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The Auxiliary by Erin Tyler At some point, I found myself on the 50th floor. After my conversation with Junior, I got to thinking about Parkside's relationship with The Mistress, and where it all went wrong. I thought about their farm. I thought about her robots. I thought about the picture I had found: the beautiful dream; the hideous lie. I thought it was kind of weird that nobody, not anybody, had ever even tried to make peace between them. And I thought, But who could be counted on to start a dialogue? Sheila was violently insane. The Parksiders were terrified to even go near this place, never mind talk to her. The Mistress... what could she do? Could she have tried to start something? Did she try to start something? I didn't know. ...She'd probably say she had to look after herself, I reasoned. She'd probably tell me... no, she would tell me there's a risk with communicating with the Parksiders, because there is. I mean, for goodness sakes, one of her predecessors was murdered right here- ...And something occurred to me. Maybe it's occurred to you, too. If not, it's no big deal. I turned the thought over in my head a couple times, then slowly stood up and walked down the stairs, out of The Mistress' 70th-floor home. It was around 4 am, I'd say. The fires on the horizon had died down naturally as the R.U.S.A. camp slept. Alternately, the tiki torches in Parkside seemed too well-lit, like the town was afraid of what the darkness would bring. When I reached the 50th floor, I turned a corner and found Bucket-chan where he always was: sitting on his crate on the edge of the floor, overlooking the town. I approached him and crouched next to him. "Hey, uh... Bucket-chan," I said. I didn't expect him to respond, but screw it. "Who built you?" No response. Oh, that Bucket-chan. What a party animal. I pulled up the most solid bucket near him, tipped it upside-down, and sat on it. "Your design is most similar to The Mistress' guard robots," I mused. "So I'm thinking you were brought here for a security reason. That security reason is, apparently, to look at buckets. But what does looking at buckets have to do with security?" I grinned a little, and looked up. "You are directly below where the winch was. Did you know that, Bucket-chan? You're right below where Brooke installed a winch to bring up her jars of milk." I sat up straight. Bucket-chan said nothing and did nothing to react to my presence, but he didn't have to; this was for my own entertainment. "If the winch was there, then you'd receive a bucket every time it was in operation. You'd look inside the bucket, to see if there was anything that shouldn't be in there. I could probably bring you a grenade and you'd chuck it right off the edge, wouldn't you?" No response. "If Brooke had built you, she'd have never been killed. Sheila was a hermit who avoided all contact with Parkside. That only leaves The Mistress. The current mistress." I leaned forward. "She set you up here, didn't she? She planned to get the winch working again." I paused. "But there is no winch. There are no buckets, besides these here." I mulled on this, then leaned back. "Why didn't she finish this project? It's a good idea. Why give it up?" I thought about it for a little while as I stared out over the edge with Bucket-chan. And I remembered the last thing The Mistress said to me: Do yourself a favor: never have dreams. "...Oh," I sighed. "Shit. I think I just answered my own question." I slumped. Junior's deputies were still moving through the town, only more slowly. I thought I saw Junior down there, and he probably was wide awake, but I couldn't be sure without my monocular. The town looked so small from up there, like a model that I could just wrap my arms around. God, I am such an addict, I thought. "Take a good look, Bucket-chan," I muttered. "In a few hours, we're not going to have this view anymore, and Parkside... well, whoever's left down there won't have much, either. Bellows kills his own supporters. Imagine what he'll do to them." I looked directly at Bucket-chan. "Imagine what he'll do to us, if he catches us. I mean... don't get me wrong, I have faith The Mistress can get us out of here, but... fuck! That guy..." I wrapped my arms around my chest. I hated the idea that I had no clue where he was. He could be miles away, I thought, or he could be right behind me. I looked behind me. Spot wasn't there. I sighed. "I just wish we had something to defend ourselves with. Like... The Mistress' combat programming. I wish I knew what it looked like, at least. She says it's gone, but she won't even say where it was to begin with! I-it's like she's... embarrassed by it, or something!" I leaned back again and stared at the ceiling. "I just want to tell her, 'look, if you can't make new combat programming, then could you please tell me where I could find combat programming?'" Something happened. "I mean, it can't be that hard to locate some... old computer relic somewhere with-" Something beeped. I looked down. Bucket-chan had come to life. His eyes were green, and he was looking right at me. One arm slowly raised, his fingers curled, and he pointed his index finger at me. He made a "ding" sound, and he did nothing else. I looked at his green eyes. I looked at his finger. "...Wh..." I mumbled. "What is this? What are you-?" Ding! Bucket-chan emitted another little chime. "...What are you doing?" I looked behind me, but there was nothing there, not even buckets. "...Are you pointing at me?" Ding! "...Whuh?" After a few more seconds, Ding! It wasn't annoying, just strange. It sounded like Teeny's bell. "...Are you trying to tell me something?" I asked. "Are you... trying to tell me that... I can... do... something?" I hesitated. "Are you trying to tell me that... I can make new combat programming?" Pause. "I mean, I suppose I could, if I really put my mind to it. If I buckle down, maybe I can come up with something. I've been studying programming for a while, after all." I grinned. "Yeah! Yeah, you're right, Bucket-chan! Where there's a will, there's a way! All I have to do is... believe in myself, and anything is possible! Practice makes perfect, and-" I slouched, "-No, wait, that's stupid. What-" I looked at his finger; I got in really close, inspected it, looked for a booger on the end. "What the fuck is this, Bucket-chan? What are you doing?" I stood up, and the finger followed me. "What the-? What is this?" I jumped a couple inches, and the finger went briefly up, then down, as it stayed locked on my chest. "Stop that!" I leaned left, and right, and the finger followed. "Damn it, stop that! I don't need this now!" I walked around his crate, and he shuffled along, keeping his robo-butt firmly planted on his crate and his finger pointed at me. "I don't need some stupid new game right now, Bucket-chan-! "-Ah, damn it," I growled, "what am I saying?! You're a robot!! You don't know anything!! All you do is search buckets!! Well, news flash, Bucket-chan!! I can't do anything, because I'm not Natsuko!! The real Natsuko is 20 stories above us, hidden in another robot so she doesn't go nuts and screw up her programming aga-" And that's when it happened. ...It was like a bright light, brighter than the sun, suddenly turned on. I'm sorry for my pride. I hate to brag. Really, I do. Well... maybe I like it a little, but... please believe me. I mean, it wasn't even really my doing. I didn't invent anything. I'm not responsible for anything. I just put some stuff together and bam, things worked. Hell, you may have realized it already (in which case, good for you), which is faster than me. But... I did touch something. It was incredible. The only person who could understand is Father Fitzpatrick, and he'd probably say it was the work of Satan, but it wasn't. It was something... oh, God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but... something divine. Something outside of me. Again, this sounds so fucking prideful, it makes me gag. I would debase the feeling by describing it. Ineffable! I'll settle on saying it was ineffable. It was the good kind of ineffable, too. Let's review with The Mistress, because she can tell the story better than anyone else. "Ever since I accidentally uploaded the entire... complete... Ranma 1/2 library into your ROM -- with the OVAs, both dubbed and subbed, I thought it had completely parasitized your personality core!" "...Just to make your brain in the first place?! All that DARPA shit I had to install?!" (DARPA: Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency; the tech branch of the Old Republic's military.) "You were gonna be my bodyguard, but... fuck it!" "I wrote a virus to clean out your cache! Then I waited three whole weeks for that fucker to compile! Then it did jack shit!!" "The only useful form of combat programming I had was wiped by a virus." "You are-you used to be-just, like... all over the fuckin' map, but..." "You're weird, Natsuko." "The only useful form of combat programming I had was wiped by a virus." "You're just so... so..." "The only useful form of combat programming I had... "Human!" "...Was wiped by a virus." "I wrote a virus to clean out your cache!" "...It did jack shit!!" "But it did do something, didn't it, Natsuko?" Do you see it now? Looking down at Bucket-chan, sitting on his crate, pointing at me... ...(But not really)... ...I did. It was like the whole world centered on a single point, and I knew where that point was. "...Mygod," I breathed, and I was running for the stairs before I could even tell myself to do it. I skidded to a halt, then rushed back to Bucket-chan. "Can you find me a high-five, you fuckin' awesome robot?!" I screamed. Ding! He held up his hand, and I slammed that palm something epic. At 4:30 am, one of Junior's deputies knocked on the door of the Carson residence. He had to be urged by two of his buddies to do it, because they were all pretty sure Alan was asleep. He wasn't. Soon after the deputy knocked, the curtains in the living room window moved, and Alan opened the front door. His face was like stone, his eyelids shadowed and baggy. Something in the way he held himself gave him a little paunch, like his father. He didn't even bother to open his mouth to ask what the deputy wanted -- he just stared with that miserable expression of his. "Daniels said he saw movement in the camp," the deputy said, then waited for a response. None came. Alan listened silently, then breathed out of his nose and nodded. The deputy wanted there to be something else -- questions or orders or something -- but Alan didn't reply with anything, and the deputy couldn't think of anything, as Alan slowly closed the door. Alan plodded up the stairs, every footfall heavy on the creaking boards. He took deep breaths, even though he wasn't winded. On the second floor, no sound came from the ABCs' bedroom; they could have been awake, but Alan didn't know for sure. He thought about knocking, but he didn't want to disturb his children -- Gary, especially. He needed rest most of all. Alan leaned against the door. It was almost too difficult for him to stand. His hammer was on the floor next to the door -- he could pick it up, pull out the nails, and check them, just for a second- -No. He didn't want to disturb them. They needed rest. In the summer of 2432, a young Alan Carson and Oswald Fitzpatrick awoke before the sun rose in the early hours of a muggy July morning. They quietly got dressed, snuck out of their houses, and met in the shadow of the western entrance's guardhouse. Together, they snuck past Sheriff Waltrip's men (which included a serious young Deputy Foster, who seemed to never sleep) and out of their hometown into the ruins of Boston. The rowboat was exactly where Oswald's cousin had described it: in the water northwest of town, hidden under a half-collapsed dock. They reached under there, pulled the boat out, and loaded themselves in. With the brawny Alan at the oars and the brainy Oswald navigating, they crossed the Charles River together. Their objective: whirlwind adventure!! (Or something similar.) The abandoned buildings of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology had long intrigued Oswald. The only thing he knew about it was that it had been one of the big schools of the Old Republic. Alan didn't have any alternatives or objections, so away they went to college. They paddled under the broken Massachusetts Avenue Bridge, over flooded courtyards and through the husks of gutted buildings, until they found a structure that held potential. The old lecture hall was still intact, even with its lower floor invaded by the risen river. Alan and Oswald docked on a staircase and made their way up to the second and third floors of the building, where they checked the rooms. As could be expected, there was nothing impressive: empty desks were not treasure chests, and broken chalkboards told no ancient secrets. It was just an abandoned building, through and through. ...Well, except for two things. The building did hold some small treasures. The first, you already know about: a mathematics textbook. Oswald found it on the floor, covered in dust, in the corner of a classroom. Some might call it the One Ring to his Gollum, an object of evil power and persuasion that pushed him to his tragic fate. I think of it as just the vehicle he used to get there. You have to give Father Fitzpatrick at least some of the blame for what happened to him, after all. But that was just Oswald's treasure. Alan's came jammed in a closet at the end of the hall. It was something I had encountered as well: old clothes, wrapped in dry cleaning plastic and abandoned by their owner. Specifically, it was a light brown sports jacket with leather elbow patches. My guess is it was the property of a professor who left it there, thinking he would come back later to pick it up, and/or forgetting it entirely. Whoever its owner had been, he had been a big guy -- the jacket was several sizes too big on the young Alan. When he finally got caught returning home, it turned out to be a couple sizes too big for his father as well. It was too bad Grant couldn't be bought so easily, because otherwise Alan wouldn't have ended up cleaning toilets as punishment. In 2451, that sports jacket hung in Alan's closet, lightly used. He wore it when he needed to look "leader-ly," but he tried to do that as infrequently as possible. He didn't like wearing it because it felt overly dressy to him, like he was putting on airs. He had complained about that to Emma. She told him he looked handsome in it. In the early morning hours of February 2, 2451, Alan stared at the sports jacket hanging in the back of his closet, and that's what he thought about: Emma telling him he looked handsome in it. Her tying his tie. "...But I look ridiculous," he mumbled, "with these... things on the elbows..." "You look good," Emma had replied authoritatively. "No, I don't," he griped. "You look very handsome." She had smiled. That was it, debate over, the jacket stayed on. "The delegation will be impressed." "Delegation..." He scoffed lightly. "I'm just takin' Kirk and Ossie to a bar to talk about trade routes. It's nothing special." "It's a lot of money for this town." She pulled his tie up tight. He wheezed, then swallowed. "He'll be grateful to you for taking him seriously." "Always so serious," he grumbled There was a flash in her eye. "Him or me?" "-Ehm..." Alan froze up. "Ahh..." She laughed; she could always mess with him so easily. Even as children, she was smarter than him. She frustrated him to no end; he loved her so much. "Relax," she said, wrapping her arms over his shoulders. He leaned in, and they kissed. Within a month, she was dead. That had been the last time he had worn the sports jacket. Alan reached in and pulled it out. He smelled his shirt -- it wasn't too bad, all things considered -- but he changed it anyway, to a white button-up shirt with pit stains. He slowly removed the jacket from its hanger, slipped his arms inside the sleeves, then shrugged it on. When it was done, he looked himself over in the mirror. Without a tie, Emma would have unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Alan unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Alan didn't even consider his pants or socks or undergarments. He lied in his bed, stared at the ceiling, and quietly waited for 6 am to come. I took the stairs two and three at a time, and I nearly hurled myself through the door on the 70th floor. My artificial muscles were putting in overtime, but I didn't care. I couldn't care. I ran through the halls of The Mistress' home and burst into the junk-lab screaming, "Natsukooooo!! Natsuko!!" Miki-chan was there. She looked at me, alarmed. "M-Miki-chan!!" I sputtered. "You have it!! You have-!!" -Wait, I thought, looking at the broken-ass little robot. Her? Seriously?! Her?! "-Ugh!" My words became choked in my throat. I didn't know for certain. I couldn't know. Then I saw the iron bar on the floor nearby. It was after 5 am. The Mistress would be home any second. This was the last chance we had, and I was desperate. I picked the iron bar off the floor and held it over my head. Miki-chan watched me. "...Miki-chan!!" I cried. "I'm!! Going to... a-attack yooooooouuuuu!!" OhshitI'msosorry, I thought. I let out a baleful howl and charged Miki-chan with the bar over my head. She went stiff, then held out her arms in a desperate, wordless plea to stay back, please stay back!! She was terrified. I was terrified. I sure as hell didn't actually want to hurt her, and she sure as hell didn't look like anything remotely close to something that could defend itself... ...Which is why... ...It was so wonderful, so gloriously, stupendously magnificent... ...When she kicked... ...My... ...Ass. She tossed me like a sack of potatoes, right over her shoulder. One moment I was in front of her with the bar, and the next, I was four feet off the ground and flying upside-down through the air, over piles and piles of junk. And I smiled. And I gave Miki-chan, or... really, nobody in particular, a big, happy thumbs-up. And I cried, "Yattaaaaaaa!!" And I crashed into junk. I was in there for a minute. Miki-chan got worried. "-Miki-chaaaaan!!" I cried, bursting out of the junk pile like a deranged gopher. Miki-chan went stiff all over. "Miki-!!" I dug my way through the piles and piles of junk. "-Chan!!" I was swimming through the crap. When I got near the edge of the work table that Miki- chan sat on, I grabbed it and pulled myself forward, until my feet met the floor again. "Miki-chan!!" I nearly grabbed her shoulders, but I didn't. "Y-you have combat programming!! The Mistress gave you-wait-" I grabbed her speaker and plugged it into her. "-Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh-!!" she screamed for a couple seconds. I unplugged the speaker. "Miki-chan! Calm down! I only wanted to see if you'd defend yourself! I wasn't actually going to hurt you!" I plugged her speaker back in. "-Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh-haaaaahh-haaaaaah, why'd you do that, Natsuko-sama, you're so mean, waaaaaaaaaahhhh-!!" I unplugged her speaker. "I'm sorry! I was being a massive dick! Please, Miki-chan! You have to calm down and listen to me!! You're the only one who can..." I paused for a couple seconds, then plugged her speaker back in. "-Aaaaaaa-!!" I unplugged it. I said nothing. I waited a little while. I looked up at the clock. Seconds passed. I plugged the speaker in. "-Aaa-!!" Unplugged. I waited a while longer. I crossed my arms and tapped my fingers against my metallic right arm. After some time, her shoulders drooped, and her claw-hands fell from her robotic skull. "I just want to reiterate," I stated, "I'm sorry, and I'm not going to attack you. It was a totally dick move on my part. I also was a total baka-hentai douche for not carrying you outside, or letting you talk to Bee. Seriously, I'm sorry for everything I've ever done... Please forgive me, please... Can we please get to the really important thing right now?! I need you to listen!! Please!!" ...She slowly nodded. "The Mistress created you as her bodyguard," I said. "Then she messed you up by accident -- ahhh, don't think about that -- and she created a virus to fix you, to delete everything and start over. But it didn't work!! She thought it did because I stole your body and acted... kind of normal, but in reality, the virus never did anything!! Which means, the programming she installed in you to bodyguard her, to protect her-" I pointed at her head. "It's still in there!! It still works!! You just proved it, when you threw me!! The combat programming she thought she had destroyed is still there!!" I plugged her speaker back in. She didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then, "...Nani?" She didn't understand. Why should she, I thought. Dumb or not, this is a hell of a lot to heap on her. I rubbed my hands. "Miki-chan... do you still want to go outside?! Because I really, really, really want to take you outside!!" She nodded more eagerly. I immediately got to work by whipping off her wig and finding the power supply I had left on the table behind her. "But... why are you so excited to take me outside now?" she asked. I was unscrewing her skull from the rest of her body. "Because you're going to help me save everybody!!" "Save everybody?" I paused. Something Roger had said to me rang in my ears. I put my hands on her shoulders and asked, "Miki-chan, how would you like to help me save the world?!" "...Save the world?" "Yes!!" "...All of it?" I thought about this. "A good chunk of it!!" She thought about this for a moment. "Yeah, okay," she said, as she wasn't doing anything better that day. At 5:20 am, the first tremors of marching could be felt. It was a minor shaking in the ground, something so faint it could barely be felt unless you were waiting for it. Everyone had been waiting for it. People were coming out of their homes. Some had packed bags, but they had nowhere to go. A deputy ran up to the front door of the Carson home and pounded on it. Alan was inside, lying in his bed but not really asleep. He had never fallen asleep. He was staring not at the ceiling, but through it, to nothing at all. He heard the rapid, heavy pounding on his door and slowly rose from the bed. He placed his feet on the floor, one at a time. He had not bothered to take off his shoes to lie in bed. They were good, clean shoes that he rarely wore, for the same reason he rarely wore the sports jacket. He walked out of his bedroom and paused outside the ABCs' door. The pounding was so loud, it sounded like the deputy was trying to knock the front door out of its frame. The tremor was still low, but definitely there. Alan looked down and saw the hammer on the floor. He picked it up and pulled the nails out of the bedroom door, then opened it. "-Daddy!!" Bee said, grabbing hold of his leg. He patted her head. Annabelle was where she had been all night: by Gary's side, lying next to him to get some sleep herself and just waking up. Charlotte was awake and lying between Gary and the wall. "Did you get any sleep?" he mumbled to Bee. "Daddy, I'm scared..." "I know, shhhh." He looked at Annabelle. "How is he?" "Um." Annabelle scooted up toward Gary's head. She gently touched his chest, then put her hand to his nose. "...He's still breathing," she said. "What's happening?" "Daddy, um... Charlotte drew something," Bee said, "and-and, she said she saw it in the sky, and, um, we want you to see it and um-" Alan bent down and picked her up, and she buried her face in his shoulder. He walked over to Gary, patted his head, and leaned over him. "Take care of them," Alan whispered into his unconscious son's ear. He reached under his pant leg, pulled out a six-shooter strapped to his calf, and placed it under Gary's left hand. "For luck," he whispered. He kissed Annabelle on the forehead, gently rubbed Charlotte's cheek, then set Bee back on the floor. "I love you." "Daddy, no!!" "I love you, Beatrix. I love you, Annabelle." Annabelle's calm completely broke, and the little girl burst into tears. "I love you, Charlotte." Charlotte's face twisted with misery. "I have to go outside now, okay? So be good girls, and... stay right here..." Annabelle hopped to the floor and grabbed her father's leg, and Charlotte and Bee followed suit shortly. "No, I gotta go," Alan said weakly. He bent down and took all three of them in his large arms. "I gotta go," he whispered. "Don't leave us!!" Bee wailed. "I'll never leave you." He breathed in and out. Annabelle had a scent to her, and Bee had an odor. Charlotte didn't smell at all. "You know... I never told you this, but..." He paused. He thought he shouldn't say it. "...What?" Annabelle asked. "You... look," he choked out the words, "more like your mother... every day..." He held them tight. "...I have to go," he said. "No!!" the girls cried, not in unison, but together. "No!! No!! Don't go!!" Alan closed his eyes and gently pulled them off. "I have to..." The girls were protesting, crying, screaming for him to stay. They kept doing it as he turned and walked out the door, as he closed it, as he picked up the hammer and nails and sealed the door shut again. Alan kept his eyes closed through it all, because if he opened them and looked at their faces for one more second, he would have never left, and... ...Well, he wasn't sure what would happen. He knew what was going to happen to him. Let's not kid ourselves here: van der Hoof; Fitzpatrick; I could name a dozen others off-hand. He wanted to be far away from them when what would happen, happened. Meanwhile, I was bolting it toward the 10th floor with Miki-chan's powered skull tucked under my arm. Below the 30th floor, I paused. "...What is it?" Miki-chan asked. "Do you feel that?" I asked. "I don't feel anything." The floor was shaking. "...Ohhhhh...," I moaned, then kept running. The pounding on Alan's door had not stopped since before he got out of bed. After his grim march downstairs, he pulled it open arduously and faced the deputy on the other side. "They're coming!!" the young deputy cried. A crowd was quickly gathering behind him, and it was growing bigger and bigger with every second. "...I know," Alan breathed out, mentally adding, I'm ready. People were running to Alan's house. Behind and all around them were families with suitcases and nowhere to go. Many people, old and young, were armed, but so completely out of their league and fully aware of it. "Wh-what do we do?!" the deputy asked, and I'm sure everyone else there was thinking the same thing. "Move," Alan replied. People were crying and praying; Alan was the calmest person there. Most of the town was standing in front of him. "But move where?! He's got us surrounded!!" "Move," Alan repeated. When the deputy failed to move, Alan took him by the shoulders and guided him to the side of the stoop. "...Oh...," the deputy muttered, then, realizing this wasn't satisfactory again, "ah..." Alan trudged down his steps, paused briefly at the bottom, then turned left. The crowd parted around him as he passed, and followed close behind him. He took 10 steps before he couldn't take another one. Junior stood in his path. Alan got within a couple feet of him, but he didn't move. The sheriff was decked out in a thick black bulletproof vest with the word "POLICE" mostly scratched out on its front and back, a pistol on each hip, an extra pair strapped to the outside of each thigh, and his trusty assault rifle strapped to his back. He wore clean green cargo pants (with heaven-and-him-only-knows how many more weapons in the pockets), black fingerless gloves, safety goggles, and a black ballcap with a similar "POLICE" logo. "Junior...," Alan said. The stomping was becoming audible. "Where do you think you're goin'?" Junior asked. Alan closed his eyes. "What, so you're just gonna give up?" Alan said nothing. Junior snorted derisively. "Shiiiiiiit." "I wish you could stop me," Alan said. Junior said nothing. "...I wish... it was this easy." The stomping was getting louder. Everyone was agitated, though some would say that Alan and Junior didn't look that way. Instead, Alan slouched, while Junior held himself high and proud. "I wish you could stand there... and... I'd come along, and... you'd stop me." Pause. "And that'd be it!" Alan smiled. It wasn't fake, but it wasn't real. It was the smile one uses when the only other option is to weep. "I'm going to kill each and every one of those motherfuckers," Junior said. "I know," Alan replied. Something in his smile became warmer. Junior's stare was harsh and judging. Alan just let Junior be Junior. And after a few more moments, "Shit," Junior breathed. "I know." "We can't do this." "That's right!!" cried a man from the crowd. Several people joined in. "We can't do this!! We can't do this!!" "I know," Alan replied simply. A small ruckus rose around him, and he let it go on. The stomping became louder. The crowd grew noisier. Alan stood there silently, listening to everything and nothing. His whole world focused on a single point as well. He stood on it and asked himself where he wanted to go next. I reached the 10th floor and fumbled with the keycard. I swiped it through the card reader, and the door didn't click. Why isn't it clicking, I thought, my mind whirling in a furious panic, before I realized I forgot the code. "Nnnrf!!" I griped, then tried to remember it. The Mistress used it, I thought, she taught it to me... All it took was a breath. After listening to the rabble for a couple minutes, and feeling the stomping beneath his feet, Alan let out a little sigh, like air was escaping his lungs and threatening to not return. Something about it made people quiet down a little. When a few people quieted down, a few more followed suit. If people weren't watching Alan, they were, at the very least, keenly aware of him. "...Ahhh...," Alan rattled, his mouth hanging open as he scratched his forehead. "...I know... some of you..." He closed his eyes. "A lot of you... think I'm a moron. You think I was only ever in charge 'cause of my dad." He sighed. "You're right. I... got this... through pure nepotism." A grin briefly flitted across his face as he realized he remembered that word, and didn't have to get it from Charlotte. Charlotte, who was locked up in the house. The grin left quickly. "I- I've been aware of this... for... as long as I've had this job." He paused and caught his breath. "I asked my dad, before he died, why people called him 'Chief' instead of 'Mayor.' He told me, it was because he was never elected to the job. He got the job 'cause of his dad, and his dad got it 'cause of his dad... aaand we all go around pretending that great-grandpa Bobby was some... great pioneer, instead of some hobo who fled the C-I-S over an unpaid bar tab and set up a house with a tomato garden." Alan froze up. Someone coughed. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he said, "I always... feel... so ridiculous, coming outta my house each morning, and... pretending... like I have... any control, over anything." He rubbed his mouth and tried to hold it together. "But... I only do it 'cause... I wanna help." His arms fell to his sides. "I like... being in charge, sure. I know it's weird, but... I kind of like it when people get..." He paused to think of the correct word. "Deferential toward me." He paused again, then looked at Junior and meagerly whispered, "Is 'deferential' a word...?" "I dunno," Junior shrugged. "Huhhh...," Alan muttered. "But... my biggest reason is, 'cause I think it will help." He paused. "Ossie told me, recently..." He dropped his head. "He told me that I only see the good side of this town. That's not true. I'm not that dumb. I know everyone's got problems. I just... I'd like to think..." He raised his head a little. "I'd like to think that, if I had some say in things, then I could fix some of those problems." He blinked. "...No... that I could... help fix them. That with my two cents, I could make things a little easier on you, or at least give you the space you need to fix 'em yourself. Because..." He looked over the crowd gathered before him and said, "I know you all. I've met each and every one of you. I know your wives and brothers. Our kids have played together. I love you-ah, fuck-" Some tears escaped his eyes, and he wiped them with his jacket sleeve. He held his hand over his mouth and breathed through his nose. He said, after a pause, "...I-I'm sorry. I've let you all down." Every person in his audience watched him in complete silence. For every face that had a darker shade of skin than his, Alan looked regretful. "You looked to me for guidance. You asked me for safety. ...I gave you nothing." "If he hurts one person-" Junior added, not loudly, but seriously. "-I know," Alan nodded, and patted Junior on the shoulder. "I'm here with you, at least. I haven't fucked that up." Alan briefly glanced at Junior and did a double-take. Junior was smiling. Actually smiling. Nobody -- and I mean nobody -- had ever seen Junior smile. "Alan," Junior chuckled, "shut the fuck up." I remembered the code and fat-fingered it into the keypad, then I struggled to push the door open when it didn't open fast enough for me. The 800 robots that comprised the Lane Plan waited within... or rather, stood around randomly within, just kind of... existing. I checked my smart phone -- it was 5:45 am. I quietly breathed out a curse. "What are we doing?" Miki-chan asked. I set her on the floor and looked down at her. "Okay, we need to think," I said. "We need to upload your combat programming into all these robots in less than 15 minutes. They're all charged up. They just need orders... and a way to understand those orders. And weapons. And there needs to be 10 times more of them, because there's 8000 of Bellows' soldiers. And oh boy." "Hmmmmmmmmmmm...," Miki-chan hummed in electric thought. "Well... then... I thiiiiiink... we might... have a problem." "Yyyeah," I wheezed. "More than one." "Oh, doubtlessly," I croaked. "The first problem is, I can't in-yer-face with these robots." I pulled my head out from between my knees. "...You mean interface?" I mumbled. "Yeah. They look kinda like Mistress' farming robots, and I can't speak to those guys." Her optical sensors looked back and forth and magnified and pulled back. "Golly, though! I've never seen this many robots!" I watched her watch them. "...Can you speak to any other robots?" "Oh, yeah! I can share data with them... but they never have anything to say." She stopped talking. I waited for her to start again; I listened. You bet your ass I listened!! "...Well?!" I cried. "Well what?" "How do you speak to the other robots?!" "Oh! You'd need a hardware link, Natsuko-sama. Although, you probably can't speak to them, 'cause you're a squishy brain." "I don't want to speak to them!! I want you to speak to them, and tell them how to fight bad guys!!" "But I already told you, I can't speak to them. We don't interstate highway system." "Gah-dij-!! Daaaahh!!" I covered my face in my hands. Calm down, I thought. There's an answer here, I know it. I faked a deep breath and said, "...You said you need a hardware interface?" "Hai." "Okay. Hardware interface. Hardware interface. You need hardware to interface. You need..." Light bulb! "Can you upload the combat programming into something that can interface with these guys?!" "Hai!" First step! I left the memory stick on the 70th floor, I thought. Shit!! I wasn't even sure I could use it on Miki-chan anyway; her brain-bubble didn't have a USB port. The seconds were counting down. I needed hardware, and I needed it badly. "Can you upload it into me, and I can-no!! You said I can't interface with them!!" I hammered my head with my fists. "Ah, think!! I need hardware!! Where can I hook myself up with some-?!" -Light bulb! Alan stood alone on top Grant Carson's Gate and watched the end of his world approach. It marched up the road, thousands of perfectly synchronized footsteps thundering on broken asphalt once traversed by cars and trucks. There was a newfound confidence in the soldiers borne of their fearless leader's victory over the Sea Witch of Norfolk. Meanwhile, the slaves were exhausted and barely managing to keep up as they struggled to haul the army's gear this last stretch. President Bellows wasn't riding in his limousine; instead, he was surfing the white platform he used as a stage, one hand in his pocket as he stood upon it like a statue dedicated to himself. It was an unusual display of pride from the man, but if you asked any of his soldiers, they'd have said it was well-deserved. The president hurried to finish off his apple breakfast just as the platform, and the army that surrounded it and trailed far, far behind it, came to a halt. "Good morning, Alan," President Bellows called up. "How are you this fine day?" Alan said nothing. There was nothing to say in that moment. "Go fuck yourself?" Pointless. "Please leave?" Meaningless. "What do you want?" Silly. "I surrender?" Redundant. "...Hm," President Bellows said. "Someone's a bit grumpy today. No matter. Have you thought about the talk we had yesterday morning?" Alan wondered where Ossie and Kirk were buried. Had they been buried? It made him sick to his stomach. "...Yeah," he uttered. "And have you calmed down?" President Bellows sounded like a grade school teacher gently chiding a very young student after discipline. Alan said nothing. "Hm." President Bellows didn't smile, but he didn't look angry. "I must say, Alan, you don't seem to realize how rude it is to not respond when someone asks you a question." He reached into his coat and pulled out his machete. "We really have to work on your attitude problem." The Garamond Learning Annex was about the size of a quarter; I could easily hold it between my thumb and index finger. It had rounded edges, two tiny copper prongs jutting out of one side, and a library's worth of knowledge on science and technology. It was an amazing repository of information that had been hooked to my brain bubble for months... ...And I was likely about to delete everything on it. "Are you sure?" Miki-chan said. "You love the Garamond videos!" I winced. "I know! But lives are on the line, Miki-chan!" "But... will it even work?" "Only if it's writable media." I leaned over her brain bubble and found a port. "If not, then... good for it, bad for Parkside. They need this more than me, though." I plugged the annex into Miki-chan, mumbled a little "Sorry" to its (long-dead) creators, then said, "...Okay. Miki- chan? Upload it!" Alan trudged down the stairs of Grant's Gate. Hundreds of pairs of eyes -- male and female, young and old, fat and thin, gay and straight, black, white, Hispanic, Asian -- all followed him. "...I'm sorry," he said. Nobody said anything. What could they say? Another chorus of "We can't do this?" Could Alan do anything then? He was all out of cajoling and negotiating and breaking up fights, all out of death stares and finger- pointing so hard it could make a person feel like a speared fish. Now there was nothing but a man, asking his neighbors for forgiveness for something he had, demonstrably, no power over. He had no hope. He had no help. ...But the fact that he was still standing, that he was there with them instead of fleeing on horseback or hidden and locked away... ...Well, there's something that not only makes you not able to argue with a man like that, but also not want to argue with a man like that. "Alan," Junior said, stepping forward. "I'll take the guardhouse." Alan wavered. "...You sure?" Junior nodded. "It changes nothing... but yeah." "It's done!" Miki-chan said. I unplugged the annex and pumped my arms. "Yes!!" I cried, and spun around. Eight-hundred functioning robots stood there, awaiting orders. "Shit!!" I cried, my arms still in the air. "Ohhhh!! I need to plug this into every one of them!!" "But that won't work!" Miki-chan cried, mimicking my thoughts exactly. "...Ahh..." I dropped my arms. "I need them all to download the programming at once!! I need a-a-a, a network of some-" ...Solar-powered, The Mistress had once described the Lane Planners, low-maintenance, networked together for synchronization- -I jumped on the first robot in front of me and ripped open its chest panel. I hit the "Back" button on the black plastic screen within, backing out of the default command prompt and into the robot's directory. "I'm ready," Junior called from the guardhouse. His hand rested on the lever controlling the weights that could pull open the gate. With a grunt, he pulled it down, and the weights were engaged. Once the steel clamps on the other end of the gate were released... Alan stared at the lever controlling the clamps. One pull, and the weights would fall. One pull, and the clamps would unlock. One pull, and Parkside would never be the same ever again. I found a file labeled "Network" in the robot's directory. I opened it, and an "Upload" command was right there on the first screen. (Why didn't The Mistress use it before, some of you are asking? Because she was working with 800 broken, unpowered robots. She couldn't just program them all to fix themselves -- they'd have just lied there on the floor or scrabbled around trying to re-attach their own limbs.) I plugged the annex into the robot's chest. Alan put his hands on the lever. I hit the Upload button. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. "Did it work?" Miki-chan asked after a couple seconds. I didn't know. I heard a faint hum, but that could have been the lights. The robots didn't move. "...Let me try something," I breathed. I put my arms to my sides, stood straight, and yelled as loud as I could: "Atteeeeeen-shun!!" Boom. Everyone in Parkside heard it. Alan heard it. "...What was that?" President Bellows mumbled. His soldiers said nothing and didn't move a muscle, but they were all thinking the same thing. The exhausted slaves weren't as discreet; they looked at each other with apprehension in their eyes. Alan's hands were on the lever. He paused, then turned around. He saw what all of his friends and neighbors saw: dust falling off the side of Sky Tower. A few windows came loose off the side and plummeted to the earth. "The fuck was that?" Junior called out. Alan said nothing. His hands fell off the lever. Eight-hundred robots moved. In less than a second, their eyes had turned red. In less than two seconds, each and every single one of them snapped to attention. Their feet had hammered against the floor, so perfectly synchronized that it generated a shockwave that knocked me off my feet. "Hooohhhh!!" I cried as I sat on my ass and gawped at them. Each was standing at attention where they had been milling about just a moment before. I was at the center of a great circle, with each robot facing me. When they spoke, it was as one, and it was deafening. "...DARPA... EXPERIMENTAL... COMBAT... PROTOCOL... INITIATED," they (it?) said. "COMMAND... STRUCTURE... REQUESTED." "Command...," I mumbled, and I scrambled to my feet. "Y-your, uh, your command..." "Did you hear that?" someone in the back of the crowd, furthest away from the gate, said. After a couple of seconds, Alan heard someone say, "It sounded like... voices...?" "What's going on?" Junior said. His hands were on his own lever. He was itching to push it back up. "...W-wait," Alan said. He was watching Sky Tower -- that great monolith, black and unmoving, unchanging and everlasting. Something was different, but he couldn't tell what it was. I looked at the nearest robot in its optical sensors. "I uploaded your programming, so... I'm-" Wait, I thought, ...no. No, that won't work. "...I'm a lieutenant," I said. "I'm Lieutenant Natsuko." The robot's red eyes blinked, and I heard a "ka-click" sound come from its head. "LIEUTENANT... NATSUKO... DESIGNATED," it said. "PLEASE... IDENTIFY... TOP... LEVEL... COMMANDER." "...That'd be Alan Carson," I breathed. "PLEASE... IDENTIFY... LOCATION... OF... ALAN... CARSON." "I'll do you one better. I'll take you to him!" I backed away toward the stairwell, scooping up Miki-chan along the way. "This is scary!!" Miki-chan whispered. I had to agree: having 800 robots suddenly turn into a hive mind was intimidating, to say the least. I had the feeling of swimming under a very large ship: sure, it wouldn't crush me, but that was only barring its sinking, and the feeling of that tremendous bulk, right there, so close, gave me chills. But there was also something else. "Fall in!!" I yelled. ... ...It was like... living origami. The swarm kaleidoscopically swirled around me, marching in perfect lock-step, each individual just one part of a much greater whole. All together, they whorled into rows of perfectly organized 'bots, then faced me and awaited further instructions. "That was kinda neat, though," Miki-chan mumbled. "Miki-chan," I said, "I'm gonna pre-empt Bee and say, this is The Coolest Thing Ever." "What are we doin', here?" Junior said, walking up behind Alan. "Wait..." "...Okay." He hesitated. "So, what are we waiting for?" "Just... w-wait..." Alan could feel his will to delay the inevitable drain. He wasn't sure why he was waiting, but something deep down told him that something was about to happen. There was an energy coming from Sky Tower, and he could feel it. Judging by how some of the people around him were acting, others could feel it, too. The tower was shaking. Something was rumbling. Something was coming. Soon, even Junior could feel it. "Alan?" they heard the president call from the other side of the gate behind them. "Are you still there?" Junior turned to the noise of the president's voice, his mouth twisted in a sneer. "Wait," Alan whispered. So Junior said nothing. To avoid destructive harmonic resonance, I broke the robots' formation before they started downstairs. Otherwise, the shaft would have filled with a pile of broken robots stretching down into the garage (and deeper, if the door into the secret U.S. military base couldn't hold them). I jogged down the stairs, and they jogged behind me. I ran, and they ran. I stopped, and they stopped. "Oooooooooh!" Miki-chan cooed. "Nyeh-heh!!" I snickered. Off-hand, I checked the clock on my smart phone. It was 5:59 am. I double-taked it, screamed, "Fuck!!" then bolted down the stairs, and the robots bolted behind me. "Leviathan, move out of the way!!" I cried into my smart phone. "Get ready!! We're goin' to town!!" "Alan!" President Bellows called out again. "We're still waiting for you, Alan! What's going on over there? Can anyone-" He lowered his head to one of his officers. "Can anyone see over there? Do we have eyes high up?" The officer nodded, then jogged over to one of the buildings to the side of the road and waved his hands. Within a minute, a soldier holding a rifle came running out of the building. He stopped in front of the officer, who pointed toward the platform. The soldier hesitated, then briskly walked over to meet the president. The soldier greeted the big boss with a salute. "Sir! You requested me?" "What are you seeing in town?" President Bellows asked. "Sir, it's... kind of strange. Everyone in town is just... watching the tower, sir." "Watching the tower?" "Yes, sir. A couple minutes ago, a loud noise came from Sky Tower. After that, King Carson stepped away from the gate and started watching the tower. Most of his followers started doing the same." "A loud noise, you say?" "Yes, sir. Well... several loud noises, actually. Some sounded like... well, like voices, sir." "Voices?" "Yes, sir. I couldn't tell what they said, though." "Hmmmm..." President Bellows looked up at the top of the gate thoughtfully. "The witch... She's up to something. I can feel it. Thank you, son, that'll be all." The soldier saluted the president once more, then jogged back to his post. President Bellows pondered the situation; he looked up at the gate, and at the buildings around him. He waved to another officer, who shoved his way to the platform. "I need some height," the president said. "Get me up just high enough to see over." The officer spun around, spotted two large slaves, and waved them over. When they didn't move instantly, two other officers shoved them forward, toward the platform. The slaves trudged forward, barely able to keep their eyes open, then paused at opposite ends of the president's stage. The officers reached under the white sheet that covered it, produced a pair of rusty metal cranks, and shoved them against the slaves' chests. The slaves pushed the cranks into sockets in the side of the platform and began to turn them. With a squeak and a shudder, the platform began to rise. President Bellows stared at the top of the gate and patiently waited as he gradually gained altitude, going from a few feet above the ground to somewhere close to the gate's height. At the same time, a low buzz arose in the crowd behind him. His focus faltered for just a moment, and he felt it. Before he could investigate, he felt the ground below him tilt backwards. He quickly leaned forward, spreading his arms out in front of him, as a loud "clonk" noise came from behind him. The platform tilted backwards dangerously. "Stoooop!!" one of the officers screamed. Bellows focused on balancing himself; he couldn't turn around, or he would have risked falling. "...A little help, please?" he asked the officers who were surrounding the stage. He was too high up to reach, however. "...There. Grab the...," he pointed at the front edge of the platform. The officers, and some of their underlings, lined up, grabbed the edge, and pulled it down with their own weight. "That's it. Careful, now." Slowly, the platform tilted forward. "Sir, are you okay?!" one of the soldiers (let's say it was Billy) cried out. "I'm okay. What...?" President Bellows regained his normal balance. When he felt safe again, he looked behind him. The slaves had made a mistake: the ones carrying the limousine (including Walter) had, in their fatigue, carried it too far forward, to the point where the front bumper was overhanging the platform. When the president's stage was raised, it lifted the front end of the limo with it, to the point where it was angled upwards at 45 degrees to the ground. The "clonk" had been the rear bumper hitting the pavement. The "reeee-KRK-KRUNK" soon after the president regained his footing was the rear bumper breaking off. ...Nobody said anything. Walter and the other limo-carriers stood stark still. They had nothing in their hands because the limo had been lifted right out of their grip. The slaves carrying the rear had been so overburdened by the lifting vehicle, they had had no choice but to set it down. President Bellows said nothing for a long moment. He didn't look angry. He was never angry. He was hurt. His lower lip jutted out, just a little, in a slight pout. He blinked. "Wh-" he wheezed a little. ...Nobody said anything. President Bellows looked around. He saw Billy in the crowd. "Y'see?" Bellows said, pointing at the slaves holding the cranks. "This is what I was talking about last night." There were soldiers on the crank-holding slaves before either of them knew who the president was pointing at. One man got his throat slashed. He let out a gargling scream as he fell to the ground, trying to hold the wound shut, and failing at that. The other didn't make a sound as he was choked to death with a wire garrote. Bellows shook his head. "Some people," he muttered, "it just seems like nothing good ever comes from them." I burst out of the staircase and ran to the center of the lobby, where Leviathan was positioned. I leapt up on his back and watched as the LP robots flowed out of the door like water, filling the lobby all around us. "Everyone fall in!!" I cried. Within a minute, the lobby was filled with orderly rows of red-eyed robots, with more clambering in the staircase. I tried to count this first group, but I couldn't count fast enough. They had to make room for the others. They had to get out of the lobby. They had to head to town. "Are you ready?!" I asked Miki-chan. "Let's roll!!" she replied. "Robots!!" I screamed. "Turn west!!" They did, as one. "Forward... mmmarch!!" The ground shook. The lobby filled with the stomp-stomping of metal feet on cracked marble, and waves of robots passed me, only to be replaced by more waves of robots falling into line, then marching west. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. I had built an army. A mother-fucking army. A snort came up from deep within me and grew quickly into a loud, maniacal cackle. I stretched one arm out dramatically and laughed as loud as I could. I was a mad scientist unleashing her creation upon an unsuspecting world! They had doubted me, the fools!! But I would show them!! I'd show them all!! ...Well, not really. But damn, did it feel good!! Nearly everyone in town saw the rows of red lights. They knew strange things lived on every floor of the grand hulk that was Sky Tower, including the lobby. When the red lights started moving, however, they became alarmed (or, really, more alarmed than they already were with the R.U.S.A. at their front door, which was pretty fucking alarmed). "Alan!" Junior said urgently. Alan wasn't paying attention to his sheriff; he was staring straight ahead, one of many surprised faces in the crowd around him. Unlike his fellow Parksiders, however, he was stepping forward. The rows of lights emerged from the lobby, accompanied by metallic clomping noises stamping the ground. Many people cried out and fell back, but not too far back, because that was toward the gate, and that direction sure as hell wasn't safe, either. "Al-Alan!!" Junior pushed his way through the crowd toward his boss. When Junior emerged from the crowd, next to Alan... hoo, boy, did he see something. Row after row of metal demons, their bodies shining in the light of their own red eyes, marching unflaggingly toward Parkside. They were nearly identical in general shape, even if each of them was constructed with different parts. Different parts -- can you believe that? It's like if you saw a man with a different man's arms stitched to him, standing next to a man with a different man's head stitched to him. Now multiply those two by 400, line them all up, and point them directly at yourself. That's how Alan and Junior felt. "Fuck-," Junior wheezed. His gun was in-hand- "-No," Alan said, putting his hand on the barrel. "No." He pointed at something bigger and bulkier than the metal demons, coming up the middle of their rows even as they marched forward. Before they could see it clearly in the poor pre-dawn light, the two men could discern the shape of Leviathan rolling toward them. They could also see there was something, or someone, riding his back. Me. God, I must have looked smug. I was kind of tripping on a mad scientist high. "Alan!!" I called out, and I pointed to him. "There!! He's right there!!" I slipped off Leviathan's back and ran ahead of the robot army. By the time I reached him, the front line was just 10 feet away. I stuck my arm out. "Halt!!" I screamed, and the army stopped right there. "Here he is!!" I cried, pointing at him. "This is Alan Carson!!" I turned to Alan. "I'm designating you as the commander!!" "B-what?" Alan replied. "What?!" Junior spat. "What?!" Alan said again, more surprised (partly because Junior was surprised, and Alan realized he was surprised because there was a really good reason to be surprised). The eyes of one of the robots in the front row blinked. Ka-click! "COMMANDER... ALAN... CARSON... DESIGNATED." "What?!" Alan screamed. As he was raised up, President Bellows got a look over the gate, and his face fell. "...Ooooohhhh," he said softly. Behind him, his snipers were yelling down to their commanding officers. The Secret Service stirred. I paused before I added, "And this guy!!" I ran up to Junior and pointed at him. "-No," Junior blurted, his nostrils flaring, "hey-!" "-Designate him as another lieutenant! Lieutenant Junior Foster!" "-N-no-!!" Ka-click! "LIEUTENANT... JUNIOR... FOSTER... DESIGNATED." "This is awesome!!" I cried. "Hey, Alan, do you have anyone else you want to lead the robot army?!" Alan's mouth hung open. He looked down at Miki-chan's head in my hands. She saw him notice her. She looked back up. "No thank you," she said. "I'm just happy to be here!" "Natsuko, what the hell is going on?!" Alan cried. I froze. "I made a robot army!" Seeing Junior confused and upset was normal. Seeing Alan confused and upset, again, was disheartening, again. "...Wh-?! Wha-?!" "'Cause of the, uh," I jerked a thumb toward the gate behind me. "Army... army. Listen, Alan, I know I had problems with programming, but... this is entirely different!" "Is it?!" "W-well... yeah! I mean..." I looked back at the robots. "They can fight, 'cause I gave them her programming," I held up Miki-chan's head, and they were predictably repelled by it. "Hello!" she chirped. "She's a great fighter!" If Alan's eyebrow had gone up any higher in disbelief, he would have pulled a muscle in his face. "Really!!" "You didn't build an army," Junior said, pissed. "This is bullshit!!" "Natsuko... y-you can't just march these things out, and expect us to..." Alan was trying to think of some kind of moral to pull out of this when Junior shoved past him and stormed up to one of the robots in the front row. "Junior-" "-You think you can scare off the R-whatever with this bullshit?!" Junior roared, whipping his assault rifle off his back. He must have been tired, because I could see him do it. "Hey, metal demons!! I'm gonna blow your fucking heads off!! If you can really fight," he pointed his gun directly at the first robot he came to, "then fucking stop me!!" "Junior, no!!" Alan cried. Junior pulled the trigger. The gun went off. But the bullet went over the robot's head. Because the robot had grabbed the barrel and pushed it up. Before Junior could react, the robot next to his target took one step out of line and punched him square in the kidneys. Off-balance and in pain, Junior tried to prevent his target from wresting the rifle from his hands, but he suddenly had this second robot trying to pry it away. Junior was only getting angrier. A third robot joined in, and Junior was yelling slurs at them. Things were getting out of control. "Everybody stop!!" I yelled. The robots hesitated for a moment, but didn't let go of Junior's gun. Junior didn't let up. "Junior!!" Alan barked. Junior hesitated, then yanked his gun out of the robots' hands. Junior took a step back from the robots and stared at them. They stared back, seemingly a little more wary than before. I wasn't familiar with their combat programming, but these clearly were no longer the same toaster-level 'bots they were before. They weren't up to animal levels of self-preservation, but they did have just enough to carry out orders, and right then and there, those orders were to stop Junior from killing them. The question was, was he going to try again? Junior paused before reaching down and pulling out a pistol. He looked at it, then handed it butt-first to one of the robots. "Strip it," he ordered. ...Now, I'm no gun expert, but as it turns out, this particular robot (and, by extension, every LP robot there) was. Out came the magazine. Off came what I later learned was the "upper assembly." Out came all the parts within that. I guess Junior found that acceptable, because the next thing he said, after much hesitation, was, "Now... see that can over there? In that stall?" He was pointing to a merchant's stall, the only one still up in Parkside that morning. A tin can was on the counter. "Shoot it off. You have ten seconds." Snap-click-click-snap, went the gun as the robot quickly put it back together, magazine in, locked and loaded, the robot pointed it up, and BANG, the can went flying, all in much less than ten seconds. The crowd behind me was silent. Alan was silent. Junior was silent. After a second, he turned and gave Alan the same look every kid gives his mom when he finds a lost puppy. I was feeling pretty damn proud. ...But not everyone felt the same way I did. "What is this?" came a deep voice that needed no megaphone. "Demons here in Parkside?" When we looked up at the gate, we got the scare of our lives: President Bellows hanging there in midair, his hands crossed in front of him on top of his machete, which was tip-down in the platform. Of course, he was standing on the platform... but in that moment, it really was like the guy was flying. "People! Are you really going to abide by this? This isn't what The Lord wants!" The Parksiders murmured fearfully. "And Alan! What do you think you're doing, standing so close to them? Come back over here!" Alan watched the robot rejoin the ranks, one machine fitting with unnaturally perfect ease into a much bigger machine. He rubbed his cheek and looked toward the gate. He then looked back at the robot army. "You're not thinking clearly, Alan! This is not a good decision to make!" The Parksiders were growing more and more fearful by the second; they were stirring themselves into a tizzy. I looked toward the gate. I looked back at Alan. Alan was staring at me. He stared at the robots. He stared at the gate. He didn't look happy. My smile faltered. "A-Alan... y-you can't..." It faded to nothing. "You can't be serious." "Don't do this, Alan!" President Bellows called. "Don't listen to him!" I said, barely able to comprehend that I had to tell him this. He was grimacing, though, so it seemed to be the case. "He... Alan, he's going to kill you! He's going to wipe this town out! He's not your friend!" "Think of your souls," President Bellows cooed. "Think of what this means." Alan looked down at the ground. He looked up at Junior, who was just staring at the robots. "...Junior," he said. Junior looked at Alan. "Walk with me." "Alan!!" I said, my fear growing. Had my work been for nothing? ...Was The Mistress correct? "Natsuko-" Alan paused. "Wait right here." "Alan, you can't-!" "-I'm not!" ... "...What?" I asked. "...Just..." Pause. "Wait right here for me, okay?" "...Okay!" What else was there to say? Junior could barely keep his eyes off the robots. He didn't look angry or disapproving, however. There was something there in him that had been there when he left Sky Tower earlier that morning, and had now grown into something more noticeable. He waved a few of his men over, quickly whispered something to them, handed them a set of keys from his pocket, and sent them somewhere. "Junior," Alan repeated, and Junior managed to tear himself away. The two men walked a