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"I do not actually like sushi, I lied to impress you"
"Y-you what?"
Oliver looked down, an artificial blush rising in his cheeks. "I am a robot, after all, Wilford. I cannot even eat."
Wilford stood in indignation, pushing his half-finished plate of sushi away. "Then why are we sitting here pretending to enjoy each others' company?"
Oliver did an impressive job of trying not to flinch, avoiding looking at his own untouched plate completely. "I--"
Cooperate.
"Save it," Wilford said, waving a hand. "I'd much rather actually enjoy your company, Ollie."
Oliver looked up in surprise to see Wilford tapping his chin. "What--"
"Well, what do you like to do?" Wilford looked at the abandoned sushi in disgust. "You can't eat, so what do killer robots do on their off days?"
Oliver stood slowly, still confused, but nearly metaphorically breathless with relief that Wilford wasn't about to metaphorically gut him for lying. "Well, there's this cool project I'm working on--"
"Show me!"
"S-sorry?"
Wilford slung an arm over Oliver's shoulder. Since meeting the three new Googles, Wilford was one of the only Egos to seek them out and get to know them. Dark, the Host, and the Doctor had all, past their initial curiosity, written the Googles off as carbon copies of the original. Bim, despite Wilford's multiple attempts to drag him out of the studio, was still a bit scared by the four robots. The Egos were all identical: but somehow, the four Googles seemed too eerily similar for Bim, as yet, to hold a normal conversation with. Each of Wilford's attempts so far had resulted in stuttered excuses and Bim inevitably stumbling away.
"Show me your toys, Ollie," Wilford repeated lightly, beginning to steer the two of them towards the Googles' communal office.
Oliver, stiffening under Wilford's arm, began to protest, but Wilford shushed him.
Cooperate.
"The whole point of this is that I get to know you. We do that by sharing things," he said, explaining as if to a child. "Now, I don't like sushi, myself."
"Y-you don't?" Oliver, despite himself, managed to interject.
"Of course not!" Wilford finally released Oliver to gesticulate wildly. "It's rolls of rice and plants! They're cold, they're tiny, who could possibly--"
Ethan, hearing Wilford shouting down the hallway, poked his head out of the main office to glare at him. Wilford stopped mid-word, hands still passionately hung in the air, eyes wide.
"Will, Oliver, we're recording in here," he said pointedly, fighting down a laugh. "We'd appreciate some quiet in this house."
Behind him, Wilford heard Mark and Tyler wheezing with laughter. Oliver put a hand on Wilford's shoulder, spurring him into action.
"...and don't even get me started on chopsticks," Wilford mumbled to Oliver. He turned abruptly to Ethan. "Of course," he said, dropping his hands. He reached across to grab Oliver by the small of the back, and, ignoring Ethan's expression, marched the two of them into the Googles' office and closed the door.
"Anyway," Wilford said, his face returning to its normal color, "what gadgets do you keep in here, Oliver?" He clapped his hands excitedly, beaming at Oliver, who blinked rapidly.
"Well--"
"What does this do?" Wilford had left Oliver standing by the door to run over to one of the workstations, lifting--
"No!"
Wilford nearly dropped the chunk of metal, and Oliver was suddenly next to him, setting it down on the table.
"Do not touch anything, Wilford." Oliver huffed, pushing his hair back. "This is Google Red's project, and he does not appreciate anyone touching his things."
Cooperate.
"Where is he, anyway?" Wilford changed the subject, already a hop, skip, and jump ahead of the device he'd just put down.
Oliver sighed, almost resigned, watching Wilford's twitching fingers carefully. "I believe the other Googles--"
"Aren't they your brothers?"
Oliver stopped, confused. "'Brother' would indicate a fraternal relationship, based on familial values." He studied Wilford's face closely. "We do not have a family, Wilford."
Wilford's face twisted into a grimace at the words, but Oliver continued.
"By the logic I believe you are following, all of us would be 'brothers,' would we not?"
"Okay, okay, never mind," Wilford said, almost rolling his eyes, seemingly in pain. "Just-- where are they?"
"I believe they are assisting in some repairs and expansions in the studio."
Wilford had a vivid mental replay of yesterday's interview, blinked, and nodded in understanding. "So, why aren't you with them?"
Oliver looked around the empty room, at his own station, and back at Wilford, brow furrowed. "You requested my presence for what you termed as 'bonding time:' is this not what you intended?"
Cooperate.
Wilford laughed a little, following Oliver's gaze. "No, this is exactly what I-- is that one yours?"
Oliver trailed Wilford to his own workstation, littered with broken parts and welding tools. Wilford excitedly picked up the welding torch, flicking the trigger.
"What do you do with this?"
Oliver double-checked that the torch was unplugged before replying. "That is a welding torch, Wilford. It is used for--"
"No, I know that," he said, setting it down to seize the mask, flipping it down over his own head. Slightly muffled, he continued. "What are you doing with it?"
"There is a project I have been working on--" he paused, suddenly shy, "--but it- it--"
Cooperate.
"What's your project?" Wilford flipped the visor up to look at Oliver, who was avoiding his eye.
"A-are you sure you want to know?"
"Is it going to kill me?"
"No."
"Is it going to kill someone else?"
He paused. "Possibly."
Wilford grinned widely, nodding his head. The visor fell back over his eyes with a clank. Again muffled, he said, "I'm positive."
Oliver sat down at the work table, Wilford hovering over his shoulder. Oliver gestured to him to take the mask off, and put it and the welding torch out of arm's reach. Reaching into a drawer, he produced a single pair of goggles and handed them back to Wilford.
"Put these on."
"Wh--"
Cooperate.
Oliver stopped Wilford's offended protest with a stern look over his shoulder, and waited until the goggles were secure over Wilford's eyes before turning back to the table.
Carefully, with practiced movements, Oliver strapped his left arm to the table and plucked a screwdriver from the litter around him. Ignoring Wilford's whispered, "Jeez!" he dug the tip into the synthetic skin of his forearm, making a slit down the side of his arm, and then across.
Wilford released a breath as Oliver set down the screwdriver and reached instead for a small clip. He didn't realize that he was leaning over Oliver's shoulder until Oliver shifted uncomfortably, moving himself out of Wilford's range of motion.
Oliver clipped the flap of skin back, out of the way, exposing the wires and rods of his arm. Wilford stifled a gasp as, with a quiet whirr, a part of Oliver's endoskeleton detached itself from the rest of the arm and extended upwards.
"This," Oliver said, and Wilford could hear the quiet pride in his voice, "is what I've been working on."
"What is it?"
Oliver chuckled a little, picking the screwdriver back up. "Our secondary objective."
Wilford watched him poke gently at the device in wonder, seeing the way his face lit up as the mounted tool swiveled back and forth, parts twisting.
"This is the stuff of sci-fi, Ollie."
"Time travel is the 'stuff of sci-fi,' Wilford," Oliver said, still fiddling with his arm. "This is a high-powered, highly focused beam of light that has the potential to cut through anything. So far, its range is only a few feet, but the heat energy alone is equivalent to molten steel, and it only takes three refractors--"
Wilford interrupted Oliver's bubbly spiel. "You made a laser gun."
"Crudely, I suppose." Oliver was still peering at his creation, only half aware of Wilford's responses.
"What can it do?"
Oliver, lost in thought, almost didn't register the question. "Hm?"
Cooperate.
"Do you," Wilford said, somewhere between excited and ecstatic, "want to show me?"
From behind, Wilford could see Oliver's posture change with a barrage of emotions. Well, he supposed, not emotions. Logical reactions. Oliver perked up, almost ripping his arm from its restraints, then slouched resignedly.
"I... I would enjoy that, Wilford, but I'm afraid I cannot."
"Well, why not?" The pout in his voice was audible, and Oliver half-turned from the dissected arm to look at him.
"It is… significantly more dangerous than any of the other Googles' projects, and…" he trailed off, looking away.
Cooperate.
"Okay, Oliver?" Wilford's voice was singsong, a cloying tone that usually preceded murder.
Oliver could tell what was going to happen, but could only sigh. If he was honest, he welcomed it. "Yes, Wilford?"
"You should show me anyway."
-----------------------------------------------
"On the count of three--"
"ThreetwooneFIRE!"
The acrid smell of burning metal filled the air-- a flash of light, a stream of smoke and curses-- and nearly every member of the office was rushing towards the conference room.
Dr. Iplier got there before the rest of them, out of breath, first-aid kit dragging behind him.
"Wilford, what did you do, is anyone hurt--"
Dark, never one to rush as far as the other Egos' wellbeings were concerned, materialized with a swirl of miasma and a scowl.
"Will, I really must object to--"
Mark, Tyler, and Ethan outran Bim on their way down the hall, pushing aside the Doctor and Dark to survey the scene.
Wilford stood behind Oliver, holding a handful of stripped wires in each hand, hair standing on end, face covered in soot. As the others watched, he coughed slightly, releasing a cloud of ash from his now-gray mustache. He blinked a little, eyes still wide, and grinned at them all.
Oliver stood at the other end of the wires, all streaming from his stripped arm. His invention, the laser gun, protruded a little limply from his endoskeleton. His face, too, was covered in ash, and his other arm, steadying the laser, was beginning to smoke.
The room, predictably, was a disaster. What wasn't predictable was the three-foot wide hole in the wall between the conference room and kitchen.
The room was silent, broken only by the zapping of cables and shifting of rubble. Mark stepped forward, intending to break the silence with a well-placed, "What the fuck," but was forced backwards by a familiar hand against his chest.
"You tested it." All three other Googles were suddenly in the room, pushing even Dark behind them in anger. Dark leaned against the undestroyed wall with a smirk, ready for a show.
Cooperate.
Google_B led the verbal charge. "You tested it," he repeated, "when we expressly told you not to."
Oliver turned, finally, from the destruction he and Wilford had created. Dr. Iplier, finding no one hurt, skittered backwards at the maniac grin on Oliver's face.
"Yes," Oliver said, triumphant. "I tested it, and it worked."
Google_G stepped forward to cut off Google_B's angry retort. "Regardless of the outcome, the probability of failure was catastrophically high." With a glance at Google_R, he continued. "You are lucky to have survived as it is. Put the device away, and we will see about disabling--"
Cooperate.
Oliver jerked violently, holding his arm and gun protectively to his chest. "You will not disable it," he hissed, eyes flashing red. The humans in the room took a half step back.
"You have proven yourself much less than trustworthy--"
"Woah, woah." Wilford finally dropped the wires in opposite directions, throwing his hands up, watching them spark on the floor. "Googs, relax. I asked him to show me what it did--"
"No one else is supposed to have knowledge of unverified upgrades," Google_R growled, and Wilford felt his stomach drop.
Oliver stood, staring at the three of them, knowing Wilford was backing down. "So what do you expect to do about it?" he bit out, still holding his arm gingerly. "Disable it? Disable me?"
Cooperate.
It was Mark's turn to interject. His voice fell a shaking step short of commanding. "Googles, stop this, right now. Oliver made a mistake, is all--"
"Yellow has miscalculated. It is defective," Google_B snapped.
Tyler put a hand out to stop Mark from stepping forward. "This is between them," he muttered.
"I am not defective," Oliver said suddenly, stepping towards the other three robots. "I am fulfilling our secondary objective, brothers." He bowed his head for a moment, and the glowing 'G' on his chest flickered. The unmistakable sound of him powering up filled the room, and Oliver pointed his laser gun directly at Wilford's head.
Cooperate.
Tyler lunged for Bim while Mark grabbed Ethan's fists in his own. "You can't," Mark whispered, looking at Oliver.
Wilford looked down at the laser that had just obliterated a wall, eyes wide, struggling to meet Oliver's.
The Googles watched Oliver, a little disbelieving, a little impressed.
Dr. Iplier watched Oliver's hand waver, and knew what was going to happen before it did. He rushed forward, but not soon enough to stop it.
Oliver's chest light flickered again and went out, strained by the show of bravado. With a clunk and the whirr of a spent battery, he fell to the floor.
Wilford breathed.
Something crunched, and as Mark and Tyler let go of Ethan and Bim, they saw Oliver's exposed metal arm twisted underneath him at an odd angle.
Dr. Iplier was pushed roughly into Wilford as the Googles descended on Oliver, picking him up between them and marching towards their room. No one stopped them, only watched them leave.
Cooperate.
Bim rushed forward, Dr. Iplier began hurriedly checking Wilford for any harm, and the humans fell back into a shell-shocked heap.
From Dark's corner, an amused chuckle echoed around the room, and he dissipated in a puff of smoke.
Each member of the office took a moment to breathe.
Well, all but one.
The Host was already narrating the conclusion of his story when he heard Mark, Tyler, and Ethan skid past his door on their way to the conference room. He chuckled, enjoying the chaos, enjoying once again pulling the puppet's strings. His characters rarely, if ever, argued.
After all, cooperation was key.