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It had been two weeks since Dr Robotnik ceased to exist. Two weeks since nothing happened, a costly, cumbersome nothing that had required lots of cover-up, bribes and one or two discreet assassinations. None of those things had been done by agent Stone, who had immediately been assigned to desk duty pending “internal review”. As soon as the majority of the mess had been cleaned up, the papers purged and the reparations made, his superiors ganged up on him like a flock of seagulls on a picnic.
At first, it was just long, dull hours of questioning.
Where does he keep the keys to the large filing cabinet? What’s the password to the encrypted cloud storage? Is there a hidden message in the playlists? Why Austria? What did he tell you about the ground-to-air missile system? Why did he write this treaty on plutonium recycling in ancient Sumerian? Why does he call them “badniks”?
Stone played dumb. It was surprisingly easy, seeing as he had done it for years with a far greater adversary than these jumped-up drones. Some of the questions he genuinely didn’t know the answer to, and the rest he chose not to disclose. They were the doctor’s secrets, and he was the doctor’s man. Betraying Robotnik was not an option. He wasn’t sure of the exact point in time when he had gone from being an agent of the government to being an agent of chaos, but he did know he was well past that point.
Playing the game with them kept him from breaking down, kept the looming threat of having to face this new reality at bay. He even got some answers in return, learning that the doctor had chased the electric alien hedgehog creature all over the world (however that happened) and then disappeared completely, in the same rural town they’d found the creature in. He wasn’t dead, apparently, just… gone.
Top brass was decidedly not happy. The doctor had left a huge mess, and they badly needed to recoup their losses somehow. Cashing in on Robotnik’s orphaned research was the obvious choice, and Stone, being the doctor’s closest (and honestly, only) associate, was the key to that research. After weeks of no success they stopped asking questions, and instead demanded answers. When threats proved equally useless, they changed to less savoury tactics. One night, Stone woke up to ten agents swarming him with tranquilising guns and black bags. He took out six of them before one got in a lucky shot.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed as it happened, but piecing it together afterwards it had been about three weeks. Mercifully, he didn’t remember much. Flashes, only – a table with restraints. A woman with a syringe. A chair. A general, a man in a black suit and sunglasses, two agents with guns. Electrodes, taped to his temples. Questions, questions, questions. Too many answers. Pain.
When they released him, he was disoriented and nauseous for days, wrists and ankles chafed and scraped, dozens of scabby puncture marks on his arms. But the discomforts from the interrogation was nothing compared to the crippling guilt that came with the knowledge that everything he knew, every little thing, every schematic, every password, every conversation he’d ever had with the doctor, had been leeched from him.
He’d failed Robotnik.
Three people (the general, maybe? Two of the suits, interchangeable as always) came, spoke to him in fake-kind voices. Overworked. Injured on the job. So helpful in our questioning. Pride of the force. Take a little sick leave, Stone, you’ve earned it.
It wasn’t mercy, he knew that very well. It was surveillance in a gilded cage. If at any time they decided he was too inconvenient, that they needed more information on the doctor, if they suspected him of lying – he’d disappear as thoroughly and completely as Robotnik. Not that it would demand much effort from their side – Stone had no friends, no family, no attachments. No-one would miss him. The one person he’d cared for at all these years was gone, off on a wild goose chase after a little blue alien, off to San Francisco without so much as a flower in his hair, and Stone had spilled all his secrets to the jackbooted government sycophants and Men in Black, betrayed the doctor to those he despised the most.
Stone felt like he was going insane.
Robotnik was gone. The man he’d played with, cared for, doted on, done everything for bar wiping his ass for the last five years was gone. What did he have beside that? Nothing. A place to sleep, money to live by, and nothing else. Robotnik had been his life, and he was gone.
It had been three months since Dr Robotnik ceased to exist, and the last one had mostly been a grey haze to agent Stone. He ate when he remembered to, but nothing tasted much of anything. He watched videos but couldn’t recall what they were about. He tried to read, but his eyes slid off the page. He stayed awake days and nights, pacing the house, looking for something that he would never find. When he did sleep, it was too long, waking up occasionally with horrible nightmares. There was ice in his brain and thorns in his stomach and ash in his heart.
He wasn’t sure how he ended up with the gun in his hand.
They’d taken his official ones, but this one was an untraceable, enhanced little thing, manufactured and provided by the doctor for him personally.
He made this for me. He made this.
He lay the gun down on the carpet in front of him.
I didn’t ask for it. He just came to me with it one day. He was all giddy, like when he got a new idea or when he’d just shouted at the military. You’ll like this, Stone, he said. It’s got a few little surprises, shall we say. You being solely dependent on their pieces is moronic. I want you to be able to do things for just me, now and then. The cronies and thugs need not know.
Stone slowly ran his fingers along the barrel.
He never made anything for anyone else without having them beg first. But he made this, for me.
He picked the gun up and put it to his temple.
Why not. Why not? Is there any reason not to?
No answer. Just silence. Just ash.
He pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked.
What?
He took it down and looked at it. There was a tiny red light blinking on the handle. His finger trembled as he pushed the recessed button beside the light. A holographic interface buzzed into view, detailing the type and amount of ammo, a muffler on/off function, and a DNA profile of the target. He saw his own name beside a flashing red text that read “LOCKDOWN”.
Stone collapsed on the floor, rolled into a little ball and cried, cradling the gun to his chest.
…
A couple of hours later, he sat at his kitchen table and looked at the gun, laying on the table in front of him.
He didn’t want me to die. He even made sure my own gun couldn’t kill me. He wanted me to live. How could I disrespect that?
He picked the gun up, looking at it like it was the first time, admiring the pure, unadulterated genius of the design.
He will return. What would he think of me, giving up on him like this? He’s a genius. He’s the smartest man on the planet. If anyone can return from an alien world alive, it’s him. He’d shout at me for being stupid, for not believing in his skills.
And when he returns, he’ll know I betrayed him.
But he will be back. That’s all that matters.
It had been six months since Dr Robotnik ceased to exist, and agent Stone had spent the last three doing research.
When he had been assigned to the doctor, all of his previous duties had been cancelled and, excepting the one disastrous attempt at reassignment that led to his deepened… relationship with Robotnik, he’d not done any regular agent work since. That didn’t mean that he’d lost any of his skills, contacts or equipment. Since he was officially on sick leave and unofficially under surveillance 24/7, it was trickier than it could have been. But Stone was nothing if not resourceful, and he’d been trained into a consummate liar by his time with the doctor. Nothing like being held against the grindstone to become razor sharp, after all.
He started by locating the doctor’s belongings. It proved to be both complicated and tedious, mostly because of the sheer volume of data and tech that had been lost, but also because of the high level of secrecy involved. However, after a few weeks he had a pretty clear picture. In a gloriously stupid act of thriftiness, many of the organisations he tried to access had implemented the use of Robotnik’s stolen cryptos for their security protocols. He breezed through them, admiring the doctor’s work as he bypassed firewall after firewall.
The mobile laboratory had been taken apart for study and then scrapped. The sound system, some of the blueprints and most of the many, many smaller, simpler inventions had been sold off to various international tech companies (Stone nodded in recognition as he looked at the prototype for the latest iPhone version). That was alright; those parts were easily replaced. The really important things, such as most of the robots, the consoles, specialised analysis equipment and nanotech tools had gone into storage, apparently since nobody else had the intelligence to figure out how they functioned. Stone made lists, carefully organised to show the location of each item, the obstacles that had to be overcome to get there, amount and skillset of attendant personnel, et cetera.
Locating the blue hedgehog alien was easier – it wasn’t like the creature tried to hide very hard. It still resided in the disgustingly bucolic town of Green Hills, Montana. Evidently, the whole town was in on the secret by this point, so it seemed to feel secure. He spent some time monitoring it from afar. Its name was Sonic, it liked chili dogs and running very fast, and it was actually pretty cute.
The agent really hoped that Dr Robotnik would allow him to help when he killed it.
It had been eight months since Dr Robotnik ceased to exist, and the doorbell was going crazy. Stone had purposely chosen a house in a calm neighbourhood to help with his cover – as far as his neighbours knew, he was a successful stockbroker. The only time there was this kind of activity at his house was Halloween, and it was February now. He put the spatula down, moved the skillet to a cool spot on the stove, and calmly pulled his gun from its holster.
Stone slowly crept up to the side of the door, not right in front of it. He looked out through the little peephole with its angled mirrors that was concealed in the reinforced wall and gave an excellent view of the space in front of the door. A figure stood there, its finger firmly pressed on the doorbell, making it ring and ring and ring. A familiar figure.
Stone grew ice cold. The gun fell from his nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor. He ripped the door open.
“Doctor?!”
He was swaying slightly, his always more or less manic expression now screwed into an insane grin. The formerly so well-groomed moustache had devolved into a wiry, broom-like bush, and the head was bald, inexpertly scraped with some dull blade. His flight suit was nearly unrecognisable, tattered, bloody and dusty, hanging decidedly unflatteringly on his scrawny frame. The lenses of his special goggles were cracked, showing the bloodshot eyes with their tiny pinpoint pupils behind. The doctor took one tottering step forward, then collapsed against the doorframe. He coughed painfully and shook his head like an animal trying to dislodge something from its ear.
“Stone,” he said in a weak voice. “You, you, you miserable, you asinine buffoon, why- why did you take such a long time- you sorry excuse for a… you should open… door…”
Years of training (no touching, Stone!) paired with pure shock prevented Stone from catching Robotnik as he fell forward. The doctor thudded into the carpet, knocking over an umbrella stand and dislodging a tasteful Italian carnival masque from the wall in the process.
Stone stood dumbfounded for a few seconds, then freaked out.
“Shit, shit, shit! Don’t panic, what do I do, what do I do…” He wavered, torn between wanting to turn the doctor over to see if he’d been hurt, and not wanting to touch him without permission.
You have to get it together. He’s fainted! He’s passed out! He won’t know that you touched him! But what if he does? He knows everything! But what if he dies? Maybe he’s going into cardiac arrest? He’d be so PISSED if I let him die! He’d be so ANGRY…
Finally, he gathered his courage enough to bend down and turn Robotnik over. The fall didn’t seem to have injured him except for a knock to the cheekbone and eye socket, reminding Stone of the injury that fucker Wachowski had given the doctor during the alien incident. With a frustrated groan, the agent grabbed the prone man under the arms and dragged him towards the bedroom. With some effort, he managed to get Robotnik into the bed and arranged him on top of the covers.
Shit, what if he is injured somewhere? Internally, maybe. He was swaying – poisoned? Brain damaged? And what about that cough? Stone had a working knowledge of CPR and knew all the best ways to kill someone with his bare hands, but no more than that. This was unknown territory. Gingerly, he opened the torn and tattered red jacket. Robotnik’s shirt was frayed at the edges and stiff with dirt. With a sigh, he started to peel the garments off, trying to touch the doctor as little as possible in the process.
He was so skinny. Stone winced as he carefully pulled the shirt out from underneath the doctor. Robotnik had never been a heavy man to begin with, and the months away had clearly taken their toll. You could count the ribs easily. Still, he couldn’t see – there were numerous bruises and small cuts, healed and healing, but he couldn’t tell if anything was majorly wrong. Not like this. He would have to touch him.
Stone could feel his hands trembling. He had so rarely touched the doctor with his bare hands, more than a couple of times, by mistake or from concern – and he had always been heavily reprimanded for it. Robotnik had touched him, of course – put his hands in his mouth, on his throat, everywhere, pushed him, punched him. That was part of the game, the way they had settled into during the years. Robotnik touched Stone and no-one else if he could help it, and Stone didn’t touch the doctor.
I have to. What if he’s dying? I can’t lose him again. If I lose him again, I’ll go mad. I’m not even sure that I’m not mad now. Am I hallucinating? Is he really here?
Slowly, trembling, he reached out, and put his hand on Robotnik’s chest. It rose and fell. He could feel the heart beating and the small hairs tickling his palm.
If this is a hallucination, it’s a damn good one. I hope I paid a lot of money for it.
Nervously, stopping now and then to quench his panic and gather his courage and to check that the doctor was still unconscious, Stone tried to examine Robotnik. He ran his hands over the ribs, the collarbones, the sternum. Then the shaved skull, the neck, the jaw; then the arms and hands. No big scars, no broken bones – none that he could find, anyway. Wherever he’d been, it seemed to not have been very dangerous. Or, Stone corrected himself, the doctor had been the most dangerous thing there. He gingerly put his ear to the man’s chest. The breathing was laborious and sounded bubbly somehow – bronchitis, maybe? He gathered up some of the throw pillows and propped the doctor up, easing the breathing somewhat. Lastly, he ran his hands over the doctor’s stomach, pushing down lightly, looking for any hard spots or weird – somethings? He had no idea what he was doing at this point, he knew that he wouldn’t recognise an internal bleeding if it slapped him in the face. Nothing struck the agent as out of the ordinary except for how thin and dirty the man was.
He considered removing the pants, perhaps by cutting them off, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had sometimes seen the doctor stripped down to, well, this much, if he’d surprised him at an inopportune moment (garnering verbal punishment) or when they’d had to change outfits quickly on a field mission. But he’d never, ever seen the doctor with his pants off. He had no idea, he realised, what shape the man was down there. Even in their most intense, intimate moments, with Stone picked apart, raw and trembling and the doctor intense, riled up, manic and hoarse, the agent had never seen the slightest sign of that particular type of physical arousal. The doctor kept that private, and private it would stay. It was too big a step, too big of a betrayal on top of the many infractions he’d already made against their code. He resorted to gingerly patting the lower legs and knees. He could feel no obviously broken bones through the fabric, and decided that it had to be enough.
Robotnik slept for five hours, during which Stone tried his best to clean up whichever parts he could reach without jostling him too much. He trimmed the moustache as best he could. It wasn’t nearly as dapper as it had been, but at least it looked less like the man had glued a bunch of twigs under his nose. He did remove the shoes and socks, and found an injury – one toe sat at an uncomfortable angle and had a smattering of fading bruise-yellow around the base. It looked like it had been broken, and allowed to heal without setting it first. Stone grimaced; it must have hurt, walking on that thing. When the doctor was cleaned up, Stone just sat there, staring at him, occasionally rising to pace nervously and once to eat his now cold lunch-turned-dinner.
He’s here. He’s back. He’s here.
Robotnik started tossing and turning in his sleep, muttering under his breath.
“Stone? I need… I- you need to… mushrooms… y-you, you, should… ROCK-CONNAISSANCE!”
What the hell?
The doctor sat straight up in the bed, eyes wide and panicked. Then he started coughing, deep, racking coughs that shook his emaciated body. Finally, he spat up a glob of something greyish and slimy, then just sat there, breathing heavily. Stone slowly offered him a kitchen towel, like offering a piece of meat to a feral cat.
“Doctor…?”
Robotnik blinked and looked around owlishly. Stone could see the gears turning, albeit slower than usual. He took the offered towel and wiped his mouth. “Stone.” His voice sounded thin and wispy, like he couldn’t force enough air through his windpipe to give it timbre.
“Dr Robotnik.”
The doctor dropped the towel and sat back. “Your… house. I’m at your house.”
“That’s right, doctor. Do you… do you remember how you got here?”
Robotnik pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Vaguely. I need… bring me some water, Stone.”
“Of course, doctor, just one moment-“ Stone rushed up and ran out into the kitchen, returning shortly with a full glass. The doctor gulped it down hastily, then snorted half of it out again as the unfamiliar, mushroom-less taste of it surprised him. Stone scrambled to hand him the towel once more. Robotnik wiped himself down, then stopped; brow furrowed.
“You… undressed me.”
Stone panicked. “I’m sorry, doctor, forgive me – I needed to check if you were alright-“
The doctor put one hand up to silence the agent. He ran the other hand over his face, noticing the trimmed moustache, the newly cleaned skin on the hand; then turned incredulously towards Stone.
“You touched me.”
“I-“
“You touched me.”
Stone sat down in his chair, looked down and waited for the punishment that was sure to come. But nothing came. He looked up again. The doctor had relaxed back against the pillows and was staring at him. His expression was hard to read – a mixture of irritation, excitement, fatigue... and joy? When he spoke, his voice was terse and measured, like he was choosing his words very carefully.
“I have come to know you as a man who knows how to obey orders, Stone. Was I wrong? Explain yourself.”
Stone rallied himself as best he could. “I remember your orders, doctor, I do- but you’ve been gone for so long and you’re obviously ill. Forgive me, but I needed to make sure that you didn’t have any broken bones or internal injuries.”
Robotnik snorted. “Hmpf. You know I have no need for your misinformed sense of care, agent. It’s a mistake you’ve done before, one of your many, many mistakes, I might add.” He looked away, pretending to study a painting. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, gentler. “You always allow your vision to be clouded by emotions, Stone. But, in this instance, purely circumstantially, you see, not as a general rule or anything, do not get used to it in any way, it might possibly have been a… good idea.”
Stone burst into laughter from pure nervousness, then buried his hands in his face, shaking his head.
“Not that it removes the need for disciplinary measures, Stone!“ Robotnik barked, looking embarrassed. He raised one eyebrow and looked the agent up and down. “In fact, I shall greatly enjoy punishing you for your insolence.” He stopped to cough again. “When I have regained some of my strength. We have a lot to do, Stone, simple pleasures will have to wait.”
He stated to clamber off the bed shakily, surprising Stone who moved to steady the doctor, but remembered himself and stood to attention instead. The doctor managed to stand up after a few false starts, and started to rummage around in the pile of clothes, coughing deeply. He held up the flight jacket and tried to get into it, missing the arm at first, then putting it on upside-down.
Stone winced. “Doctor, if I may- you’re in terrible condition-“
“Silence! We’re returning to the laboratory, Stone, right now. I can recuperate there, there are antidotes and-“
“But, doctor-“
“Don’t interrupt me, Stone, you bird-brained blockhead! I need to recommence my research immediately, I’m going to find that little blue shithead and pin it up like an entomological specimen and pick out every one of its quills ONE BY ONE WITH A RUSTY-“
“The laboratory is gone, doctor,” Stone interrupted again. “They worked around the safety protocols, broke open the doors and gutted it. They took everything.“
It was a rare thing to see Robotnik speechless. His jaw hung loose like he was planning to fit a cantaloupe into his mouth. Then the look of utter surprise turned into frothing rage.
“They dared to infiltrate my SANCTUM SANCTORUM?! Those arrogant LICE, those worthless, bumbling, avaricious SUBHUMANS! GREEDY LITTLE BASTARDS! They dare touch that which they have no knowledge of, to besmirch my perfectly organised laboratory…”
Robotnik trailed off, eyes suddenly narrowing in suspicion. He turned slowly towards the agent, one hand on his aching chest. After a few deep breaths, he stalked towards Stone, who had to expend a considerable amount of willpower to not back away. Robotnik stopped inches from him.
”And just how, Stone, is it that they knew how to do that?” His voice was low and full of malice. “My security was immaculate. It was expertly, unbreakably planned. My encryption can’t be broken even by an army of Turings. The only way, the only way, Stone, for them to do it was if they knew the key. And I told no-one else but you.”
The elation Stone had been feeling since the second he lay eyes on the doctor again immediately turned into a dread so deep it prevented him from breathing. He looked at the doctor like a drowning sailor seeing the rescue boat getting hit by a torpedo.
“How, Stone?” the doctor hissed.
Ash. Nothing but ash.
“I told them.”
Robotnik snarled like a hyena. “You told them. You. Told. Them. You back-stabbing, weak-willed sack of shit! YOU TOLD THEM!” He grabbed Stone by the throat. “Traitor! Turncoat! BETRAYER! I TRUSTED YOU!!” Stone made no move to defend himself as the doctor’s fury washed over him. Word after word hit him like blows; he almost didn’t hear when the words turned to wheezing and then to gasps.
This cough attack was the most violent yet. The doctor lost his grip on Stone and fell to his knees, gasping for air, hacking and retching, scrabbling feebly at the agent’s legs. With strength brought on by sheer panic, the agent hoisted him up and wrestled him bodily into the bed. Robotnik flailed weakly against Stone, but the agent held him firmly.
It’s all gone to shit anyway. I may as well grab him.
He managed to get Robotnik prone again, but the coughing continued. He had to help the doctor on his side so he wouldn’t choke. Finally, the doctor spat up a couple of globs of phlegm streaked with blood, then lay still. Stone gently helped him back up as he struggled to get air into his lungs. The doctor pushed him away, weak as a kitten. Stone let him.
“Why, Stone? Why? I- hrrrhh- I trusted you.” He looked at the agent in utter contempt and hatred. “Worst- hhhhuhh- decision I’ve ever made... My one… and- hghhh- only mistake.”
Stone hesitated, clinging to the last few tatters of his pride, then gave up. He might as well tell the doctor everything.
“They… there were… interrogations.” The agent rubbed his wrist without realising it, his voice low and helpless. “I was… there was some type of serum.”
Robotnik’s pallid face fell, and the tension left him. His eyes darted from the man’s face to his wrist, then to the exposed crook of his elbow, dotted with tiny, faint white scars. “They- they tortured you? Why didn’t you say so- hhhhrr- immediately, you, you, you dunce!” He struggled to sit up, but couldn’t muster the strength. He fell back against the pillows, wheezing. “They tortured you?” he repeated weakly.
Stone burrowed his nails into his wrist, staring at the floor. “What difference does it make? I betrayed you, doctor! I told them everything! I tried not to, but I failed you!” All his months of obsessive regret came tumbling out in one long stream of words. “All your secrets, I’m so sorry, I- I wasn’t strong enough, I’m, I’m, I’m worthless to you, you should never have told me-”
“Stone.”
The agent fell silent. Tears were welling up in his eyes. Robotnik rubbed his face and sighed. They where both silent for several long minutes, until Robotnik spoke in a faint, wretched voice.
“Do you know what happened to me, Stone? On that godforsaken excuse for a planet?” He looked up into the ceiling, a look of embarrassment and anger on his face. “I experienced a temporary dampening of my mental faculties. I.” He stopped. “I went a bit insane. I lost my mind, Stone. My mind.”
Stone looked up; cheeks wet. “Doctor?”
The doctor was still staring at the ceiling. His right hand was laying on the covers beside him, opening and closing, opening and closing.
“Have you any idea how hard it was for me to focus on this wretched, sub-par existence before you were assigned to me? Like a rage-filled titan striding through a world filled with scuttling, pathetic ants. But you acted as my lens, focusing the prism of my genius into bright, brilliant white light.” He hesitated. “It’s very fitting to me that your name is what it is. Stone. Rock. Anchor point. A demented sort of serendipity. You grounded me to this world. If you hadn’t existed, I would have had to invent you.” He barked out an unhinged laugh. “I did, Stone! I did!”
Stone brushed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I don’t- what?”
Robotnik sat up and thumped his right hand into the headboard, giving a yelp as he hurt his knuckles. “I had to build an effigy of you to not descend into a complete pit of madness, if you must know, there, are you happy? I went mad. I nearly lost it. I nearly lost because you weren’t there, Stone, do you understand me? Me!” He finally turned to look at the agent. “But you. You didn’t tell them anything. Not until they peeled you apart and ripped it from your living brain. It is telling, is it not, Stone? The fact that I am never wrong, except regarding you. Because I keep underestimating you.”
Stone just looked at him, dumbfounded. Am I that much to you, doctor? Just as much as you are to me.
“I won’t underestimate you next time. I know what made me survive in that alien hellscape, and I will not lose it again.” Robotnik looked away; teeth clenched. “Unless you for some reason wish to be lost.”
Stone grabbed his hand. Robotnik jerked in surprise and nearly wrested it loose, but Stone held it until the doctor finally relented and accepted the touch with a grimace. Stone took a deep breath and spoke, very clearly.
“I’m not lost. I’m where I want to be. At your side, doctor.”
Robotnik exhaled sharply. He squeezed Stone’s fingers, just once, then lay back with a sigh. Stone released his hand, a tad regretfully. He wiped the last wetness from his chin and cheeks and stood up.
“I think it would be best if you slept, doctor. Like you said, we have a lot to do.”
“There you go again with your confounded care for my well-being,” Robotnik muttered. But as soon as Stone had helped him climb under the duvet, his eyes blinked close and he was lost to the world. Stone made sure he was well propped up before he returned to his vigil.
I don’t know where we go from here, if it’s hell or heaven or Montana. But wherever we go, we’re going together.
Robotnik slept the rest of the evening, the whole night and most of the morning. Stone had woken up in the early hours of the night, back stiff and aching from falling asleep in his chair. He had checked the doctor’s breathing (shallow but steady) before he went to the living room and made up the sofa bed. He slept the rest of the night, deeply, without dreams.
The next morning, he made a big breakfast and brought it to Robotnik in bed. The doctor ate slowly, tasting everything with obvious enjoyment.
“Your cooking is as excellent as your lattes, agent. Either that or it’s just the complete lack of anything mushroom-related that makes it so enjoyable.”
Stone promptly decided not to tell the doctor about the duxelles he had used as garnish on the omelette. “Uh, so, what are your plans, doctor?”
“Plans, indeed.” Robotnik ate the last piece of bacon and dabbed at his moustache. “So. We have no laboratory, no equipment, no assets, no allies.” Robotnik counted on his fingers, then threw his hands up in disgust. “Frankly, Stone, I had faintly hoped to not be landed in the exact same type of situation as my previous predicament when I finally returned!”
Stone smiled. “Good news, there, then. I know where your equipment is, doctor. I tracked it all down, everything that’s left. We can retrieve it, and you can rebuild your laboratory. As for allies, I mean, there are other countries than the United States – other agencies you might… do consultations for-“
The doctor waved his hand. “We’re not going back there, Stone.”
Stone cocked his head to the side. “Doctor?”
“They tortured you, Stone. They tortured my henchman.” There was a mad glint in Robotnik’s eyes. “You are mine, and they dared to hurt you. As soon as I was gone, they cannibalised my research and turned on you like the ghouls they are. No, I won’t work with the governments of this world anymore; they have nothing more to offer me. From now on, Stone, we work alone. The laboratory can go to hell for all I care.” A slow smile crept over his tired features. “It’s high time I established a more permanent base of operations. I fancy somewhere… with a view.”
It had been sixteen months since Dr Robotnik ceased to exist, and eight months since he returned from the dead. He’d spent the first two healing from an advanced fungal lung infection, regaining his own strength and whittling down the strength of Stone, one orgasm at a time. They’d spent three highly entertaining weeks on breaking into five separate government facilities including Warehouse 13 and Area 51, retrieving the bulk of the doctor’s machinery and robots.
The doctor had spent a week alone, on his own insistence, on visiting the homes or workplaces of a physician, a general, a man in a black suit and sunglasses, and two agents. He left nothing behind. Nothing living, anyway.
Upwards of five months had been spent on establishing a base in the Appalachians, another in the Ural, and an emergency hideout underneath the Hagia Sofia. They’d spent nine days in Florence, stealing two of da Vinci’s sketches from the Uffizi and sampling the panzanella. Finally, they’d spent a mere two hours on erasing every trace of agent Stone from any official records after moving his movie and comics collections as well as all other personal effects to the laboratory and burning his house down.
(I said I could erase you from the world if you played your game with me, Stone, did I not? You did, doctor. Thank you.)
The doctor sat lounging in his favourite swivel chair, swiping his nanoglove over the holographic interface and occasionally sipping a latte. Stone stood behind him, identical latte in hand, keenly regarding the shifting calculations. A dozen small-to-medium-sized robots were busying themselves around the lab. Outside the panoramic windows, high above the snow-capped mountains, a laser-equipped android surveillance condor was riding the thermals.
Stone stepped forward and lightly caressed Robotnik’s shoulder. “Is it time, doctor?”
Robotnik put the latte down to brush Stone’s hand with two fingers, then picked up the blue quill from its stand. It was still, after all this time, crackling with a faint electrical current. The doctor lowered his goggles over his eyes and smiled like a tiger.
“Yes, Stone… it’s revenge time.”