.” And Justice Man turned to walk away.

“Why is someone from accounts even down here? This isn’t-” he paused, his useless argument dying in his throat as something caught his eye. A scrap of orange and blue fabric beneath the coat. His eyes went wide as he stared Justice Man in the face, finally recognising him. Then he noticed the blue man peering around the corner. He raised a hand, pointing at the villain. “Oh my god! You’re-”

He was cut off as dart fired from Intellitron’s arm into his neck and he was out like a light. Justice Man turned to Intellitron with an annoyed expression.

“Look at that. I almost had him believing it before he spotted you.”

Intellitron went to say something but just couldn’t. It just wasn’t worth the argument.

“Sorry, Justice Man. I’ll be more careful next time,” he said instead, with as much flat sarcasm as he could manage.

“It’s quite alright. You’re no master of stealth and disguise like I am,” Justice Man grinned.

Again, Intellitron had to remind himself the argument just wasn’t worth it.

* * *

In the control booth, the boss was reading reports. An admin from the first floor found in a state of hysterics, rambling incoherently that no one would believe him. A strange Justice Man sighting in the city earlier in the day. And now someone had found a guard named Alan hastily stuffed into a cupboard, and they hadn’t yet managed to wake him.

“It has to be him. Justice Man is here,” she stated to her underling.

“All security has been alerted, ma’am. Search teams are already moving.”

“Don’t bother,” she instructed. “This was always part of the plan, and now he’s arrived. Deploy twenty troops to the Crisis Chamber and arm them for war. Justice Man won’t go down easy. And I want confirmation of his location. Why don’t we have security footage of him?”

“Camera’s aren’t in the budget, ma’am. We’re already stretching our funds with this facility as it is.”

The boss cursed to herself, but loud enough for anyone to hear. She hated governmental budget cuts.

* * *

As Justice Man and Intellitron descended another floor, the atmosphere became a lot less welcoming. Gone were the office furnishings, pot plants and wood panelling. Now everything was hard, grey steel, and the corridors were wide and ominous. They could hear people marching, but the echoes made it impossible to tell where they were coming from.  The strip lights were pale and clinical, and a sign on the final set of stairs read “No unauthorised personnel, under pain of death”.  It certainly told them everything they needed to know.

They slipped between the corridors, Justice Man back in his original costume. Intellitron was leading them to something labelled “The Crisis Chamber”, which from the information he could gather was where they kept their prisoners.

They rounded a corner into the sight of twenty armed guards.

“Fire!” one yelled. Another fired.

A rocket erupted from a bazooka flying straight down the corridor. For all Intellitron’s experience, there wasn’t much of a plan for “rocket in a corridor”. Certainly not enough of a plan to improvise a solution. By the time he’d even understood what was happening, it was too late.

Fortunately, the rocket stopped in mid-air, frozen by a purple aura. Justice Man had a finger to his temple, focusing on the explosive, keeping it still.

“Thanks, J. Man,” Intellitron said, just a little shaken. He reached forwards and plucked the rocket out of the aura, its fuel having already run out. He held it in his mechanical hand, then tossed it casually in the air like a tennis ball. He looked at the soldiers, holding the missile up for them to see.

“Fall back!” their commander shouted, as Intellitron cricket bowled the missile back at them. It exploded, but the men had gotten clear and were now moving to flank the pair in the interconnecting corridors.

“Where is she?” Justice Man asked.

“Straight ahead, big guy,” Intellitron answered, pressing a button on his wrist and activating a personal force field. “Question. Are we killing these people? I know how you heroes get about your ethics.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t, but I wouldn’t grieve for them,” the hero said coldly.

“I can work with that.”

And they split off to fight the soldiers.

Justice Man hurtled ahead and followed where half the soldiers had fled. He flew up behind them as they turned, raising machine guns. He landed and flipped his cape to cover him. The bullets hit the fabric, but every one of them bounced off the flexible, yet indestructible material.

“You can’t hurt me! My cape is bulletproof!” he proclaimed in a rehearsed catchphrase.

For a few seconds there was noise and gunfire, then the men were out of bullets. As they moved to reload, Justice Man pounced. He swept his cape away from his face and focused his mind. A purple aura surrounded each man’s gun, then slammed the weapons into the wall, shattering them to splinters. Disarmed, they all looked at Justice Man with varying looks of terror. The man closest was brave enough to pull a knife.

Justice Man punched him so hard he landed twenty feet down the corridor. The rest watched his limp form with a sense of inevitable dread.

“We’re sorry?” one soldier ventured.

Justice Man smiled.

The corridor became a brawling pit as Justice Man charged. Within thirty seconds, and with a lot of cracks and yelps, every soldier was soon piled in a corner, all on top of each other.

Intellitron was almost sympathetic, hearing fist meet face. But, even if he did feel bad, which he didn’t, it wasn’t going to stop him taking out the rest.

Intellitron, instead of pursuing, followed a corridor to intercept his batch. By the time he reached them, walking at a leisurely pace, they had formed up and were ready to open fire. Bullets rained against him, but each one vaporised against the villain’s energy shield, a bubble of crackling light around him. The shield was even melting bits of the wall where it intersected. He strode forwards, casual as you like, unable to even see the soldiers for all the lead hitting the energy barrier. Then they ran out of ammo and began to retreat, pulling pistols. One ran to grab the bazooka again.

Intellitron locked the rocketeer in his sights and smiled. In a blue flash, his stasis beam fired, and the soldier froze in place. Keeping up his leisurely pace, he advanced, his shield taking more bullets, his stasis beams firing, and the soldiers retreating in terror. One soldier was smart though. He saw a stasis locked soldier pass harmlessly through the shield and realised it was safe. He charged, knife ready, and passed through the shield, coming face to face with Intellitron.

Intellitron reeled back, unlocked a piston in his robot arm, and punched the soldier like an industrial pile driver. He didn’t go flying, but did three summersaults before he hit the floor. Intellitron fired a couple more stasis beams and finally there was only one soldier, who was on his knees, out of ammo, and begging.

Intellitron just scowled. “Really? You think I’m going to be merciful? I’m a supervillain!”

Seeing pity wouldn’t work, the man shrugged, drew a knife and threw it. It hit the shield, exploded into particles, and fell to floor as ashes.

“Well, that’s a little better,” Intellitron stared, then stasis beamed him where he knelt.

The villain walked back up the corridor and shot a sleep dart into every downed trooper, even the ones in stasis. As he headed back, a janitor was already picking up the man who’d been punched and was loading him onto a cart, not paying any mind to the supervillain.

Intellitron and Justice Man reunited outside the Crisis Chamber door, which was huge and heavily armoured. Justice Man looked relaxed, like he’d gotten the anger out of his system, while Intellitron just felt smug in victory. He walked over to a control panel, pressed a few buttons, and the door began to hiss open.

The Crisis Chamber was a massive spherical room, almost fifty foot wide. A suspended platform hung at its centre, with a walkway leading over to it. In the centre of the platform was a chair with steel restraints. And in the chair was a small figure.

Justice Man lit up. He flew over and began to pry the little girl free.

“Honey, are you okay?” he pleaded.

“Dad! You came to rescue me,” she chirped. By her voice, she couldn’t have been older than eight.

“Of course I did, honey. Of course I did,” he wrapped her in a hug, all his stress flowing out.

Intellitron slowly wandered over, not wanting to disrupt the heartfelt scene. But he knew they weren’t out of trouble yet.

* * *

The boss was almost steaming. The janitor, of all people, had reported that all the men had been defeated. And worse, Justice Man wasn’t alone.

“Please tell me, for the love of god, that we have a camera in the Crisis Chamber,” she snarled.

“We do, ma’am. We need to keep an eye on the prisoners,” the underling said hurriedly. He pressed a few buttons and punched up a black and white, low quality video feed. “Look, there’s Justice Man. There’s his daughter. Now who’s that with him?”

“Is that who I think it is,” she sneered. She knew she was right.

“Oh lord,” the underling said, panic rising. “It’s an Incident 10-14. We managed to trigger a 10-14. We don’t have protocols for a 10-14! We can’t deal with a hero/villain team up! Especially not that villain!”

The boss just stared at the screen. As much as she hated to admit it, and didn’t plan to do so, her underling was right. They couldn’t deal with this.

“Give the evacuation order, then lock them in and trigger the self-destruct,” she ordered. “If we’re lucky, they’ll die together.”

* * *

Justice Man hugged his daughter and reassured her that everything would be okay. Intellitron drew close, but could only see chocolate-brown pigtails amongst his muscular arms.

“Not to ruin the moment, but we should go,” Intellitron intruded.

Justice Man flinched as he recalled he wasn’t alone, subtly putting himself between Intellitron and his daughter. “Um, yes… Just a minute,” he said quickly, pulling out his disguise again.

“Seriously? I’m not going to hurt her,” Intellitron groaned.

“Better safe than sorry,” Justice Man explained.

When he’d finished, his daughter was in his arms and wearing his disguise. The trench coat was draped around her, the beard covered most of her face, and the pair of fake glasses were perched with some difficulty on her nose. He’d even produced a wig from somewhere which was clearly an old mop thrown messily over her tresses.

Intellitron did have to admit, it actually concealed her identity quite well.

“Now, let’s get Justice Girl out of here,” Justice Man said triumphantly. The little girl giggled at the nickname, a sound that warmed even Intellitron’s icy heart.

“Alright, Justice Man and daughter of Justice Man. Let’s get out of here before-”

The doors behind them slammed shut. Around them, gears moved and cogs repositioned as the bulkheads locked. It was followed by a blaring siren and flashing alert lights.

“Self-destruct activated. Please evacuate the facility. Self-destruct activated. Please evacuate the facility,” a computer voice announced.

* * *

“Really? You couldn’t have done that more quietly? Maybe catch them by surprise?” the boss said bitterly.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s health and safety. Legally, we have to warn all staff before blowing up the facility.”

“Typical freaking bureaucracy,” she swore.

* * *

Justice Girl, as she was now dubbed, leaned into her father’s shoulder. Justice Man looked around worriedly, trying to spy an escape route. Meanwhile Intellitron was identifying the brand of self-destruct system. Not for any strategic advantage, purely out of curiosity.

“I’m guessing you two don’t have a plan to get out?” he asked calmly.

Justice Man shook his head, trying not to worry his daughter.

“Thought so. Well, good thing I came prepared.”

Intellitron extended his robot arm and his hand began to fold away. It slotted into the wrist and the entire arm began to reconfigure, metal and circuitry realigning. With electronic whirring, and a few more clicks, everything slotted into place. His forearm had been replaced with something that more resembled a glowing jet turbine.

“Cover her ears,” he warned.

Justice Man did so, as Intellitron aimed his new arm cannon. With a vibrating whine, it began to charge, a ball of superheated plasma building within the turbine chamber. Then, as the whine reached fever pitch, he took aim at the bulkhead door and fired.

* * *

The blast was cacophonous and shook the entire facility. The boss and her underling felt it in the control room, and saw the feed go dead as the camera was vaporised.

“Ma’am?” the underling awaited instruction.

“Purge the databanks. Get everyone out. We’re done here,” she stated, then headed for the stairs.

* * *

“Wow,” came the humbled little voice of Justice Girl.

The Crisis Chamber doors were molten slag, as was a large portion of the chamber behind it. Even Justice Man stood in awe for a few moments.

“I’m surprised you’ve never used that on me,” he considered.

“I have,” Intellitron answered with a playful edge. “You’ve always deflected it right back at me with that daft cape of yours.”

“His cape is cool!” Justice Girl piped up, defending her dad’s honour.

Intellitron couldn’t argue. At least not with her. “Very well. It’s impressive,” he conceded. “Now, shall we go?”

“Let’s move,” Justice Man agreed urgently, and took off flying. Intellitron ran along behind, but the hero soon slowed down to join him when he realised he had no idea where he was going.

Intellitron guided them along the corridors. All the unconscious guards were gone, and other than the blaring sirens the facility was deathly quiet. He guided them down several tunnels, until they arrived at a large vertical shaft labelled “Escape Tunnel”.

Intellitron fired another plasma blast and blew the door open. He ran in, aimed upwards and fired a concentrated beam towards the sky. After a few seconds, moonlight shone through the gap. He pressed a few buttons on his arm and his hover throne descended to join them.

“Top floor, going up,” he quipped.

Justice Man smiled and flew up first, with Intellitron hovering behind. By the villain’s reckoning, based on the brand of self-destruct system, they actually still had a few minutes, but it was always better to hurry.

The shaft was a clear shot to the surface, opening under a fake rock about twenty feet outside the perimeter fence. Justice Man shot out and kept climbing, as did Intellitron. More than a mile over the facility, they both finally came to a stop and looked down at the site.

“Four, three, two, one,” Intellitron counted down.

On cue, the facility rumbled, parts collapsed, and the entire thing was engulfed in a fireball which illuminated the plains. They’d easily been clear for a couple of minutes, but they could still feel the heat from the explosion.

“I hope there weren’t any other prisoners,” Justice Man considered, too late to do anything.

“I didn’t see evidence of any in their system. I don’t think they’re usually much for taking prisoners, if you catch my meaning,” Intellitron explained, not wishing to scare the little girl.

“So, is it over? Have we won?” the hero asked.

“Maybe. I don’t think they’ll try again, but I’ll look into them as a precaution. As I said before, they’re a threat to hero and villain alike.” He looked down at the still dimming explosion. “And look at what they’re capable of.”

“Well, however it plays out, thank you, Frank Intellitron,” Justice Man said sincerely. “You saved my daughter’s life today.”

“Think nothing of it. I have my code, just like you have yours. And I did already mention you’d be paying me back for this. I’m really going to have to rob a big bank to repair the damage you did to my lair,” Intellitron teased.

“Well, you’ll still have to earn it, fighting me. But maybe I’ll go easy on you this time,” Justice Man answered with a smirk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d still prefer if you left first. I appreciate what you did today, but I’d rather you not see which way I’m flying home.”

“Fair enough. I have to get back to my henchmen. See you next time, Justice Man. But don’t expect me to go easy on you,” Intellitron grinned.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. And what do you say, Justice Girl?” He held up his daughter, disguise and all.

“Thank you, Mr Intellitron,” the little girl stumbled through the words.

“Any time, kid,” Intellitron smiled, then pressed a few buttons on his throne and flew away over the horizon.

“Now, time to get you home, Bethany,” Justice Man said to his daughter. “Your mother will be worried sick.”

“Mr Intellitron is a funny guy,” she answered.

“That he is, honey. That he is.”

* * *

Years later, at Intellitron Resorts.

Intellitron was working in his office, planning a new set of rides and trying to get the G-force calculations right so it didn’t remove anyone’s bones or organs. As he worked, sketching on the blueprints, the door to his office pushed open.

“Mail’s here,” Henchman 14 announced.

“Bills and marketing, I don’t doubt,” Intellitron grumbled.

“Oh, and a kid fell into the log flume ride. He seems fine, happy as can be, but Henchman 9 is having a hell of a time getting him out.”

“He should be fine. I designed the safety mechanisms myself.”

14 dropped the pile of envelopes on the desk, then turned to leave. Before he could, he noticed one that was a little different.

“Handwritten letter in that pile,” he observed. Intellitron stopped and looked over.

“Place your bets. Death threats or villains I still owe money to.”

“I’m betting both,” 14 considered.

Intellitron used one robot finger as a letter opener, and then pulled the letter free. It was hand written with curly, neat script.

Dear Mr Intellitron,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can imagine you’re not used to reading those words, are you, but I genuinely do mean them. You see, I am alive because of you. Many years ago, you did a very heroic thing. You and my father rescued me from a government facility, and because of you, I am here today.

That’s right. It is I. Justice Man’s daughter!

I may lack my father’s penchant for theatrics, but I have you to thank eternally. Because of you, I have grown up, gone to school, made friends, and am now out in the world. Back on the playground, I used to argue that you really were a good person, deep, deep down, but no one would believe me. They even picked on me for it, but I refused to relent. But now the world can see in you what I always could. A good man.

From all I’ve heard from Dad’s stories, you were only ever trying to improve the world. And now you’ve found one way to do that, even if isn’t as grand as you once imagined. Your resort brings joy and happiness to thousands, and your choices bring hope to me. Sometimes this struggle between good and evil can feel endless and pointless and never changing.

But if you can change, then that means others can too. You give me hope, Mr Intellitron.

I am truly proud of the person you’ve become. You may once have been lost or confused, or whatever set you down that dark path way back when, but you found your way. And you never lost that soul inside you. You rescued a scared little girl, stolen by the government, even though there was no profit in it. Because it was right.

I have so much to thank you for, but only so much ink, so I’ll finish here. Thank you, Mr Intellitron, and good luck in all your endeavours. Keep that heart inside you strong, even if it might be cybernetic.

Yours, in friendship and respect,

Justice Girl.

“Are you alright, boss?” 14 asked.

Intellitron was grinning from ear to ear, and honestly close to tears. He carefully wiped his eye and then placed the letter in a desk drawer, alongside various letters from his family and his niece especially.

“I’m quite well, 14. Now, how about I go and get that kid out of the log flume. If Henchman 9 can lower me down, then I can reach in and grab the little tyke.”

“Sounds like a plan,” 14 said, a little surprised by the change in mood. “Was that letter really so important?”

“It’s just a good reminder of who I always wanted to be,” Intellitron said proudly, then left his office to get to work.

[monsterkissed]

i am sorry i do not want to post about this but i have seen like four different variations on this and it's painfully cringe to me so:

the reason there are people developing generative ai who are not instead putting their talents to building robots that can suck pollution out of the sea is because robots and ai are two different things. like. one is a physical machine you have to design and weld and solder and shit and one is a fancy type of program you code and train, they are not the same disciplines and a person trained in one can't just start doing the other. i know in cartoons "Technology" and "Science" are just big frankenstein amalgamations and any nerdy guy with glasses can solve every math problem and cure cancer and build a gundam in the same afternoon but in real life different disciplines require different skills. haughtily asking why the ai devs don't just build a legion of seafaring robots since they're both tech-related jobs is like asking why all the songwriters don't just get jobs as translators since they're both word-related jobs. it is not a clever and incisive gotcha, it's painting a big sign on your forehead telling people you fundamentally do not understand the basic principles of the thing you are discoursing about and nobody should take you seriously

[friendtitan]

Your robot heads are really cool, did you make them yourself??? I saw you talk about modifying them in some posts, are there any guides or resources you recommend? I'm interested in making one of my own :3

Over on Ali Express, I found some very basic helmets, they tend to be easier and not much more expensive than buying the parts individually

Something like this.

From here, a lot of the decorations are a mixture of motorcycle decorations, rc helicopter wings, lego ball and socket joints. A lot of it is just scrolling through Ali or looking at other builders to get ideas, and imagining what could work.

I tend to rough things in with two sided tape and velcro to see what looks good, and from there I use a soldering iron to punch holes through it.

Some of my earlier works are either just off the shelf with light mods being done with gusto and a glue gun.

I may try to get one of the vinal cutting machines so I can make my own decals to add on later, but for now, machine screws and a soldiering iron will do.

https://twitter.com/bindismalls/status/1582632898326167552

This here is someone assembling the normal jaw and two visors. The lower part is an airsoft mask, and the visors I found were part of a slingshot supply group.

Also also!

Thanks for the compliment and the patience with this long rambling here. I super appreciate it!