Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Toad Man, what are you doing in my chair?!,"

Toad Man didn't answer, not hearing what was just said. Dr. Cossack turned to face the amphibious robot master, then said, "What are you doing in my chair?"

Toad Man had a panicked look in his eyes, realizing that his creator was speaking to him, and he jolted, causing the chair to creak.

"B-but Dr. Wily let me sit in his chair.," Toad Man said nervously, fidgeting with his fingers and looking away from Dr. Cossack. <>Dr. Cossack rolled his eyes. It was taking the robots some time to get used to his house rules, even after so many years, they slipped up sometimes. It's not like they could forget something so memorable anyhow.

"That's because the place was going to blow up anyways," the roboticist scowled. "Wily never did bother preserving things that weren't robots anyhow. I bought this chair for long nights at the lab, so my neck didn't hurt," he looked at Toad Man softly, but with some sterness in his eyes. "This chair wasn't made for robots, and while you don't mean to damage it, you're a lot heavier and denser than the average human they design these for, so it's my fault for not placing a chair nearby that you could use." He put a hand to his face, feeling guilty for causing this problem. After all, he did design Toad Man with heavier parts and denser schematics, he couldn't fault the guy for wanting to sit while uploading data for his job and not thinking about whether the chair would hold him. If only lighter parts were available at the time, he thought. Toad Man was also absent-minded as a result of environmental influences during his earliest days online, which Dr. Cossack reminded himself, he had some control over.

"I'll get you a chair," the man said guiltily, and went off to get a chair.

Toad Man didn't catch all of what the scientist said because the latter looked away during parts of it, not allowing the robot to read his lips. He felt confused, but Cossack didn't seem angry with him, so he croaked a tune while he entered precipitation data into a digital spreadsheet.

……………

"Bass, what are you doing in my chair?" Dr. Wily shouted in German, throwing his arms up, then down to his hips.

"But you let the others sit in it," Bass pleaded. Despite his red eyes and bat-like armor, he still looked disappointed.

"I made you with the strongest materials available, so since I made you to be the strongest robot, you also are effective against things you don't think about, like chairs," Dr. Wily explained, sighing, likely for the fourth time this week.

"But you let Napalm Man sit here," Bass pleaded, using puppy eyes.

"Napalm Man is less dense than you," Wily explained. "So he exerts less force on the chair overall because he's more spread out. Since you're in the middle and about as heavy as him, that's more newtons over less surface area ."

Bass seemed like he was getting it now. "So if I sit on Treble, it will also act like this chair?" He asked.

"Yes, you'll break Treble if you sit on him," Wily explained, facepalming.

"Or Sakugarne?" the android asked.

"How do you even sit on Sakugarne? He's a damned pogo stick I convinced stupid Quint was a weapon, and he beleived me," Wily exclaimed, exasperated.

"Isn't Quint just Mega from an alternate timeline, of course he's easy to trick," Bass said, thibking it was obvious. "He's a little kid, of course he'll beleive a pogo stick is a weapon, especially with the stage enemies you pick, it wouldn't be out of place, heck, you picked out tents and lanterns as some. At least I can understand the danger of a beaker of acid, I'm not stupid. But tents, are you senile, you (swearing)!"

Wily looked irritated. "Enough, enough. I get you learned that from me, but come on! You've been like this for several minutes. Please calm down."

Bass looked at his creator, then pursed his lips, crossing his arms and legs on the chair. "I'll go to a different chair because I know you like this one, and I need to keep you happy for my own self preservation," he got up. "Happy now?"

Wily chewed his bottom lip, tapping his cheek. "I'm less angry, so that's good," he said.

"No problem, I'll just bring my own chair next time," Bass said, leaving the room.

"That works, thanks for helping me sort my programming files despite you sitting in my chair," Wily said, but Bass was already gone. "That kid," the former muttered to himself, "he's certainly a piece of work, but he's my piece of work and I'm proud of him for solving problems better than a Metool."

Chapter Text

Let's cut to the chase here. Needle Man tried hugging me, but it was sharp. I should have known that, he's my linemate after all. All I felt was my pain receptors going off and small holes being poked in my armor, until I heard something.

"Hey, Shadow Man!," Magnet Man shouted. "We gotta have the drinks ready for later."

Oh, right. We had a party to prepare for? How did I forget? Perhaps Magnet Man messed with my memory files? No, I was found on one of the asteroids, so I have higher magnetic shielding than most of my linemates. I think, anyways. I go off to search for e-tanks and whatever human drinks there are. We're all working for a terrestiral mining company and we're having an end of year party, our first one. We have no clue how this party thing works, last time we had one, it was much less work, and had more Gutsman singing kareoke. His voice isn't the worst I've heard, I'll give him that, but it isn't pleasant, even to me, and I have a high tolerance for what is considered bad singing.
……….
I tried my best to help, but it's not easy doing more than string up a banner when you've got prongs that can't transform into hands. My brothers said I was meant to be the moral support, whatever that means. What it turned out to be was stringing up banners with Needle and making sure everything was going according to schedule. The last time we had a party, I got a headache from how out of tune Guts Man was singing.

"Ow!" Needle Man yelped, dropping the other end of the banner we were hanging up. Sparks came off of it, did I get too excited again?

"Could you keep any less control of your emotions, Sparky?," Needle Man grumbled. It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it seemed to be the latter this time. Maybe I'm not cut out for hanging banners, but it's the thought that counts.
……..
"How are the people drinks doing, Dizzy?," Snake Man asked.

"Fine," I said, spinning around. One of the humans I worked with told me that cocktails and slushies tasted their best when they were spun, so I was holding a cup and spinning as fast as I could. A very large cup-shaped vessel, I think someone called this a carafe, whatever that means. It was almost the size of my torso armor, and had to hold at least 20 liters. Was this enough for 40-50 humans? Half a liter is a small amount for a human to drink, when mining, they drink more, though of usually water. This was a sometimes drink, whatever it was. I kept spinning, hoping that what the humans said about slushies worked and they liked it.

Chapter Text

"Hey!" Ballade shouted, almost knocking out Punk with an elbow to the left.

"Don't punch me like that!" Punk exclaimed.

"What's going on now?" Quint asked curiously, walking into the room. He blinked in confusion. His helmet was off, so the others could actually see his eyes. Sakugarne followed him in, making what were apparently supposed to be happy pogo stick noises.

"I'm confused," Enker said, scratching his upright hair.

"Me as well," Quint replied. Punk and Ballade kept yelling and punching each other while holding their controllers.
"Hey!," a shrill voice said.

"This isn't your place, Buster Rod," Enker said calmly. "Please leave, or I'll get Mega Water to come pick you up."

"Come on!" Buster Rod G said, "I said to just call me Goku, and you're squatting anyways." He swung from a very precarious cieling fan.

"Look, we chose this place because it has electricity for us to charge," Quint said, crossing his arms. He was trying to look threatening, but just looked cute and pouty instead. "If you want something, just find another room in this building, they're not going to demolish this place for at least another few years."

"How'd you get electricity in here without it being so shocking?" Buster Rod asked, jumping down to the floor, he examined the room and noticed it was much more well set up than the last few places they'd been living, it was even spotless despite being in a decrepit building.

"Just because I got re-armed and got a new command, doesn't mean I don't remember the basics," Quint replied cooly.

"Since when is hooking up the electricity basic?" Enker asked.
Buster Rod scratched his head in confusion. What was Quint referring to?

"Also," Punk looked up from his game, "Is deep cleaning supposed to be basic?"

"Yeah," Quint said casually. "I thought everyone learns that." He looked quizzically at everyone who was staring at him, even Ballade looked away from the game to do so.

"We were built for combat," Enker said solemnly. "We weren't someone's janitor for Wily knows how long."

"Oh," Quint realized, tilting his head, "Right, that's right. Didn't Wily make you do chores since he doesn't have someone built to do so?"

"No," Punk said flatly. "The castles were a pigstye compared to this."

"Just so you know, Hyper Storm is a neat freak. I can't leave an e-tank can lying around for a second without him sucking it to his hand and him throwing it in the recycle bin," Buster Rod butted in, staring Quint in the face.

"Get back here, Buster Rod Goku, or Wily damn it!" a low, irritated voice yelled out. Mega Water S bounded into the room from the cieling, pushing his hands against the drywall to create a hole. Quint went to go get a broom, which he purchased with some pocket money they got. It was cheap, and from the dollar store, but it swept up stuff, so it worked.

"Can we have our monkey back?" a deep voice called out from the doorway.

"I'll get it," Quint said. He saw Hyper Storm H standing outside, but unable to come in due to the size of the doorway. He really wanted to steal some perfectly good lumber and build a house in the middle of the forest right now, these temporary places were always crumbing and created more work for him. Couldn't they just find a building that was only recently abandoned?

Chapter Text

Dive Man goes fishing after hearing that Kalinka wants salmon for dinner, to an isolated spot on tht Pacific. He catches Bass, they then become angry with each other until Dive realizes that Bass isn't there to kidnap Kalinka, who is a teenager and taking self-defense classes from Ring Man.

"Im not a fish!" Bass yelled, his helmet fin being caught in a fishing hook, his body held up because the fishing rod was overqualified for the job. The individual holding the rod only meant to catch salmon, but packed a rod fit for a swordfish.

"I'm looking at an invasive species," Dive Man said completely seriously. "Bass don't live in the rivers of eastern Siberia, they're mostly a thing in the United States."

"I can name two types of not-me fish just by searching my databases," Bass yelled. "That live here, though they're in the ocean, so it'll be a while before you can get to them."

"You may not be an invasive species, but bass don't belong in freshwater," Dive Man said.

"Well," Bass said, trying to remove himself from the fishing hook, "Tell that to the Americans! Their bass is in all of the rivers, so much bass, they kept saying my name wrong!"

Dive Man thought for a second, then tried to remove the Wily bot from the fishing line, not realizing that Bass had a hard time swimming.

"Let me go!" Bass said, feeling Dive Man steady himself with one hand while using the other to remove the fishing hook, which was quite difficult. Bass thrashed around, almost like the fish he was often mistaken for being named after.

"You're free to go," Dive Man said calmly, having untangled Bass from the fishing hook. The former took out some bait and put it on the apparently unharmed fishing hook, then dropped it in for some salmon.

"Dont catch me again," Bass said, walking away, still treading water.
"At least I can use this rod on smaller bass," Dive Man thought to himself.

........

A stream of purple light came into the teleporter, then came a familiar figure holding what seemed to be a muddy beige fish multiple times his size securely. "I got dinner, old geezer!" Bass yelled. Dr. Wily was startled. He kept the teleporter in order to know when his robots came and went, but he still didn't like being interrupted like this. "What are you doing?! Can't you see I'm working!!" "I came back from the rounds with dinner," Bass said, moving but still holding the fish, which surprisingly survived and came completely intact. Nobody tested a fish that is known until now. "Why does it smell like fish?" Dr. Wily asked, holding his nose. "Because I got you dinner?" Bass replied, not realizing that his creator hadn't noticed the giant fish earlier. Dr. Wily turned around, not realizing that there was a giant fish behind him, then was surprised. "You caught that with your bare hands?!" Bass looked unimpressed by his feat, then nonchalantly stated, "Yes, I don't carry around fishing gear. I'm the strongest robot you ever built, fish have got nothing on me." "I'm so proud of you, you're finally useful for something!," Dr. Wily exclaimed, going to hug Bass, but mostly hugged the giant fish. "I make your cup noodles, you know," Bass replied. "I'm the only one who does." "Anyone can make a cup noodle," Dr. Wily explained. "But not everyone can make it correctly. You're the easiest to grab because you're almost always here." "Then why am I not called 'Dinner Man', since I'm really good at making dinner?," Bass asked. "Because you weren't originally made to make dinner," Dr. Wily said. "You found that your fighting prowress makes you good at getting dinner here."

Chapter Text

"I just wanted to see a better future, why did it end up like this?" Rock cried out, holding his hair as he blinked quickly, as if holding back tears.

"I….I don't know. I'm sorry I failed," Dr. Light said, sobbing.

"Why must my siblings die?," Rock asked, looking up at his creator with blue eyes filled with sorrow.

"I wish I could answer that, my son, I wish I could logically explain the reasoning behind such a harsh decision. If I had done something more, they wouldn't be doomed," Dr. Light got another bundle of tissues from the tissue box and blew his nose.

"Will they come after me?" Rock asked, now seeming fearful.

Dr. Light put his hand on the young android's shoulder. "They won't," he said, not sure if his words were true or not. "You've saved everyone time and time again, and you're a hero to us all. You'll be fine."

"But…but what if they turn on me?" Rock asked, trembling.

"Well then, I don't know," Dr. Light said, with sadness in his brow. Rock cried, and the doctor tried to comfort his robotic son, but the young android was inconsolable.

Chapter Text

"Get the amp," Elec Man said, setting up a stool at the venue he was playing at tonight, on a small stage. He didn't need to simulate sleep very often, so he thought taking a second job would be a good idea, since he was bored, and Wily wars cost money.

"Yes," a nervous voice replied. Spark Man had gone along because, well, he liked being around others a lot, so a crowded restaurant was a place that was actually exciting to him, although nobody told him that he wouldn't be talking to the customers. He tried picking up the amp, but the electrical prongs couldn't get it up, even if he could not electrocute it by existing. It was by trial and error that a guitar amp capable of withstanding an angry Elec Man was found.

Now, if only I could get it in the air, or perhaps he could drag it? Spark Man thought of his options for carrying it over. The ground wasn't even, so sliding with his boot wouldn't work. Perhaps stab it mildly, this one is so new it doesn't have foam inserts under a mesh screen, only plastic that he could only stab from one side, not allowing him to carry it. At least the old ones had wood he could mildly stab on the back, sometimes new technology had niche drawbacks that the spiky handless of us cannot ignore, he thought.

Chapter Text

“Thanks for your help with retrieving some of the equipment,” Dr. Light said, talking to the general crew of robots assembled to retrieve as many artefacts of the Gamma mission as possible.

“Rrr.” Dr. Light felt something push against his back, and saw two large eyes peer at him, then felt like he was being shoved.

“Tama,” Dr. Light said. “Thank you for today. You really helped us dig out the remaining robot masters from the rubble.”

Another push and a vibrating noise, Tama rubbed its face against Dr. Light's body, making him uncomfortable. “Top, come get your cat,” he muttered to himself.

“Hi, sorry to be a bother about that. How did the salvage mission go?,” Top Man asked, hugging the giant tabby's face and rubbing his own head against it.

“It went excellently,” Dr. Light said, assessing the materials before him, which were taken from the space mining colony.

“That's great to hear. I was too busy taking stuff here and there for the support on the ground, so I apologize for that,” Top Man said, still petting the cat. He was leaning against Tama's front legs as he sat on the floor, evidently having been knocked over.

“It's quite all right,” Dr. Light said, laughing a little. “We needed help there too and you did an good job.”

Top Man got up slowly, scratching the back of his neck while Tama stared. “Not a problem. Marco and I can be of help anytime you wish,” he said as he pet the bridge of the brown tabby's nose.

“Good to know,” Dr. Light said, starting to sort the materials. “Can you help unload the materials near the entrance to the warehouse?”

Top Man looked slightly nervous and gestured to Tama to keep still as he walked forward. “Not a problem,” he said with some doubt in his voice, roller blading off in the direction of the warehouse.

Dr. Light then looked at Tama, who was staring at him since Top left. The doctor placed his head on one of the cat's cheeks, and it started to make a vibrating noise that could be felt throughout the room before he released his hand and got back to sorting the items in question.

Chapter Text

"Why aren't you taking anything from the table?," a girl asked. She didn't look familiar, but perhaps her face was forgotten. She wore a pink dress and had her hair littered with hair clips, her hair otherwise reaching her shoulders.

Rock Light stumbled on how to answer this. Sure, he knew more information than other children his mental age, but he was still a child inherently and wasn't quite great with his words. He also didn't understand why she wasn't playing with the other girls on the upper edge of the table. He was supposed to be careful in case, people who would want to hurt him knew who, or more accurately, what he was in terms of physical specifications. He didn't understand why he had to wear a yukuta here, but Roll insisted on it, it was a gajin restaurant anyhow. He could have just worn a nice polo and shorts, but it was winter, and people would stare according to Roll, and pants caused problems with his balance sensors, but for some reason, shorter robes did not as much. Roll wore one too, as to not seem suspicious, and tried to get Dr. Light to wear one. Rock still was uncomfortable with how it messed up the readings on the sensors on his legs and lower arms. Meanwhile, his audio sensors picked up so many people talking, but his combat experience got him used to tolerating multiples of noises.

"Hey, so how's life going. I know this was for the Phoenix project, but I want to know more about what other projects you have," a middle aged woman, brunette, and about five years in appearance Dr. Light's junior asked. To be fair in her defense, Dr. Light did have a younger looking face, and she was really about fifteen years his junior. She had a toddler on her lap, who just stared.

"Uh….," Dr. Light stuttered, he wasn't great at speaking with people about things that weren't research and had a limited pool of people he worked with for a reason.

Roll went up to him, seemingly confused. "Can you explain what a 'hopscotch' is? Marie and Jenny want to play it, but won't explain to me what it is."

Dr. Light looked to his daughter, and didn't know what to say. He could figure out some complex stuff, but this wasn't his forte.

"Oh," the woman said. She wore a name tag reading Dr. Schlerer, in case anyone forgot who she was at this after work outing, on her going out clothes. "You didn't learn that game? Didn't your friends teach you?"

Roll had to think for a second, and stated, "No, they didn't play that game, so I didn't know." Her contact with the children who played around Light Labs was limited for a reason. That reason was angry parents who hated how she kicked a ball so hard it went over the fence, but she hung out with her friends when their parents weren't around, which was often, but had a hard time making new friends.

"Oh, I'll tell Anita to teach you, don't worry," Dr. Schlerer said, her short hair looking misshapen due to how much she smiled. She called for her daughter, who came bounding over. She looked no older than three, yet wasn't that much shorter than Roll.

"Hopscotch?," Anita asked. "But we're inside and we can't play that inside or we'll have to sit in a corner."

Roll looked nervous. She supposed that human children were harder to make behave as they don't have the data on how to do that yet, unlike her. It wasn't programmed, but the three laws have her an extremely vague idea of what it was. She also thought the fact that they had to shift data constantly to be up to date didn't help. With her stayibg the same mental age, she at least mastered being the best 8-10 year old one could be, since she had more than two years in that stage. She looked softly at Anita, then said, "I don't want to play it inside, I want to know what it is."

"You don't know what hopscotch is?," Anita asked, a confused look on her face.

"Yes," Roll answered. "The other girls know what it is, but they won't tell me. Why won't they tell me?"

"I dunno," Anita answered. "Maybe it's because they don't want you to play with them? I can teach you.

"I'm so happy!," Roll said, hugging Anita very hard then loosening her grip because she could hear a noise that wasn't good. She was designed physically as a lab assistant first, a child second, and she was reminded of that now. Luckily, the other girl was just making noises that indicated that she'd been hurt, perhaps no more than a bruise. "Are you okay?" She asked, getting away from Anita.
Anita started to cry, but Roll was apologetic and tried helping her new friend the best she could.

Rock still had to answer the girl's question, and he froze up for a few minutes trying to process it. The girl looked worried, and wondered what was wrong with him. "Because I wanted to hang out with you guys, and joining the adults would take time away from that," he responded. A few of the boys were staring at him from afar like something was wrong, but didn't say anything.
"Will you quit stalling and join us in soldiers," one of the boys asked, holding a pouch containing toy soldiers.
"Yeah, you keep avoiding us when we play it, but it's fun. You should try it," another boy chimed in.

Rock didn't know how to feel about it. He hated this particular game, he avoided it with his friends at home for a reason. How was he supposed to explain to people who didn't know what he did for the world that he hated war games and adjacent hobbies? He got introduced to the concept after Wily started his attempted reign of terror, and was horrified. He just felt scared when such topics came up. "I've played that game before at home," he explained. "I don't like it."
"Oh," one of the boys said confused. "Why, Ryu?"
Rock had to think about it for a second, they didn't even know his actual name, and he used Ryu as a nickname due to how common it was. He could get away with a nickname that sounded English, but it felt weird to. "Because it makes me sad," he answered. He could use complicated words and expressions, but that was when he was around politicans and not say, normal people

Chapter Text

Bomb Man is on his break, and because he has nothing better to do, he sneakily steals a co-worker's box of cigarettes and a bic lighter and tries to see what these folks see in these little sticks to pay 1100 zenny a pack for them. They must do something, his coworkers seem relaxed after setting one of these on fire and having them smolder to produce smoke that they then inhale. He takes out the Bic lighter and starts to ignite it when someone he's heard of before shows up, and at just the right time too. The Bic lighter is being finicky against his wide fingers, and refuses to spew out flames. That might be a good thing, though, because he's holding it in front of his face like an idiot. If any flame even slightly got near his exhaust, he'd be toast. He then took out the box of matches he used on his own bombs and striked it against the side of the box held by his hip before it glowed red with flame, bringing it up to the cigarette he was holding with his other.

Just then, a raspy, deep voice calls out in a shout, "I can give you a light if you want, but I'd advise you against taking up my offer," it wasn't that much deeper than Bomb's own, but sounded like it had a lot of soot was in this guy's mouth oxygen intake pipes, he sounded like a frog.

While Bomb took them time to wonder who was talking to him and why they could sound like that if they were a robot, the voice said again, "you might want to watch out down there, you're shaped like an Acme bomb and there's a burning match near your feet." Before he has the time to see who was talking to him, he heard a loud noise, and he felt the ground, barely conscious.

"If you had just used the lighter like you were supposed to, you wouldn't be down there right now," the voice said. "I hear that thick fingers make a bic hard to use, so just be more paitent and make sure it goes on the cigarette, not the soil next time." The speaker started to walk off, unbeknownst to Bomb, who then felt his body was surprisingly intact, but there was rubble around him, was he leaning on a wall, and one of his legs was missing, and grabbed for the speaker. Bomb couldn't see though the smoke, but he was built and programmed to use his other senses as well, and got a hold of an arm that was surprisingly reachable considering he was kneeling on his one attached leg. He must have put a bomb there after lighting up out of habit. Based on this, he thought the figure was about Rock's height, and appeared to also be a sentient robot built with materials similar to his own. The hand felt gloves that had a silicone squish to it, Bomb felt for the torso and a small solid ceratanium wall was where he had expected a soft coated chainmail bodysuit or a solid but still torso shaped piece of armor. He didn't know exactly who this was, he realized. Was it someone new? Does he work nearby? Bomb wondered these questions, ignoring the sensation that something was going to explode, and it was going to be him. He's survived so many, so why should he worry. But flames weren't touching him, yet he felt hot. This wasn't Fire Man, but he was made to catch on fire.

There was fire, and he could see something under all the rubble that would become his prison: the speaker's face. He laughed, audibly, because he didn't expect the face of the guy to be so, baby-like when the guy sounded incredibly raspy and deep. Ice Man's voice was deep, but he had a small face, not a baby one. The speaker was talking to himself, but Bomb couldn't quite make out what he was saying, as he could barely feel his own body in the heat. Once he could focus again, likely from an imitation adrenaline rush, he heard it again.

"I'm…I'm so sorry. I…I just couldn't help it. It's not my fault the thermal regulator is so hard to reach, just please don't take me, officer," the speaker would have sounded vulnerable and genuinely terrified if it weren't for the fact that he sounded like he was coughing and gasping for breath. The phrasing brought to mind a child who was scared for their life against a monster, a threat, but the rest of it sounded like a man's dying breaths from smoke inhalation. The speaker coughed, then tried to speak, then coughed for longer. Bomb didn't know who this guy was, but he couldn't help but feel bad for him. He was more worried about his coworkers making it out in time, which didn't seem to be the case given how much he himself was overheating. He felt vibrating and felt less and less of his body, but he thought he heard the speaker tell him to run away. He didn't have legs attached to run, his other leg fell off a while ago, maybe he was imagining it. He wonders if it would have gone very differently if the owner of the cigarettes had done the same thing instead. He heard a panic of other voices, perhaps his imagination again, sounding like his coworkers. He couldn't make out the words, and was there a puffy, sticky substance on him? Fire extinguisher foam? There must be a reason they keep that stuff around the construction site. He wasn't sure what to think now, he just felt fear and lack of tactile data being sent to his cognitive circuit.

A voice shouted to him, he was confused, it was no longer so hot. He still couldn't feel his body, but that was to be expected considering he's been burnt to a crisp before. Why were there people shouting? Where was he? What was he doing before this?

The crew were gathered around the smoking rubble. Thankfully, they didn't have to call the fire department this time. However, one guy finally noticed his pocket felt emptier, and he thought he was hallucinating because he swore he saw another figure in the rubble, likely another robot. The fire stayed relatively well contained thanks to the rubble pile created around it, likely before the fire started. The other robot looked surprisingly unharmed, other than being covered in soot. The appearance made them wonder if this one could organize tasks on its own, or if it was meant to directly follow commands. It was small, but it also was as detailed as their coworker. Despite the amount of damage at the scene, Bomb Man had only lost his limbs and most of his paint job, or was that soot too? They had seen his armor paint stripped before, it was definitely soot this time.

Something caught the construction crew's eyes. An angry old man with side burns shaped like bats' wings ran over, from the news, they thought. He went right for the site of the incident without any regard for his own self-preservation, and appeared to start yelling. They were out of it, in shock, and his arms flapped around like he was yelling, so they thought he was yelling. They waited for the site to cool so they could get Bomb Man out. He was on his scheduled break when this apparently started, and couldn't get back on shift because he was on fire. He was five minutes late from his break at this point, and they would not let him live that down. Nope. Never. If he ever worked for a different company, this was prime blackmail material. It was like them, the construction workers in this particular group, to joke about stuff like that. One time, one of the human workers got his thumb cut off, and was banned from the saws with a lot of teasing for obvious reasons.

Someone brave, or stupid enough, left the group to go retrieve Bomb Man' unconscious body, or rather head and torso. He was dragged over, and someone called Dr. Light to pick up his kid, like be had done something naughty at kindergarten.

At work the next week, because the guy would not stay down, they asked how being blown to bits was. All Bomb Man could say was that having your limbs blown off didn't fit the definition, and the last time he had, he couldn't remember.

Chapter Text

“Did you see the new guy?” a worker asked.

“No, why?” a second worker asked.

“Look over there,” the first worker said. He pointed to the equipment area where a red and yellow robot resembling a box with limbs stood on a step stool, struggling to reach the top shelf.

He's cute, the second worker thought to himself.

“What do you think of him?” the first worker asked. “He burns more garbage than Torch Head and,” he paused. “... can get his own supplies.”

The second worker just nodded, going along with this. “He's…getting his own supplies?”

“Yes, sir. We had to lend him a step stool after he tried getting fasteners to fix one of the ash unloaders,” the first worker said.

“That explains why it got fixed so fast,” the second worker remarked. “He was made for this, it seems.”

“As long as it's under five and a half feet tall, he can reach it,” the first worker said. Heat Man appeared to be on his tip toes, trying to reach the back of the shelf and extending his arms as far as they could reach.

“Should we help him?” the second worker asked, seemingly concerned.

“Probably,” the first worker said. “The shelf was really expensive to replace and took out a good portion of our operational supply budget since we just replaced the boilers.”

“I thought he was supposed to be a step up from Fire Man,” the second worker said.
“He is,” the first worker said. “He has hands, and can get his own supplies. He also does his own start and end of shift documentation.”

“I don't get how something as little as hands can be considered a major improvement,” the second worker said.

The second worker started towards Heat Man's direction. “I should probably help him before the boss yells at us for wasting money on another shelf,” he says.
…
“What are you doing here?” Heat Man says, annoyed, as he feels someone on the step stool besides him.
“Here,” the first worker says, handing the anthropomorphic box robot a fastener kit and some sealant.

“Thank you, but you could've asked first,” Heat Man said. He then coughed in the other direction, and went back towards his assigned burner room, which was in the opposite direction from where his coworker stood. “Wily could've built me with less smoke tolerance and I wouldn't have noticed,” he muttered to himself.
…
This is therapeutic, Heat Man thought to himself as he unloaded ash from one of the additional burners that hadn't gone through the ash sequestering system. He then looked to the bags of items, and placed them inside. Burning it myself would be much faster, he thought. But they said “it violates workplace safety protocols” because the particles humans can't breathe in are contained in the burning machine.
…
More bags of garbage came in, with the first worker taking them on the back of a vehicle not unlike a forklift. A conveyor belt directly from the trucks would have been easier if not for the fact that the newer incineration rooms had been built farther away from the old ones. So he had to unload forklift fulls of garbage onto a different area to then place on a conveyer belt. It was going slowly today because the whole room air filtration system was broken and Heat couldn't burn them himself until the room containing it was fixed.
The boss should have built another whole burning room, the first worker thought to himself. That way we can keep our quotas.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, he looks at himself. While he is a narcissist, this feels different. Almost as if he's gripping with something. Gemini, clutching his right cheek, has his face all twisted up, his eyes panicked. He opens his mouth as if to yell, but nothing comes out. Then, he talks to himself, pleading with some unseen person, to whom and for what, I am uncertain. He spends hours like this, wearing out the silicone that makes up his face with his tightly clenched fist, holding synthetic skin for dear life. He's incoherent, and crying. This goes on for a while, then he suddenly snaps out of it and looks in horror at the stretched silicone on his right cheek, getting a repair kit. Why he does this, I do not know. But I worry for him.

(Gemini's perspective)
He's bothering me again. Since that day, he keeps coming over, taking my hands and my thoughts. I can't even think for one second before he intervenes, pulling me aside as he tries to tear my face off with my own hand. I try to resist, but I have no control over this body. He grips the mirror with my other hand, my mirror, the mirror I got from someone for my builtday. I don't remember who or what I am, in this brief but prolonged moment.
He then grips at my throat, while he pulls his, no my, left hand to do something. He won't tell me what. Just as I wonder that, my beloved mirror shatters, my arm no longer my own. I get up and shout at the top of my lungs, but this voice, these words, are not my own. Staring at chards of glass, they look as if my shine had broken into a million different pieces. Given how small they were, likely more. I try to get up, but I can't. I was already standing, the beauty of the glass reflecting me like a million different picture frames. I feel at peace, almost. Like I was meant to do this. He grabs my chestplate, and I feel as if I can't even control my optics anymore, their view taken over by him. Of my enemy.

I look up, only to see nothing. To feel nothing, he took my tactile systems too. But I am here. Where, I do not know. I try to brace myself, but I don't feel, I don't register what my body is doing. All he does is hurt me, break me, and bruise me. But he doesn't relent. I see a light in my eyes, almost euphoric in its dazzling display of colors. I don't know what happened, but I awoke to a chill, my systems overheating. I open my eyes to look at my hand, and see that I can move it. I shout in joy, only for a pointed object to stop me before I can jump up.

“Here's an e-tank,” he says, holding the canister gingerly between his pointed appendages.

I get up to drink it, but my grip fails me. He then places it on the table and looks at me, black colorless eyes meeting my own green.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You seemed out of it earlier.”

I smiled. “I'm fine.”

But he didn't think the same. “I was just worried because you didn't seem like yourself, so I just wanted to check in.”

I nod. “I'm okay, really,” I say, my voice sounding choked up.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” the other robot said. “All right?”

I smiled slightly. “Okay.”

He saw through me, my weak smile barely keeping him from prying further. It's better this way, I won't be welcomed if they knew the truth, about me. And my twin. My evil, rotten twin. He comes by daylight, feigning anger, for what, I do not know. At night, he leaves. I come to myself, only to have that brief silence taken from me. I sob, holding my head in my hands.

“There, there”, my friend says, patting me on the back. I'm too unaware to notice the buildup of static electricity on my back, which would normally build up and charge the nearest object, which was often me. He looks worried, tears also seeming as if they'll come out of his eyes. But they can't, because he doesn't have the need for such a thing.

“I'm sorry,” he says. My friend is a mess, emotionally, sat on the floor next to me, holding his spiked fingers onto the center of my back.

Chapter Text

"Good morning Dr. Light!," I said as I swept the living room.

"You got up early today, didn't you?," he remarked. His blue eyes, like my own, looked at me softly, though his seemed tired.

"My battery is smaller than yours, and I didn't want to overload it again," I replied. While humans didn't exactly have batteries like robots did, they did have an energy management system that acted like one. I got the coffee from the cupboard, and some filters. I like keeping the grounds to feed the flowers in the back.

"You don't need to do that, Roll," Dr. Light said, yawning. "I can handle it myself."

I saw the tired look in my creator's eyes, and knew he would spill it if he made it himself, burning himself in the process. Maybe it was my programming, but I liked helping others. It's an inherently human trait, so it could be my directive or just a part of my human-mimicry. I know I have a directive, as the prototype he built without one ended up with a damaged power core due to that, but what it is, I'm not sure. I made the coffee and handed it to him.

"Thank you, Roll," he said, yawning again. His battery equivalent wasn't fully charged like I expected, or he took damage to his systems. He was getting older, so his parts likely wore with age, everything does. My dad took the cup to his lips clumsily, and I reached over from my step stool to help him steady it. He wasn't ready for work, but work had to be done. Maybe after this project is done, I can convince him to sleep more. I can't imagine what he would have done if he hadn't built us, or before he did so. I recall him saying that he ate instant ramen with Dr. Wily while they were working on their master's degrees, so it could be as bad as that. I made sure he got all of his nutrients nowadays, much to his annoyance at times. I heard Rock checking in on our pets in the living room, he slept in late because he was up last night working on a project with dad.
………….
Why our pets slept in the living room instead of with us, I'm not sure. I went to check on Rush first, excited to see what position he was in. He changes sleeping positions frequently, almost as often as Tango.

I entered the room, and got pecked on the cheek by Beat, who was flying at me. I fell over. I think he was trying to greet me with a kiss.

"Beat!," I exclaimed, having fallen on my bottom. "You're more excited than Rush to see me, but please don't knock me over!"

Beat flew over me, looking sorry for what he did, then chirped. "Bi, bi!"

"Yes, good morning to you too," I answered. Beat still was confused, did I sound mad at him?

"Bi, bi, bi, bi! Bi bi bi!," the bird said, annoyed and looking at me. I think he was trying to apologize to me.

"It's okay, we're all like that sometimes, buddy," I pat his head after he flew down to me, still sitting on the floor.

Beat and I kept chatting until I heard a voice.
"Rock Light, get over here!," Roll shouted, irritated at something.

I went over to the kitchen, where she was helping Dr. Light drink his coffee.

"What did I do wrong this time?," I asked.

Roll looked at me like I should know the answer, then said, "You tracked oil from the lab again! I know we can't remove our shoes without dismantling ourselves, but come on," she crossed her arms. "You forgot to clean yourself up last night after leaving the lab, you almost ruined the floor!"

I looked at her, I really was too tired to wipe off my boots after working in the lab last night, and forgot. I don't do this on purpose, I thought to myself.

"I'm sorry again, I truly forgot to do it. I hope it never happens again," I said to my sister, apologizing for my honest mistake.

My sister looked at me quizzically from the stool she was standing on, then said something. "I know we forget things sometimes, but how often do you forget this?," She asked. She was worried about me, and irritated by my actions at the same time.

"Almost every day," I replied. "My battery was only going to last another five minutes before I passed out, of course my processors slowed down."

She looked at me with concern. "Just don't work until you have a .07% battery life, okay? It's not good for you."

As I helped Dr. Light to a chair, with him being almost asleep, I wondered who would hold the group accountable if it weren't for Roll taking on the responsibility of making sure we were well rested and the house was clean. I'm willing to bet that Elec Man acts like this at the power plant, he is a neat freak when he visits. Or Ice Man. Both seem tidy. I do clean sometimes, but the work at the lab is piling up, and I offer to help. I don't recall being told that I would do lab duties and she would take care of the house when we were activated, or blatantly at all. It started out with us doing both equally, but we took sides eventually, I wonder why. I wish I could swap sometimes, especially since I sometimes freeze up when working on something, or going through scrap parts. Dr. Light says I just stay still for hours, and urged us to switch if I wasn't comfortable with lab work. I would, if Roll would let me.
………
Since Dr. Light was basically asleep before my eyes, I took the remainder of the coffee to the refrigerator and carried him upstairs. It wasn't good at his age to be working so much, it was hurting him. Since the project had to be done soon, and the house was clean, I decided to go down to the lab to pick up where they left off last night. I hadn't been down there in a few days, so I would have to clean it after the work was at a satisfactory pausing point.

"Hi Roll," my brother waved from the bottom of the staircase to the internal lab entrance.

"Before we get started, I want to show you where we left off and what dad and I got done. His notes aren't the most organized, but I'll try to explain them anyways." Rock continued explaining the project as he got the materials ready, which took longer than expected because our father is very scatterbrained and doesn't organize things in any sort of system at all.

".....we also have other stuff to do besides the contract work for Z Corporation, such as the surveillance drones for Avae Airways, and Apidae Beeworks. Those are our highest priority tasks right now, but there are several others we have to work on to some extent today. In the afternoon, we'll need to work on Vesper's planning and design documents, then send those to Mr. Misato by 17:00 Kyoto time. Then, we need to have a meeting with Ms. Koyato from Mitsubishi about the shipment we are to receive Friday at 14:45, then we need to email Yamaha at 14:48 exactly about their sound modulators, since they're new and Dr. Light wanted to try them out since they're so similar to how ours work, so since the (Company) 255E modulators have been out of production for a few years and we have almost run out of what units we have left, we wanted to get them as replacement units…"

Rock kept talking. If he were human, he'd be out of breath by now, and want water. It wasn't hard to see what needed to be done, and he got the parts all out for every project, using different tables and marking which ones were for what project. He's pretty organized when left to his own devices.

Turns out we have 7 different projects that require a varying amount of work, and five meetings or emails communications we need to attend to. No wonder why Dr. Light was exhausted. I started on the first one, with Rock joining me at the table where it was all set up. It was a lot of fun being back in the lab. They usually didn't need me down here unless Dr. Wily shows up.
………
"Can you hand me the pliers, please?," I asked as Roll and I were working on the drones for Avae Airways. We didn't mass produce our units in a manufacturing line, as it would be too complicated, so we were assembling and testing the drones manually. They were designed with a cloud motif, to match the client's company logo.

"Sure," she said, handing them to me.

"Thanks, " I replied.

"Can you get me the drill?," She asked.

"Sure," I said, knowing which drill she was referring to.

We worked like this until about quarter to two in the afternoon, or about six hours. Roll looked like she needed to recharge, so I suggested a short break would do us good..

Chapter Text

Fire Man was sitting at the table while everyone else was playing cards. He couldn't hold the cards himself without using a wire holder attached to his inactive blow torch ends. He enjoyed the spectacle of watching others play cards, but hadn't done so himself before. He had a straw in his e-tank, so he could drink on his own. Not having hands was annoying, but the city department of sanitation insisted that he have blow torches on his non-hands, and the high heat from the components while active would destroy a transformable hand, which Dr. Light had prototyped. There was even a video of it, and shortly after he was activated, Dr. Light explained some stuff to him. He was still programmed with hand-related urges, since he was planned to have hands. Such as now, he felt frustrated that he couldn't play with everyone, so he felt the instinctual action to curl his hands into fists. But they were non-existent, and that's why he couldn't play cards to begin with. He wondered if the newer handless robots had hand-related instincts and body language removed from the human instinct suite of programming after learning from him. Humans did so many things with their hands, he'd be surprised if there was something they normally did without them. He couldn't pet Rush without the dog running away, and Tango didn't seem to mind the ambient heat coming from the ends of his blasters when not in use, but found the way it was pet uncomfortable. He used his feet to pet the animals most of the time, even fleshy ones.
………..
He wondered why it was taking so long to type out this document. Pecking at the keyboard can't be this slow, can it? Crash Man was showing frustration, as he repeatedly made typos due to his clumsy drills for hands. He had to make a report for a demolition he was doing for a shady client Wily had gotten a contract with, explaining in detail what parts of the structure were unable do be demolished, such as the foundation. He'd ask someone else to add the pictures later, as it was too much work to use a mouse. If he had a buster end, he could use it to at least move the cursor around. Why did he have the power of Bomb Man and the strength of Guts Man in his Crash Bombs, but none of the hands, versatility, or usefulness of either? He'd beg the doc for hands, again, later.
…………
At least his friends understood, before they left. Needle Man and Spark Man were a lot of fun to be around, even if he was inside of DOC. But they were back with Light now, so he couldn't see them or call them up. Needle would be skeptical, but Spark will socialize with anything and anyone, even chairs.
…………..
Sure he'd made an impact, just not the type he hoped for. Impact Man, controlled by Kiu-jiro, had gone to a job site, only to be told to do something he was not designed for, and the impact on the keyboard was not to be understated. He tried typing out a document, but crushed the keyboard with the face of one of the younger impact brothers. Then, he tried to carry items to the job site. Poor Kui-ichiro, he was complaining of pain but not connected to the voice system, so only his brothers could hear him. Today was not a great day to be a right hand, or a left one for that matter. They were made to do pile driver stuff, not carry several tons of force on top of their heads. Life was hard for an impact brother, except if you were Kiu-jiro. Then it was less hard because he didn't get a steel bar to the head

Chapter Text

"I'm a big fan of yours,” Cut Man said, poking Air Man in the shoulder as he walked into the bar.

A big fan…that's a terrible pun, Wood Man thought to himself as he stood beside Air Man.
“Really?” Air Man asked. “There's plenty to like here, see this sucker,” he said, pointing to where his left hand would have been.

Cut Man nodded. “What does it do?”

“It throws the winds into the direction of your opponent,” Air Man explained. “Do you want me to demonstrate it?” he asked.

“Yes!” Cut said excitedly. “Do it. Show that leaf blower who's boss.” He noticed a leaf blower nearby.

“At the count of one…,” Air Man said, blowing his wrist fan onto Wood before aiming his chest fan, causing Wood to fall over and grip the stairs.

“I'm not a leaf blower!” Wood Man shouted angrily.

“You blow leaves!” Air Man shouted back, intensifying the gusts he blew.

“I throw leaves,” Wood Man explained.

“Throw, blow, go,” Air Man said, and blew even harder.

Wood Man sat almost a block from the bar. What exactly is Air's problem? Wood Man asked himself before getting back on his feet and walking back to the bar.

……..

“It doesn't seem efficient,” Cut Man said, sitting on the couch. It was Guts' turn at the kareoke machine (aka the Nintendo Switch), and he wished his brother had picked a shorter song.

Splash Woman held alcoholic oil in her hand as she sat alongside Cut Man. She was there first, and it wasn't like she could move to a different chair when he sat down. “They usually grab the limbs, while I take the torso,” she explained.

“But why go through all of that work?” Cut Man asked, scratching his head near his scissors. “I know we're meant to help people sis, but isn't there a point where the second law kicks in or something?”

Splash Woman looked at the television, following along with the lyrics in her head. “I'm not in danger, and I was designed to do this type of work,” she explained.

“I know,” Cut Man said. “But when a tree goes down the wrong way and I have no time, I got to scram. I can try to rescue people if it's slower, but the second law takes priority there.”

Splash Woman had a contemplative expression on her face. “I guess I've never encountered that before,” she said. “I don't know what I'd do if I did.”

“I guess,” Cut Man said. “You never know until it happens.”

Splash Woman wanted to say something, but couldn't find the right words. The microphone would be handed to her in thirty seconds, from the looks of it.

……

“I'm cutting class,” Cut Man said, laughing.

“We don't go to school,” Top Man replied, facepalming.

“Mandatory safety training is a class,” Cut Man said. “And I'm not in it.”

“Why did you skip OSHA training again?” Guts Man said, walking in.

“Because it's boring,” Cut Man said. “Besides, I have the three laws installed.”

Gutsman would have facepalmed if it weren't for the mitts he had for hands. He wasn't going to deal with this right now. He already dealt with morons on the site, he needed a break before doing so at home.
…..

“So what do you look for in a man,” Metal Man asked the woman beside him.
“A sharp wit,” the woman, Katherine, said.
“I thought blondes were supposed to be dumb,” Metal Man said.
Katherine looked enraged and threw her gin at Metal Man.
“What was that for?!” Metal Man shouted.
“What part about ‘I'm a software engineer with ten years of experience' don't you understand!” Katherine shouted. “No wonder why you believed that stereotype. Isn't the blond idiot over there your brother?”
“Which one?” Metal Man asked, ruffling the spiky black hair that would normally be under his helmet. “I thought only blonde women were dumb. Men are blond.”
“They're pronounced the same in American English, and the feminine form is used for both in colloquial speech,” Katherine said.

Quick Man felt like someone was mocking him as he sat with his girlfriend, discussing the latest NASCAR race.
……
“You're too pompous,” Wood Man said, holding a hand to Air Man's shoulders. “Your confidence and lack of foresight has led you astray. If you don't watch yourself, you could end up hurting yourself and others.”

“I don't like the pampas. Too many leaves,” Air Man replied.

“Those are blades of grass,” Wood Man corrected.

Chapter Text

“Who's a cute kitty?” Top Man asked, raising the pitch of his voice. 

Tama 2 chirped, walking over and rubbing against the wall as if asking to be pet. 

“You are!” Top Man answered, to his own question. He went over to scratch the excavator-sized cat's chin, to which Tama started purring loudly enough to cause noticeable vibrations on the floor. Tama 2 then bent its neck for a headbutt, only to hear a crashing sound. Top Man had landed on his butt, the weight of the cat knocking him over. Tama 2 looked away, then opened its mouth. Without fleas to load into the flea launcher, it could lick now. 

Top Man felt a flexible silicone surface with a slight abrasion, Tama 2's tongue, which was licking his head. Tama continued to purr, lying down next to Top Man, and closed its eyes. 

“If you wanted me to lie down with you, you should have asked in a way that wouldn't hurt me!” Top Man said, immobilized by the paw laid across his chest. 

Tama 2 pricked its ears up in the direction of Top Man's voice, raising its head, then lowered it back down, placing it on its outstretched paws, continuing to purr. 

…..

“Tama-nii!” a voice called out. Tama 2 woke up and raised its head. Going towards the source of the noise, and ignoring Top Man, who was also asleep, Tama chirped. 

Shadow Man ran to Tama, giving it a hug around its neck. Tama went in to rub against the ninja robot with its cheek, and sniffed at his scarf. It couldn't figure out why it did this, but it didn't yield any sort of useful information. 

….

“Come get your cat, you spinning moron!” Needle Man shouted, making a few stitches as he pulled on the attachment to get more yarn. 

Tama 1 had gotten into Needle Man's yarn stash and started batting the bare skiens around, scattering yarn all over the room. Even worse, in Needle Man's opinion, was that the tabby was biting and trying to ingest the yarn, cutting it into pieces with its sharp teeth, and what remained in its mouth was wound like floss. 

—----------

“Get out!” Gravity Man shouted, seeing orange and black stripes in his research box. The Sumatran model growled, flicking its ears back.  

Gravity Man went to grab the tiger robot by its neck, but noticed that his arm felt off. He looked down to see that the Sumatran had bitten him, and wouldn't let go. 

“Napalm Man, get your stupid cat!” Gravity Man said, his wrist almost throbbing in pain. 

—----

Fuse Man sort of sat in silence, looking at the floor. He'd had a hard day on the floor, with one of his fuses breaking on his head due to an overflow of energy he had to absorb and quickly transfer to another output to power the city. 

The equipment safety technician wouldn't be in to check on him for a while, so he sat, and wondered what would happen. They let him go since he could still walk. He had the rubber gloves and boots he normally wore in his room, which was bare of personal affects sans the animal habitats. 

Watt the rabbit, lovingly nicknamed “Kilowatt” by the group of technicians that operated this sector of the power plant, turned its head in its owner's direction. It then raised its head, sniffing, and positioning itself to hop towards Fuse only to decide to not sit on Fuse's lap. 

The 50 gallon tank in the corner was much the same. The eel, also named Watt, who didn't get a nickname, had observed Fuse enter but otherwise minded its own business. 

Fuse Man reached for a rabbit plush that Watt often humped for dominance or slept against, and felt it in his hand. It felt soft, and he lifted it onto his lap. He gently petted the doll, and closed his eyes to better process the texture of the faux fur fabric that made up its coat. It didn't kick like the real thing, or grind its teeth, but it might be better like this. After all, Watt was delicate and Fuse Man didn't want to electrocute it by accident.

—--------

It's nice to pet a cat, but it I'm in the middle of something, Hard Man thought. He was sitting on the floor of the living room, and had flipped the station to a sumo match that was going on. The competitors weren't big names in the sport, but they were all right. He felt someone approach him, and a distinct “rr, rr”. 

Yellow eyes stared at him, blinking slowly. Evidently, Tama wanted attention. 

Hard Man ignored it, turning back to watch the sumo tournament. Ten minutes had gone by when he felt something on his arm, then on his head. He wasn't easy to knock over, but the cat certainly tried. 

In reality, the cat was just trying to get his attention. Seeing how gravity worked would be fun, but that wasn't the goal. Tama tapped its paw against the hard press robot's arm again, saying “rrow”. It leaned its head against Hard Man before it felt something keeping it away. He had leaned his hand against the cat's head, keeping it from hitting him. “I'm doing something right now, I can pet you later,” Hard Man said. 

Tama wouldn't give up. It waited for Hard Man to focus on the television again before trying to rub against him again. The cat then quickly turned around and sat on the other robot's lap. 

Hard Man was annoyed, and got up, lifting the cat from his lap gently. 

Chapter Text

“We're Flash and Crash, and we're here to fulfill your construction needs,” Flash Man said, pointing at Crash Man.

“Please allow us to be of service, sir,” Crash Man said, bowing his head.

The businessman looked flustered. He'd sent out an open call for workers, but wasn't sure what to make of these guys. He then pressed his fingers in a tenting pose before asking, “What construction services do you two offer exactly?”

“Demolition, sir” Crash Man replied.

“Supervision of explosives,” Flash Man replied.

“You,” the businessman pointed to Crash Man, “Are the explosives. So why do you need supervision when you already control them?”

“I tend to have–” Crash Man answered before Flash covered his mouth.

“-an unstable personality. I'm here to make sure he doesn't blow himself up.”

The businessman nodded. “So I pay a daily rate for both of you? That'd be a tough sell to my bosses, so what if I cut you a deal. You,” he said, pointing to Flash Man, “Can get half the daily rate. I can offer nothing more and you should be grateful that I'm even paying you at all.” Flash Man nodded, then looked at his hand, unsure of what to do. Were there papers to sign?

“Since you're Mr. Wily's, there's no need for paperwork. We already know the man like a close business partner,” the businessman said, then paused. “But it is reccomended that you do so so that your rates don't change without notifying you once,” he took some papers out of a briefcase.

Crash Man stared at the papers, and then stared at his drills. “I can't take care of that,” Crash Man said.

“This is why my services are a part of the package,” Flash Man said, gesturing at the papers. The businessman looked confused, and wondered why exactly the orange one wasn't signing the paperwork, but rather the blue and yellow one despite the fact that the former would be performing the labor. Flash Man took a pen and held down the paper with his buster arm while holding a pen with his left hand.

Meanwhile, Crash Man hadn't a clue on what to do, so stood there awkwardly, occasionally interrupting it with pacing around and rotating the base of the drill dispensers the best he could (spinning drills as well, Crash hand flapping equivalent).

The businessman looked up from the paperwork he was viewing and realized that the orange robot didn't have hands. The duo had worked for the company before, so why exactly he realized this now, he wasn't sure. That would explain why the orange robot rarely carried things and never did any paperwork.

Chapter Text

“How long is your proboscus?” Vesper Woman asked.

“How deep is that ovipositor there?” Hornet Man asked in return.

“You can peek-” Vesper Woman replied, lifting her butt from the chair.

Tempo walks in from the direction of the exit. “What are you doing?” she asks her sister.

Vesper Woman's antennae perk up in the direction of her sister's voice. Before she can respond, Tempo walks off into the opposite direction.

………

“I was having a hard time with this specimen,” Vesper Woman said, pointing to the pot below her. “The swabs I have are too thick to reach past the stamens, so I was wondering if you'd know anything.”

Hornet Man nodded. “You'd need the .5mm single-sided ones. I'll have to get some of those from work.”

….

“They weren't flirting?!” Plug Man shouted. Bright Man was quite frankly unsure of how his friend had even gotten drunk. Maybe he was tired?

“That's flirting?” Bright Man asked curiously, saying each word as if he were avoiding misusing any. “I thought flirting involved-”

“That's foreplay,” Tornado Man explained, bent over his drink. “Flirting is talking.” He was the more socially adept one, even if he was the ninth line's equivalent of a class clown.

“But Kalinka said-” Bright Man retorted.

….

“What about the proboscus?” Vesper Woman asked. “It does fit better.”

“I forgot the proboscus at home,” Hornet Man said. “And the length would easily puncture through the base, preventing the embryos from forming.”

Vesper Woman nodded.

…..

“-kissing would constitute a wrong move if done before the fifth month of dating and-” Bright Man continued.

“Your princess is chaste,” Plug Man said. “Aren't Russian girls supposed to be a little freaky?”

Bright Man scowled. “I-Not all of them. It's not fair to generalize an entire group like that. It's usually the opposite, at least according to the parents.”

“How would you know?” Tornado Man asked. “Isn't Kalinka 12? That's way too young to be dating. If Roll came home with a boy, I wouldn't hesitate to-”

“Kalinka is on her fifth boyfriend. They both didn't work out,” Bright Man explained.

“How long did the previous one last?” Plug Man asked.

“Two days,” Bright Man said. “The one before that was 5 days.”

“If she was two years older, I'd be concerned,” Tornado Man said. “But she's just learning how to date.”

Bright Man nodded his head. “The doctor won't be happy unless he gets good grades and is nice to his grandparents.”

“Those aren't bad requirements,” Plug Man said. “I've seen people have worse.”

“In one of your isekai anime?” Tornado Man said.

“They usually sensor stuff out of the anime, so the light novels give the most complete experience,” Plug Man explained.

“What are they even sensoring?” Bright Man asked. “All I saw was a little girl petting a tiger.”

Tornado Man audibly sighed. “He only showed you the kiddie stuff?”

“No,” Bright Man replied. “It was rated 13+ for violent scenes, most notably involving the dragon during the academy arc.”

Plug Man buried his face in his hand and wrist plug. “That was the kiddie stuff! Kiddie stuff doesn't have exposed breasts!”

Bright Man's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth in shock.

“Of course no nipples and aerolas are shown. That would be classified as pornography!” Plug Man explained. “But a triangle bikini is fine!”

Tornado Man turned to look at a hunched over Bright Man. The lamp robot looked as if he was about to vomit out the contents of drinks he could have hypothetically consumed prior.
The wind turbine robot covered his face, which was red with embarrassment, mostly on behalf of his brother, he told himself. “You fucking wall plug!” he shouted.

Plug Man looked startled. “What is going on? Why are you yelling at me?” he looked at Tornado Man's empty glass.

“You just explained ecchi to poor bulb-head, who looks like he's about to wretch,” Tornado Man explained. “I had no idea OnlyFans could be shown on TV.”

“There was the Playboy Channel, which went defunct after the internet became popular,” Plug Man said. “Or many of the encrypted satellite TV stations in the United States that showed pornography.”

Tornado Man leaned over, feeling nauseous. He wasn't sure why he could, but hopefully, it did not come with a gag reflex. He was not ready to spill the contents of his fuel tank onto the table right now.

Bright Man wasn't faring much better. He had his mouth covered, and had to sit down, even whimpering at times.

“What's wrong?” Splash Woman asked, passing by. Kareoke was here this week, so she'd come here in her “landfaring legs”, or as everyone else called it, manual wheelchair. She pushed the right wheel forward, turning to face the group, looking puzzled. She wondered what happened to cause both Bright Man and Tornado Man to become queasy. It was no use lingering her much longer. If she stayed here long enough, she'd end up like them. She placed her hands on the wheels, pushing them, then rolled off, presumably to the kareoke machine.