About a week after her ‘birth’, Mechelle was speaking with Destiny Simmons, one of the lawyers that had been helping me for a long while.

They were in my office as I walked in, laughing. I walked over with a tray of coffee for them.

I’d been doing stuff like that a little. Small acts of generosity I didn’t need to do. The last thing I wanted was to let the Eggman memories change me entirely. So anytime a thought like ‘they might want coffee’ hit me, I went out of my way to fulfill it.

Which was probably inherently selfish, only doing good things to hold onto my former self as I changed into someone else. But it was the best I had.

Julian Ivo was just as smart as Robotnik. But he wouldn’t make his mistakes. I had the memories of a more humble man, and a Robotnik who had been fighting against Sonic and his friends for decades. I needed to hold onto that.

So yeah, I gave the ladies coffee.

“Julian, how could you have hidden Mechelle from me for so long?” Destiny asked me as I handed her a latte. She was chuckling a bit as she spoke. “She’s an absolute delight.”

“Oh, you know my cousin, he’s such a secretive type,” Mechelle said brightly. “But really, I think he just wanted to make sure he had his business in full swing. He was like that when we were kids. Never showed off an experiment unless he knew it was working. Though it still blew up in my face a time or two.”

“It was a volcano, it was supposed to blow up,” I grumbled.

“I can’t imagine you as a kid,” Destiny said, watching as I sat. “You act like such an old man sometimes.”

“Oh, believe me, I can be quite childish,” I chuckled. “It’s why my business is starting off with the PC gaming industry. That said…”

Destiny’s smile faded, and she nodded seriously. “Yes. Well, I’ve had word with some of our contacts in the military, and they are still agreeing to come tomorrow as you requested, especially after meeting Mechelle.”

The last was said with a wide smile at my ‘cousin’, who looked pleased.

Mechelle had been hard at work since her creation. I had given her just as much authority as Colin had, but in a different direction. He was my Chief Operating Officer and Chief Technology Officer (COO and CTO), and Mechelle was my Chief Financial Officer and Chief Marketing Officer (CFO and CMO) both loaded with a few degrees from relevant colleges. I was President of IvoTech.

Mechelle, in her new role, hired a large cast of people under her, focusing on marketing our products to the public. She also spoke directly to the military types we were prepping to sell to.

“We’ll be ready, Destiny,” Mechelle said confidently. “I’m sure Julian’s creations will blow them out of the water.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Destiny said, looking over at me. “Just be ready to have the men who come try anything and everything to make you look bad. I tried my best, but one or two of the generals very explicitly ‘do not have financial ties to certain weapons manufacturers who supply them hookers.’”

“Always nice to know you can trust governments to be as corrupt as possible,” I snarked. “Still, I have no problems with dealing with morons. My technology will stand for itself. I guarantee you that it will be a hell of a show.”

------

The next day, I stood outside on our training range with Mechelle and Colin. Formerly a track to test cars on, it currently had a series of targets down range from us made of gelatin, as well as two pig carcasses hanging on ropes. There were also some large pieces of armor plating and brick walls. Next to us was a table holding a variety of objects. Aside from this there were also a few “random” items scattered about the remaining road track.

The three of us stood watching a group of generals and a small security unit of soldiers walk up with Destiny Simmons at the head of them. Four older looking men, wearing their formal uniforms, representing the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, leading a group of very tough and young looking men and women carrying guns. I looked over at Colin.

“You ready for your part?”

“Yeeees,” Colin said with some relish, a wide smile stretching his face. He walked off at a quick pace, entering a large warehouse recently built on our training range.

“Well, he doesn’t lack for eagerness,” I mused to myself, watching him disappear into the large warehouse before turning to Mechelle. “How about you?”

“I am ready to serve as needed,” she said, her eyes never leaving me. Same as always.

God. That weird subservience of hers. I’d added a strong sense of loyalty to her programming, but not unless it was deserved, and not to this level of… It was unnerving and worrying. I wanted her to be her own person.

Then everyone got close enough. Mechelle transformed in an instant. Her eyes came alight. Her stance loosened up, becoming more open and inviting. She smiled with her whole face, highlighting the beauty I had given her, while still having just enough imperfections to keep her from being ‘uncanny valley’.

I hid my thoughts as best as I could. I’d made Colin and Mechelle. So why did they confuse me so much sometimes?

“Gentlemen,” Destiny said as she joined us. “Dr. Julian Ivo, the President of IvoTech, and Mechelle Ivo, his CFO. This is General Nathan Bradley, US Army, Lieutenant William Renquist, Air Force-”

I let the names roll past, listening closely and filing them one by one until Destiny finished, then holding out my hand for them. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

“I’m sure it is,” General Bradley said with some skepticism. “You’re the one with all the fancy tech.”

I could see that he and his fellow hard bitten soldier types weren’t exactly on board with what I was selling. I couldn’t blame them. I was promising a lot for a VERY good price. And they hadn’t seen more than some basic mock-ups.

“I am indeed,” I told him, not minding the look on their faces.

“And I’m the one who keeps him afloat,” Mechelle said with a smile, walking up to shake his hand as well. “It’s good to meet you, sir. I hope we’ll be able to show how much we can help our boys get home safe.”

Bradley looked at Mechelle. I guess he was trying to find some sort of lie in her eyes, checking if she was a snake-oil salesman. Instead, he seemed to warm. Like a grandfather meeting a treasured grandchild.

“Well uh… we’ll see, all right?”

Mechelle looked like she’d been promised a pony, and Bradley smiled just a bit.

“Mechelle is quite right,” I told the group of soldiers. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s just an idiot scientist here to talk to us about expensive science pipe dreams’. I’d like to say I’m different from everyone who has come to you with these sorts of promises, but that’s a waste of air. So how about I let you grab a gun and practice with it?”

I turned and pointed at the weapons behind me. “These are my first line of products. I know it’s tradition to give them letters and numbers for a name, so I’ll call them the IM-01s. Named for myself and my wonderful cousin.”

I picked one of them up, taking care to point the barrel at the ground. It was shaped like a gun from my memories, a rifle commonly in use by the soldiers of GUN. It didn’t help them against me, but my version was better anyways. It was a smooth and well-lined device, made with an especially strong plastic I’d made myself, with an optional scope lying on the table. The one the private was holding was mostly black and white.

“She’s something of a lesson from rifles of the past. We all know what a good gun needs. Simplicity. Don’t shove a bunch of random hardware into it, don’t try and give it super-special bullets. Just make something that works every time you pull the trigger. It needs to put bullets downrange as fast, accurately, and with as much power as possible.

“Thus, the IM-01 fires the good old standard 5.56 rounds. But it fires them with almost no recoil, has reduced barrel friction and special rifling for increased bullet velocity and accuracy, an improved cycling mechanism for increased rate of fire, rugged construction capable of handling extended magazines and varying cartidge pressure, ambidextrous design and it’s more lightweight than any other gun on the market, and is made with so few moving parts that even the most idiotic man in the world can repair and clean it in the field.”

I handed it to one of the privates standing there. When he looked at General Bradley, the older man nodded, and the private shouldered his own weapon to grab the IM01.

“Take a shot at the pig downrange,” I said. “Aim for as small a target as you can. Got it?”

“You sure?” the guy asked skeptically, lifting the gun in hands. “It’s pretty far. I ain’t exactly a sniper.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Just shoot the damn pig, Johnson,” one of the men, a Sergeant in the Marines, said with a bit of annoyance. “And call your shot.”

The private shrugged, lifted it up. “All right. Aiming for it’s eye.”

Wow, he must have really been skeptical it would work, aiming for a target that small.

He pulled the trigger. And with the slightest movement of the rifle and a bang a bullet smacked into the pigs forehead. And blew through it with ease, piercing the flesh nice and cleanly. The pig swung gently back and forth.

“Holy shit,” the private said, sounding mildly shocked. He looked back at us. General Bradley was frowning thoughtfully. “Sir, should I-”

“Yeah, hit the gelatin next.”

“You want to have a few more of your people try?”

“What the hell. Samson, Vasquez!”

The two soldiers, one a tall built white man, the other a more petite and muscular Latina woman, stepped forward and grabbed the guns on the table.

“What’s this?” Vasquez asked, holding up a shotgun.

“The IM-02, because I wasn’t allowed to call it the ‘Devastator’,” I said.

“Marketing says letters and numbers work better,” Mechelle said.

“Anyways, I planned on making a shotgun that had no recoil, but that’s for down the road. I don’t want to make something that forces soldiers to relearn everything about guns. So this will have just enough kick to feel familiar, without being annoying. I would say I managed to reduce it by about 70% give or take. Semi-auto shotgun, and will actually take a conventional magazine without problems. Rugged as hell, accurate as hell, and light as hell.”

Vasquez frowned. Then she put the stock to her shoulder and aimed at one of the ballistic gel targets shaped like a person. She fired once, twice, over and over, until she’d emptied the magazine entirely. By the time she was done, the former ballistic being was torn to pieces.

“Ohhhh. Mama like,” Vasquez said with a grin.

“Go ahead and reload, I got enough ammo to play with,” I said with a chuckle.

“How about this?” Samson said, looking more excited than before, holding up his own rifle for me to see.

“A 7.62mm marksman rifle,” Samson aimed the gun. “Made for the times you can’t be arsed to walk any closer to someone.

He lifted the gun to his shoulder and started firing, aiming for the eyes of the ballistic targets. After shooting those out, he aimed at the holes he’d made as well, shooting as quickly as he could until he ran out of ammo, then reloaded.

“I’d like you to notice, gentleman, the Ivo goal of simplicity. Make things that work. Reload smooth, fire smooth, and hit whatever you aim at. Now, try this.”

I handed Samson another rifle, this one with blue tape on the magazine. “Armor piercing rounds.”

Stepping back I pointed downrange towards a large piece of metal erected in the distance.

“Now, take a look at that armor plating. Same type used in many older light armored vehicles. You ever watch Police Academy?”

Samson grinned, lifting the gun. Firing as fast as he could pull the trigger, he released a hail of bullets down range. When he was done, he lifted the gun with a grin.

A near identical grin was etched into the piece of armor across the way.

Private Johnson was pouring bullets into a brick wall, and Private Vasquez ripped into the rest of the pig.

“They’re much quieter than I expected,” Bradley said, watching the carnage. “How do they feel, Johnson?”

“Like a dream, sir,” he said, reloading with ease and grinning at us. “Too bad we won’t be using these for a while. They must be expensive as hell.”

“They cost as much to make as the standard model currently being made and manufactured by your suppliers,” I said mercilessly.

Bernard’s eyes widened, and one of the military brass let out a whistle.

“Of course, we could be talked into a discount,” Mechelle said with a small chuckle. “Depending on the contract we make.”

“Now hold on,” a man in an Air Force uniform said, looking annoyed. John Chambers. He had a few ‘under the table’ dealing with various weapons manufacturers, but was also a hard-headed sort in general. “You make a few prototypes and you’re already talking about selling these? How do we know they won’t simply shatter apart the first time they get into a real weapons test? We’re supposed to look at three guns-”

He stopped when the workers came up. Six large burly types. Pushing a rack of weapons, with 30 guns shining in the light. A redhead named Ella gave me a grin.

“Got your guns boss.”

“Thank you, Ella,” I grinned at John Chambers. “You want a real weapons test? Go right ahead. Smash them into the ground, shove dirt into them, cover them in literal feces. And these aren’t prototypes, Mr. Chambers. I have a full line of them ready to go. I’ll make better models one day, but right now these are top-of-the-line. As well as this.”

I took a large handgun off the rack, one of many. “The IM-04. Now, this isn’t a true replacement for the current handguns on the market. What it has, is the ultimate in soundproofing technology.”

One of the soldiers took it from me. Then he started firing. And while the gun wasn’t exactly whisper-quiet, it certainly didn’t hit 95 DBS. Quieter than even the 136 DB Maxim 9.

Then I stepped forward. John Chambers was taller than me. Built like an old soldier. And he seemed to shrink at my approach.

“I would also appreciate it if you wouldn’t question my skills. Like I said. I know the type you’ve been dealing with. And I am not them. Do you understand, Mr. Chambers, the type of man you are dealing with?”

The last was said with more heat than I expected. Because John Chambers backed away from me. There was a dark satisfaction in me, as I watched a lesser being falter. I could see the sweat on his brow, a momentary shiver before he brought himself back.

Then it was gone. And I turned around, hiding how uncomfortable I was. Mechelle met my eyes. I looked away first, looking back at the soldiers.

The various soldiers moved to grab their own guns as their commanding officers walked through it. John Chambers gave me a wide-eyed look, then walked over to join the others.

I walked over to join them. “Now. Gentlemen. These current weapons are impressive. But I saved something else for last. Something I think you will find… interesting. My Chief Technology Officer, Colin Kintobor, is in that warehouse in my... expensive science pipe dream, I guess we’ll call it.”

“That must be my cue.”

The ground shook. The soldiers around us snapped their weapons upwards. Mechelle and Destiny watched calmly as the doors of the warehouse slid open silently on oiled hinges.

“Boom. Boom.”

The echo of footsteps, grinding gears, and twisting servos filled the air. Colin and I agreed. Making the first entrance loud and impressive was much more important than showing how quiet it could be.

“Standing five meters and fifty one centimeters tall, with green painted carbon-fiber and steel structure, a cockpit of transparent aluminum, with my patented synthetic myomers, thank you for that Mrs. Simmons,” she gave a proud nod. “Acting as musculature within the machine, giving it a speed and fluid movement unmatched in the field of robotics.”

I grinned widely as all the brass seemed to drop their collective jaws. The machine in question was bipedal, it’s armored feet like the talons of a massive hawk. It’s ‘torso’ was shaped like that of a military aircraft, the emblem of an ‘IV’ shining on the side. A pair of massive box-shaped missile launchers sat on its shoulders. And inside, Colin could be seen grinning like a madman, a red scanner visor over his left eye.

“The F-6t ‘Big Foot’ - Ground Air Combat Walker. Show them what you got, Colin!”

At my call, the android super-genius laughed. “Yes! I will show them what I’ve got indeed!”

The massive machine spun on its heel. And started running. “Now, the problem with most current bipedal models, theoretical as they are, made by my competitors is a lack of speed, strength and power. Let’s see how the Big Foot moves.”

“Jesus Christ,” one woman mumbled as Big Foot twisted around and started sprinting. It jumped over a knee height obstacle, then did a much larger jump over an average height wall, before hopping sideways to get around a pillar, all in smooth and quick moves.

That was where the ridiculousness lay. An immense amount of power was flowing through the Big Foot, feeding electricity to myomer inside him. It made it a very quick robot. As well as a powerful one.

Another wall blocked it. Rather than try to jump around it, the Big Foot smashed through the wall and kept going with only a bit of scratched paint to show for it.

“Gentlemen. Could you please fire at Colin?” I asked the group. “Use whatever you wish.”

“Uh… is that safe?” a man in Navy blues asked.

“Oh, entirely.”

Still hesitant, one woman put down one of the IM-01’s and lifted her own rifle, firing.

The bullets bounced off the robot. Colin laughed inside the cockpit. “More! Show me more!”

“You heard the man,” Bradley said.

The soldiers lifted up guns, including some of the IMs. Firing quickly, the bullets smacked across the Big Foot. Colin stood still for a moment, allowing them to shoot the main body, the transparent aluminum cockpit, and the legs.

When they finished, they had made a mess of the paint job but inflicted no other real damage.

Then I held up a hand. “Okay. Now. It’s fast. It can handle an entire fireteam of bullets thanks to being at least as well armored as any main battle tank you care to name while being even faster and more maneuverable. And it can be piloted by a single man,” I saw that realization spread. Piloted by one man. Instead of an entire tank crew.

We let that sit before Mechelle spoke. As she did, workers wheeled out more ballistic gel targets, putting them downwind of us. “But how much damage can it do besides just squishing combatants under its feet?”

“A fantastic question. Colin?”

“Ohhhh, yes!”

He spun around, aiming at the new targets. Thankfully long after my employees were well behind some ballistic shields with us.

“These are also for sale, by the way,” Mechelle pointed out as we went behind the large square transparent walls. “Made of the same aluminum as our cockpits.”

“Sweetie, time and a place.”

“Yes sir,” she said with a chuckle.

Colin piloted the mech closer to the targets. On the front of it, just under the nose, a large set of barrels began spinning quickly.

“Standard M61 Vulcan cannon derivative,” I explained.

Colin unleashed hell. The vulcan cannon unleashed hell down wind, ripping through the remains of the pigs, then tearing into a ballistic gel form, sending false organs exploding apart. He walked around as he fired, moving back, forth, side to side, quickly, then slowly. It wasn’t just random. It was to show how accurately it could fire while on the move, how it easily handled the recoil.

Then the missile pods on the mech’s shoulders opened up.

“I was unable to obtain any AGM-176 Griffins obviously, so I made mockups. But the launchers are made for it.”

The missile pods unleashed hell. I turned my back on the explosions to face the group of military men, smiling confidently. “I know, it’s not the best I could give you. But hopefully this humble first showing lets you know what we’re capable of. And if you want to make sure we aren’t just blowing smoke, then you are free to test all of our equipment extensively.”

“WAHAHAHA! YES! PERISH BEFORE ME YOU CRETINS! NO TARGET STANDS!” Colin roared happily as he continued to unleash hell, the last of his missiles exploding.

"Excuse Colin, gentlemen. He is quite excitable,” I nodded to Mechelle, who nodded.

“By the way, gentlemen,” she said, drawing their attention. “I’m sure you all want to test these yourselves. So Ivotech is allowing you to take all of these home, free of charge. Including the Big Foot.”

Stunned silence followed her words.

All in all, I’d say it was a pretty good presentation.

------

Afterward, Simmons took us out for drinks. We went to a bar downtown together, sitting down with Colin, Mechelle, and E-Boy, who sat in a corner watching over us.

“I’m not really comfortable here,” I told Simmons as we waited for our drinks.

“Oh, come on, be more excited!” she said, looking proud as hell. “You guys just blew it out of the park. I mean, I knew that was going to go well, but I never imagined you guys would do… I mean, that!”

“I explained quite clearly what my goal is, Mrs. Simmons,” I said with a smirk. “Today wasn’t some grand breakthrough to us. It’s the slow start before we show what we can really do, our steps onto the stage of-”

“Okay, I’m not drunk enough for this,” Simmons looked up, waving her hand. “Oy, hurry up please!”

Well…

As I sat there miffed, Mechelle patted my back. “It’s okay, cous. We still did really well.”

“I still say you shouldn’t have offered such a big discount,” Colin said with a bit of annoyance. “Those weapons are worth ten-fold what we promised to sell the first batch for.”

“Price of doing business,” Mechelle pointed out.

“Pretty much,” Simmons added seriously. “We’re fighting an uphill battle. A new company, with new weapons, promising impossible things. If you want your company to become a big weapons manufacturer of the US military soon, you need to come out swinging, and you need your weapons to spread among the literal rank-and-file. Let them start turning the tide in real fights and you’ll see a lot more demand for your supply.”

She chuckled as the waiter came over with a tray of drinks. “But for now, relax guys! We made a big deal today.”

Colin relaxed a bit, grabbing his glass of scotch. “Yes, I suppose so. Forgive my rudeness, Mrs. Simmons. I am happy with the progress we have made.”

“Insanely fast progress,” she pointed out.

“Ah, it’s all because of my cous,” Mechelle said with a smile. “He’s the brilliant one.”

I fought off a bit of imposter syndrome at that, but nodded. “Well, I spent a lot of time creating these things. Just nice to actually apply my research. Hopefully one day I can fulfill my ultimate goal…”

“And what is that?” Simmons asked curiously.

Technically, depose Vought and become the most powerful organization in the world. But I couldn’t just admit that. So…

“Create a space program,” I said with a smile. “A private space program. Made to explore the solar system, make stations across the stars, mine the asteroid belt and more.”

“Damn, you don’t aim small, do you?” Simmons noted.

“We live in a world of-”

“Hey, come on!” someone shouted at the bar.

We all looked over at the shouter. My eyes widened.

“...of superhumans,” I finished. “And anything is possible.”

The shouter at the bar was a very large and muscular black man. He was wearing a black spandex suit of sorts, with armored panels across the shoulders, chest, and thighs with ornate looking designs along his body. I recognized him from both my world and the news.

Nubian Prince, a supe with superhuman strength, speed, agility, and durability. AKA, knockoff Black Panther. What was he doing in New York City? He was supposed to be in Detroit...

Right now he looked annoyed. Well, pissed off, honestly. And drunk. Very drunk.

Once people realized who was there, they pulled out their phones and started filming and taking pictures. He didn’t pay attention, because he was yelling at the bartender. I couldn’t hear everything, but the next part was very loud.

“-know who the fuck I am!?”

“I’m sorry, but James called ahead,” the bartender said with a bit of fear in his eyes. “You’re cut off for the night.”

The large man snarled, looking more enraged by the second. “Bitch, if you-”

“Sir, please!” the bartender backed up, hands high.

Nubian Prince glared at him. Then his eyes panned around. I could see him noticing the cameras around him. I could imagine him thinking about the optics of the situation. Drunk hero, yelling at a bartender for more alcohol? That was bad enough. Doing more would lead to his precious ‘points’ getting lowered. And while Nubian Prince was popular, he wasn’t a member of the Seven. Vought wouldn’t do more than the basics to protect him.

He turned away, plastering a painfully fake smile on his face, and walked towards the door. “Fine. That’s fine. Have a good rest of your night-”

He walked past E-Boy and bumped into E-Boy’s fist. E-Boy let out a small ‘Scrunch’ of surprise and shuffled out of the way-

BOOM!

I hadn’t been worried. That was my mistake. I’d thought that it was such a small and simple thing. He bumped into E-Boy. That was it. Nothing worth noting.

Then Nubian Prince’s face twisted in rage and frustration, eyes snapping to E-Boy. He swung his fist downward in a swift move. His fist smashed into the steel frame of E-Boy.

He was made to withstand a lot. But Nubian Prince was stronger than that. E-Boy bent in half under the fist, crumbling. “SCREEEEE-”

His voice box cut off. The lights went out.

The entire bar stilled at the sudden burst of violence. Nubian Prince scoffed, wiping some oil off of his fist onto the wall, then walked out without a look back.

Mechelle looked horrified. Colin gaped at the door then looked over at me. “Julian… I-”

I rose to my feet slowly. “Mechelle. Gather what you can.”

“Yes sir,” she said, quickly walking over to E-Boy.

“Julian,” Simmons' face was stern. “I know you’re angry, but-”

I looked at her. She froze, sinking back into her seat. I walked up to the male bartender.

“Drinks are on Julian Ivo,” I pulled out my checkbook and began writing on it. “For the rest of the night in the name of fuck that guy,” I handed him the check, with a large number written on it, and turned dramatically as I handed it to him. “So drink as much as you all like, and everytime you do, say Fuck Nubian Prince!”

I doubted anyone cared about my sudden hate-on towards the hero, but the promise of all the drinks they wanted led to a loud and boisterous cheer across the popular bar. I turned to the bartender.

“And anything left on that is your tip, understand?” I asked the bartender.

“T-Thank you man,” he asked, shocked.

“You’re welcome,” I turned and walked out. Mechelle followed silently, easily carrying the remains of E-Boy. Colin hopped from his seat, and Simmons hurriedly gathered her purse and followed as well.

Once we were outside, I spoke quickly. “Colin, take a look at E-Boy once we can get to the lab, see what you can salvage.”

“Understood,” he said, for once without any snide backtalk.

“Mechelle, I want you to look into the social media accounts of every person there. I want you to ruin that man's reputation. There should be some ‘cute’ footage of E-Boy from his time at the factory. Remember, Nubian Prince was apparently cut off for a reason. Look into his past, see what sort of reputation he has with Detroit’s local bars.”

“He’ll be known as a violent drunk by the end of the week,” Mechelle agreed.

“Make sure to leave more in case the Church of the Collective tries to pull him and rebuild his reputation,” Simmons pointed out, looking a bit startled but quickly recovering.

“Excellent point. Now, legal ramifications?”

“E-Boy was insured. Beyond that, he was also an extremely valuable prototype. We can easily sue for damages.”

“I can also make sure it looks like he knew what he was doing when he broke him,” Mechelle said. “Some quick camera angles.”

“Good. And Vought?”

Simmons coughed. “They’ll… probably try to figure something out. Nubian Prince isn’t a huge money-maker, but he does pull down some cash. That said… I know a couple guys who work for them.”

“You’re being surprisingly helpful,” Colin noted.

“I hate drunk assholes. And I don’t like how fucking invincible supes act when they screw people over,” Simmons eyes were filled with just a bit of glee, the black woman grinning. “So yeah. Let’s ruin him.”

Intellectually, I knew I shouldn’t have cared that much. E-Boy was replaceable. Obsolete.

But I was a man who was made of two sides. One, an emotional man who thought of E-Boy as an adorable pet, his first and only companion in the new world. The other, a vicious son of a bitch who saw a fucking supe treat his property like trash.

Combined, it led to an icy sensation across my mind, burning like the touch of frost on the skin. A single thought. Destroy him.

We walked into the night, planning to turn a minor superhero into a living pariah. More importantly. I decided it was time to get project Robotnik started.

Time to play supervillain.

“What a productive life I lead… Hehehehehe…”