Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quickman was many things.

Patient was not one of them.

He sighed, heavily, bouncing his leg to try and get an ounce of stimulation, anxiety surging through his circuits and giving him plenty of adrenaline despite the heavy, fuzzy feeling in his processor.

“Do you mind?” Flashman grumbled from beside him, seeming much more relaxed in his own chair, giving a glare to his linemate.

Quick just growled at him, not once stopping his stimming, not caring how disruptive it might’ve been to him or anyone else in this room.

Speaking of which…

He glanced around at all of the robot masters in the room with him, surrounded by 15 of his kind. The Second and Third line of Robot Masters, created by Dr. Wily. He usually just shortens their lines to the Seconds and the Thirds, but-

Actually, why were they the Seconds and Thirds? Sure, Dr. Light’s goody-two-shoes line came online first, but they weren’t Wily’s bots. Meanwhile him and his line were the first made by Wily! If anything they should be considered Firsts, not Seconds, and also-

… Wait, also what? His processor was absolutely going somewhere with this. Where was it-

Okay, whatever, doesn’t matter, focus.

Quickman pushed past the mental haze again, sighing. There were a million things happening all at once, and yet he couldn’t focus on a single one!

He was in a room full of himself and 15 of his linemates, and worst of all his enemy, and he couldn’t find a single thing to focus on properly, he-

“Screw this.” He finally spoke up, standing to his feet as his patience fully left his frame. He barely got two steps towards the door before-

“Quickman…” 

That stupid, stupid voice.

He turned his head to glare directly towards Megaman, who had the absolute gall to stand before him and his linemates like some sort of babysitter, as if they weren’t literally built to be his enemy!

“Can you please sit back down?” He asked so innocently, as if he wasn’t equipped with his stupid mega buster and ready to offline him at any moment.

“Or else what, Mega-brat?” He spat back, deciding to call whatever bluff there was, placing his hands on his hips, “Gonna blast another hole through my chest?”

Megaman visibly cringed, which actually got a swell of pride through Quick’s circuits at seeing him squirm, “No, I- Not unless you try and attack-” He didn’t even finish the sentence, sighing heavily, “Dr. Light will be here any minute, he can explain everything.”

“Explain what?!” Quick threw his arms up, exasperated, “Last I checked, he wasn’t our creator-”

“I think he helped design us…?” Magnetman sheepishly spoke up, raising his hand like a human child in school.

Quick bristled at the sheer audacity of this cheeky bot for bringing up how Light helped design the Thirds- “Magnet I swear to fuck I will rip your vocalizer out with my bare servos-”

“Both of you: shut up.” Woodman barked, shooting them both a glare.

Quick gawked at his linemate. Hello?!?! Was he taking Magnet’s side here- or worse, Mega’s side?! “But Light didn’t design us! And Wily built all of us, no matter who helped on the blueprints, and-”

“And I don’t care. Shut up.” Wood deadpanned, folding his arms and silently daring the other to argue, “Doesn’t matter who built us or owns us. Right now, we’re stuck at Light Labs, and Megaman clearly won’t let us leave until Dr. Light gets what he wants out of this. So quit being a child and sit back down.”

Quickman may have been speechless at how- he didn’t even have the word for it!- rude his linemate was?! Bold? Annoying? Whatever the word was- He couldn’t even choke out a retort through his vocalizer… … And yet his processor sure was running through every expletive logged in his system.

Megaman seemed to be happy with this outcome, given the relieved smile he gave, “Thanks, Woodman, I r-”

“Oh no.” Wood cut him off before he could continue, holding up a hand and glaring at their enemy, “No, you don’t get out of this either. My linemate here, as brash as he is, has a point. A dull, worn and rusted point, but a point nonetheless.”

… Was Quick supposed to be proud or offended at that?

Regardless, Woodman continued, “We went along with all of this. We let you re-online all of us, let you disable our weapons, and now we’re sitting here waiting for an explanation of why. I think the least you can give us in return is an answer as to why we’re even here?”

And the smile immediately dropped from Megaman’s face. Hah. Worth any insults Wood would throw at Quick.

Megaman opened his mouth to begin, but before he could get a word out, the door to the room opened.

Dr. Thomas Light stepped into the room, looking in desperate need of a nap, a thick stack of papers tucked beneath his arm, “I’m so sorry I’m late, I was on the phone with the governor, and the call went far over schedule, and- Oh, nevermind all of that. Hello, everyone!”

The energy in the room suddenly shifted, a thick blanket of awkwardness settling in. Quick was pretty sure that this was everyone’s first time actually seeing Dr. Light in person, for all his reputation that followed him. Well, Quickman had briefly tormented him when he was first sent to fight Megaman, but for everyone else this was new. Not to mention Light was the one who made Megaman. And the Firsts. But more importantly Megaman.

And yet, for being basically the one guy everyone in this room was created to destroy, he had a strangely chipper attitude to him. Clearly frazzled, but trying to put on the friendliest facade he could despite that.

… Ugh. No wonder where Megaman gets it from.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you all,” He said, smiling, “My name is Dr. Light, and may I just say that I’m so happy we can finally interact under peaceful circumstances! I- Oh, Quickman!” He suddenly paused his train of thought as he stepped up to Quick.

Quick was prepared to attack- or insult- or something- in retaliation for whatever Light had in store for him- 

… But he wasn’t prepared for Light to simply place a hand on his shoulder in a disgustingly affectionate gesture, “Would you like to take a seat with your brothers?”

Okay, that finally kicked his vocalizer back into gear, Quick letting out a strangled half-gawk half-laugh sound, “You- But- What?!”

Woodman rolled his eyes, “Quick, just sit down.”

“Wh- no!” He wildly gestured between himself, then Woodman, then Dr. Light, and repeated the motions at random, “This is crazy, right?!?! Am I the only sane one here right now?! This is Dr. Light!!! He- you-!!!”

“Quickman.” Flashman finally spoke up, narrowing his eyes.

“What?!” He barked back.

Flashman didn’t say anything else, but did move his hand to rest on his Time Stopper, raising an eyebrow in silent threat.

… “Yeah okay fine.” He quickly replied, dropping all frustration in favor of sitting his butt down as fast as possible. Yeah, no, not today, thanks. He hated Megaman but he hated that stupid weapon more. He’d rather not get half-killed right now. Sitting sounds nice, suddenly.

He also chose to ignore the way Megaman, as well as half of the Thirds, stared at him in bewilderment, as if stupid Flashman’s stupid Time Stopper wasn’t something worth freaking out over.

Jerks. All of them.

Dr. Light recollected himself quite quickly, actually, turning to the far wall to pull up a projector display. Meanwhile, Megaman flashed everyone a thumbs up with his non-weaponized hand.

Jerks. All of them.

Calming down from his excitement only served to remind him of that heavy feeling back in his processor, weighing down his processes and clinging to him like some thick tar. He didn’t even know what was causing this sluggish feeling, but he was, like, 85% sure Megaman had something to do with it.

Whatever stupid Dr. Light had in store, he hated it already.

“I should probably start with the obvious question, shouldn’t I?” Dr. Light finally spoke up again as whatever slideshow he had prepared finally loaded on screen.

Bubbleman was actually the first one to blurt something out, raising his own hand, “Where’s Dr. Wily?!”

“That,” He pointed a finger back to Bubble, “Is exactly what I was expecting to hear.”

With a click of a remote in his hands, Light pulled up the first slide, displaying the front article of the local news network.

[DR. ALBERT WILY PRESUMED DEAD AFTER LATEST ROBOT DISASTER]

Half the room fell into a stunned sort of silence, the other half letting out a chorus of gasps or alarmed cries.

Dr. Wily- The Dr. Wily- dead?

After everything they’d fought for?

After surviving the wrath of Ra-Moon?

Dead…?

Quick was so stunned by the news that he almost didn’t notice the sub-header stating [Megaman once again saves the day!]. Ugh.

Bubble was the first one to scramble his vocalizer back into place, “Wha- What does that mean?! Dr. Wily- Dr. Wily isn’t-”

“Albert is presumed dead by the authorities, yes.” Light confirmed, a grave tone finally settling into his voice.

Hardman found his vocalizer next, narrowing his optics “Wait, Dr. Light. Dead and Presumed Dead are two very different things. What exactly happened after you dealt with us…?”

Megaman took a deep breath, then stepped forward, eyebrows furrowed in distraught. “When Dr. Wily and I fought… he… The castle began to collapse.”

The blue bomber drew into himself, clearly upset, “I- I tried to grab him before it all came down, but- he was caught in all the debris, and… and…”

He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.

Silence fell over the room once again.

Quick rolled his eyes, deciding to chance speaking up again, “C’mon, guys. You’re seriously not buying this crap, are you?”

He felt all eyes snap to him, and he had to bite back a laugh from how incredulous half of his linemates looked.

“This is Wily!” He explained, motioning to the monitor, “How many times is this now? Where stupid Megaman thought he won, and Dr. Wily ended up escaping and was back to his plans not even a week later!” 

Quick then turned to address Dr. Light directly, “You seriously think he’s dead?”

Dr. Light paused, thinking it over for a moment, brow furrowed. Then, he answered, “I’ve known Albert a long time, and given all we had been through together… I wouldn’t put it past him having survived this, just as he’d survived everything else thrown at him in the past. We found no evidence of him being alive… but we found no corpse or remains within the wreckage, either.”

Quickman sat back in his seat again, folding his arms and smirking. Hah, knew it.

But Dr. Light then shook his head, “But what I believe doesn’t matter. Dr. Wily is being presumed dead in the eyes of the law. Which means his possessions are being surrendered to the police and are being handled by the federal government.”

Quick blinked, allowing his processor to run over that statement again. Wily’s possessions? But, if he and his linemates were created by Wily… Would that make them…?

“WE BELONG TO THE COPS NOW?!” Topman squawked. 

Dr. Light flinched, then held up his hands to quell the rising panic in the bots- mostly Topman, “No- I mean, on a technicality, perhaps, but certainly not the way you’re thinking of it.”

“We belong to the government, though.” Woodman suggested.

“… Yes.” Light nodded, “And initially, the federal government called for your permanent decommissioning.”

A spark of worry shot up through Quickman’s spine at that word. 

Decommissioning.

It shouldn’t sound so imposing, and yet…

Woodman didn’t appear deterred, at least on the outside, given how calmly he continued, “And yet you repaired all of us. Which would imply the government didn’t follow through on decommissioning.”

“Correct again,” Light replied, “Because I worked out a deal with them.”

Before any of them could interject with the next series of questions or remarks, Light moved the presentation to its next slide.

[DWN Redemption and Integration Program]

Quickman could practically feel the words shrivel up and die in his linemates’ vocalizers as they all took in the slide before them.

There were only 5 words on the screen before them, and the weight of what those words alone suggested was already enough to weigh down on his entire frame, finding himself slumping in his chair with a heavy sigh.

The rest of the Seconds and Thirds exchanged uneasy glances to each other, each of them unsure of how to approach what Dr. Light was suggesting.

Bubbleman, though, was the first one to find some words, “… You’re calling it DRIP?”

Dr. Light blinked, “Calling it what?”

“Drip!” Bubble repeated, pointing to the screen, “Take the first letter of each big word there, and it’s D-R-I-P. Drip!”

Confusion fell over the human’s face before it finally clicked, and he perked up with a smile, “Oh, I suppose it is! Haha, I wasn’t intending for it to create an acronym, but that’s fun, isn’t it?”

From the back of the room, Shadowman finally spoke up, “DWN is an acronym too, though. If we were to make an acronym out of this whole title, then DWN RIP would be more accurate.”

Just like that, the smile immediately fell from Light’s face.

Shadowman cracked a smirk, “Which would make your acronym Dr. Wily Numbers: Rest In Peace-”

“Okay so we’ll workshop the title,” Light interrupted before Shadow could continue any further, “The point isn’t the acronym, it’s the program itself!”

Megaman finally interjected, smiling nervously, “It’s not your fault that Dr. Wily created you for destruction, and you shouldn’t have to be decommissioned just because you had to listen to him! You all deserve a chance to have a good life, just like the rest of us bots!”

… Was Mega-brat serious?

Quickman could vomit, how sickeningly sweet he tried to act.

And of course Dr. Light approved, given the nod he gave to his creation, “It’s true. The deal I worked with the authorities was to oversee a program in which you will all be integrated into society as functional robot masters, much like my own robots.”

Much like his own robots. Ugh. Yeah. Quickman was definitely about to vomit.

Light addressed the entire crowd, though Quick took note how he was paying more attention to the Thirds than the Seconds, “I had a hand in designing nearly half of you, which means I know there are industrial functions built in you. As for the rest of you, Albert’s design philosophy doesn’t deviate from my own as much as one would expect, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find similar protocols buried within all of you.”

“Ohhh, sure.” Crashman rolled his eyes, voice practically dripping with sarcasm, “Because I’m sure Dr. Wily had industrial functions in mind when loading me up with crash bombs to take out Megaman.”

Hah! Quick thought to himself smugly, Crash knows what’s up.

Light, however, didn’t seem deterred, even radiating a bit of smugness himself, “Crashman, you know about one of my line: DLN-006, correct? You may know him as Bombman. He works with a tool I call Hyper Bomb. You can find him working on controlled demolitions of all sorts of civil engineering projects. You know of him, right?”

… Crashman just growled, refusing to respond with anything, since that would involve conceding to Light’s point.

Honestly, Quick was pissed off too. Sure, Light might’ve been right, but Crash was righter. … More right. Whatever.

That didn’t stop Dr. Light from maintaining that smug attitude, though, “Demolition and destruction are not inherently evil. Any tool in the wrong hands can be used as a weapon, but that doesn’t mean the tool is inherently evil and deserves to be destroyed.” He paused, most likely for some kind of dramatic effect, “You are not inherently evil. You don’t need to be destroyed.”

Crashman’s expression softened at that.

Quickman’s didn’t.

“This is real cute, Doc.” Quickman stood up, putting his hands on his hips. If his linemates won’t address the elephant in the room, he will, “But what if we don’t want to do any of this DWN Rest In Peace crap-”

“That is NOT what that acronym stands for!” Light corrected.

Quickman just shot him a deadpanned look before continuing, “But what if we don’t want to do any of this DRIP crap, huh? You can’t force us to be like your goody-two-shoes bots!”

“… You’re right, I can’t. And the government knows this as well.” Light replied, a grave tone setting into his voice, “Which is why your reactivation was given a proviso.”

A proviso…?

“If you can’t serve a practical function… then by federal law, your decommission will be permanent, even if Albert is found alive again.”

Quickman found himself taking a step back before his processor even realized what it was doing.

So that was the catch.

He shouldn’t have figured it’d be any different. Of course the Lights wouldn’t bring them back online and just leave them be. No, they wanted to bring them back so they could be ordered around. So they could be just like the Firsts.

Quick could practically feel the hydraulic fluid boiling inside of him.

“So we do what you tell us to do, or you shut us right back down.” He spat, hands curling to fists.

Dr. Light frowned, “No, Quickman, it’s not like that-”

“Then what is it like?!” Anger overrode anxiety as he stepped forward, snarling, “Because that’s sure as hell what your “proviso” sounds like!”

From behind Light, he saw Megaman put a hand on his buster, readying it if necessary.

And he remembered what it was like to have a hole shot through his chest.

And to have his head blown off when he was a part of that horrible amalgamation robot.

Weapons disabled or not, he was not about to let Megaman do this to him again. 

He-

A flash of red pulled him from his thoughts, and when he blinked, he suddenly realized Metalman was standing between himself and the Lights.

Quickman blinked again, stunned from the action alone.

How did Metal get there before he could even notice? His processor is way faster than anyone else’s here, he should’ve seen him moving to stand between them well before he even got there… How did he miss that?

Metal was facing the Lights, not Quick, so while he couldn’t see whatever Metal’s expression was… Given that both Light and Mega had wide, nervous eyes, Quick figured Metal was giving his classic “scary face”.

But Metal wasn’t the type to speak up unless necessary, so it surprised even Quick when he spoke, “… We have every right to be scared right now.”

“Wh- Hey, I’m not scared!” Quickman barked, “I’m angry! They-”

Metal turned to glare at Quick, and yeah, theory confirmed. Metal was definitely giving his scary face. And Quickman suddenly found it easy to shut up.

… But then Metal’s expression shifted, a brief and silent communication in their optics alone.

‘I’ll handle this, don’t worry.’

Quickman swallowed down the thick lump in his throat, giving a small nod in concession.

‘Don’t tell them we’re scared.’

‘Fine, I won’t.’

Metal then addressed the Lights once more, still protectively standing in front of his linemate, “… ‘If we can’t serve a practical function’. That’s rather vague wording.”

Slowly, Dr. Light nodded, “… It is. And we’re using that to our advantage.”

“Explain.” Metalman demanded.

“Would you both care to sit back down first?” Dr. Light offered.

Both Metal and Quick hesitated, sharing another glance; sharing another conversation. 

‘Do we trust him?’

‘Do we have a choice?’

His fight or flight protocols were in high gear, and it took an immense amount of effort to override them… but somehow, somehow, Quick found a way to bite back his impulses. Found a way to sit back down.

Found a way to ignore all the optics that were locked on him.

Dr. Light considered them all for a decent amount of time before finally speaking up once more “… As Metalman pointed out, the wording is vague. It’s quite difficult to define what a ‘practical function’ is, and it often comes down to personal opinion. Arguments could be made in either direction for most functions a robot serves. For example,”

With a click of his remote, the slide changed once again, now displaying an image of the Firsts. A press image taken from when they were first brought into the industrial scene.

Quickman noted how expressionless they all were in the image.

“Take DLN-003, or Cutman, for example,” Dr. Light explained, motioning to the first robot master, “One could argue that he’s an invaluable asset to the lumber industry due to his power and maneuverability. … One could also argue that I’ve just built a sentient chainsaw.” He cracked a joke, daring to smile once more.

“More like a sentient pair of scissors.” Quick heard Metal mutter under his breath.

“But the point is,” the doctor continued, “He is currently serving his industrial function with full government approval, regardless of which argument against him one could make. My plan is to do the same for all of you: find an industrial function in which you can all excel, frame that work in a way to likely appeal to the masses, draft a proposal to the local officials, and have you approved and serving your new functions; no personality reprogramming required.”

A low murmur rose up from the room, the Seconds and Thirds exchanging a mix of confused, concerned, and even curious looks as they mused on the semantics of this proposed “solution”.

No personality reprogramming required. Quickman made a mental note of that.

“Um… Dr. Light?” Bubbleman sheepishly raised his hand, nervously glancing at his linemates, “Even if we wanted to serve a more- um- respected function… How do we know what that function is? I mean, like, sure, you say we have industrial functions deep in our codes or something… But all I’ve ever known is fighting you guys!”

Dr. Light chuckled, “Yes, I’m well aware of that. I’ll be working with you all on an individual basis to discuss career opportunities, and try to find something to make you all feel fulfilled in your programming. I’ll also have my own line helping you all settle in.”

“Wait wait wait wait,” Magnet interrupted, “What do you mean, your line?”

The doctor nodded towards Magnetman, “As in my own line of DLN will be supervising you all while we figure out your new functions. I cannot work with you all at once, so enlisting their help will help me help you. You’ll be assigned to shadow different robot masters on different days, and they’ll work with you to help you figure out a new path for your future.”

… It’s a babysitting gig.

Quickman wanted to shrivel up and go offline on the spot.

He. Is going to be babysat. By the fucking Light bots.

Is it too late to ask Mega-brat to shoot another hole in his chest?

Woodman cleared his vocalizer, bringing Quick out of his thoughts, “Okay, so let’s entertain the idea that we would even agree to this. I doubt the law is giving you unlimited time for this project of yours, Doctor. What’s the deadline before they shut us back down?”

Dr. Light sighed, heavy and low, “... We don’t have an explicit deadline yet. I’m sure it will greatly depend on the amount of progress seen and how well I can convince officials to extend our time. Realistically, however? I’m sure we’ll be given a month at minimum… though I doubt we’ll be given more than a year at maximum.”

One month minimum. One year maximum.

Quickman knew those times and measurements. They were hardcoded into his processor’s internal clocks and databases. In theory, he knew exactly how long that meant.

In practice? Quickman didn’t have a frame of reference. His total time spent online between shutdowns was easily under a month. His whole existence of experiences lasted fewer than the minimum time Dr. Light offered for this whole program.

He would be spending more time “redeeming” himself from the actions of his intended function than he would spend performing the intended function.

… That… stung something deep inside of him.

The Doctor took a look around the room, and frowned sympathetically, “This is a lot to take in, I’m sure. I’m sorry we had to go to such lengths to allow yourselves back online.”

Yeah, he sounds REAL sorry. Quick thought to himself, sarcastically.

“We can go over more of the details tomorrow.” He continued, “For now? I’m sure you all could go for some rest. I’ve set up two workshops for you all to stay in, the Seconds will take one room, the Thirds will take the other. I have charging docks and E-tanks available for any bot who needs them.”

“And I assume we’re not to leave the lab without permission?” Flashman asked.

“Yes and no.” Light answered, “You will be under a curfew at nighttime. During the day, you will be free to roam about the lab and the surrounding property, but you won’t be permitted to leave the property without supervision from either myself or one of my DLN.”

It really is a babysitting gig. Wow.

Quick looked over to where Megaman was standing, and the two locked eyes.

Megaman smiled at him. Hopeful, but visibly nervous.

Quickman scowled back.

The room Quick and the other Seconds were supposed to stay in during this DRIP nonsense was… spacious, at least.

Quick peeked over Airman’s shoulder, peering into their “bedroom”, as Megaman called it. He was met by a large storage room with sterile, white-painted walls and a gray metal floor; 8 clearly rushed-together bed frames lining the walls, neatly spaced evenly apart. Charging ports and cables rested beside each bed, and a container to hold E-tanks, oil, and a few small parts for basic, surface-level repairs.

… Quickman never had a proper bedroom before, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t supposed to look… like this. Felt like he walked into a robot hospital, not his new temporary residence.

Better than the dirty warehouse he stayed in at Wily’s fortress, at least…?

“I call dibs on the bed by the E-tanks!” Bubbleman announced excitedly, rushing past them and claiming his bed.

Quick and Air exchanged an uneasy glance, not nearly sharing Bubble’s enthusiasm.

“Well,” Woodman remarked, settling onto the nearest bed to the door, “It’s certainly a room.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Airman replied, unamused.

… Wood then took another look around, getting a thoughtful look across his face, “Credit where credit’s due, it’s a room with enough space for all of us to rest and recharge comfortably. Light isn’t cramming us into a closet or anything.”

Quick just sighed, dreading that that’s where the bar was going to be set for all of this. It was serviceable and wouldn’t be considered robot abuse. Great.

He looked around, trying to figure out which bed to take. They were all functionally identical, so it really came down to where in this room he’d want to stay… And the room was visually the same on all sides, so it really wasn’t much of a difference.

The only splash of color he found was from a window at the far side of the room, giving a glimpse at the blue skies and scattered clouds outside.

Numbly, Quickman shuffled to the bed closest to the window, a part of him hoping this was some kind of fever dream.

“… And fair’s fair,” Wood continued, “We get our own room, we don’t even have to stay with the Thirds. We could have-”

“Woodman, shut the fuck up.” Quick snapped, flopping onto his bed, way too tired to deal with this right now.

He heard Woodman huff at him, and didn’t need to raise his head from the pillow he was buried in to know his linemate was definitely glaring at him. And with everything Quick had to deal with today? He didn’t have it in him to care.

There was the faint sound of rustling from the bed next to his, and Flashman’s voice spoke up, “So… What do we do now?”

Quick sure as hell didn’t know, and given the silence that fell over the entire room, he had a feeling no one else knew, either.

Quickman groaned into his pillow, “This whole thing is so, so stupid.”

At least he was met with a chorus of agreements.

Chapter Text

When his systems properly booted, it took Quick a minute or so to fully come back to his active online state. His programs were sluggish to pull out of recharge mode, that heavy vapor-like haze still clinging to his processor.

It took a second for his optics to activate, giving him a blurry output before properly calibrating, showing his surroundings in full clarity.

It took another second for the realization to hit.

This isn’t Wily’s base.

Quickman shot up to properly sit up, taking in his surroundings, ready to fight if necessary. He wasn’t restrained; in fact, he was left in a relatively plain bed with a power cable connected to his charging port. His linemates-

His linemates were resting rather comfortably, all things considered. Either still in recharge or just beginning to wake up themselves, but no air of danger. No air of tampering, no-

Suddenly, his protocols replayed his memory recording from yesterday.

… And Quickman remembered why he wasn’t in Wily’s base.

He was at Light Labs, with the Seconds and the Thirds. They were in some sort of “redemption” program, and if they didn’t comply, they would be shut down anywhere from 1-12 months from now.

This was his life now.

… It’s going to be a very long first week, isn’t it?

On Monday, Dr. Light brought Quickman into his office.

Quick didn’t even know that Light had a proper office. He figured that he was like Wily: practically living in his workshops and haphazardly throwing any important documents wherever there was free space on a desk or table. Or chair. Or floor.

But no, this was a genuine office-type of setting: Dr. Light’s desk with its own documents and computer screens, Light’s chair on one end, an empty one for someone to sit in on the other. Rewards, degrees, and newspaper snippets framed and hung on every wall, neatly decorating the room.

“Quickman,” Dr. Light addressed him warmly, motioning to the chair on the other side of his desk, “Care to take a seat?”

Quick glared at him, not bothering to hide his suspicion at this all. This room was too inviting, Light was being too kind, there was- there had to be something more sinister going on.

He already knew the catch, already knew the “proviso”. But this entire time, Light kept acting like he was in their corner, trying to help out of the goodness of his own heart. People don’t do that with bots like him.

There had to be some kind of ulterior motive, Quick just… didn’t know what it was yet.

He sat down, bouncing his leg restlessly.

“I hope I wasn’t keeping you waiting too long.” Light noted, briefly glancing to Quick’s fidgeting before looking away, clearly pretending not to notice.

“It’s fine.” He answered, folding his arms crossly.

Light was seeing his linemates in order of their serial numbers. Since Quick was DWN-012, that meant only Metal, Air, and Bubble got to have their individual meetings with Light before him.

Quickman was not jealous of Shadowman, being the very last of the Thirds, having to wait for 15 other bots to go before him.

Dr. Light glanced at his fidgeting leg once again, frowning, “You don’t need to be nervous, son.”

“I’m not nervous, and I’m not your son.” Quick retorted, scowling, “I just like moving. I was built to move.”

Light sighed, unconvinced, “I know this is hard.”

Quick was about to deny him again, but then paused. He even stopped bouncing his leg, leaning forward, “Do you ?”

“Of course,” he replied, “With everything that went down with myself, Albert, my bots, and all of you, I can imagine it’s-”

“You can imagine,” Quick interrupted, “But do you know?”

He glared at the human, anger flaring through his circuits, “Let me know if my database is broken, Doc, but last I checked, you humans don’t ever have to deal with anything we’re dealing with right now. Y’aint exactly tools to be passed around from owner to owner. I don’t have to brainwash you or kill you if I don’t like the stupid job you do here. You-”

“Quickman,” Light said firmly, before his toned softened, “… Cycle your vents, please.”

Quick paused, blinking, confused by the sudden shift in topic. … And he then realized with how rapidly his chest rose and fell, just how much he was struggling to cycle air. He probably looked like he was hyperventilating, from a human’s perspective.

… Slowly, carefully, he cycled the air through his ventilation system. 

Had he really gotten so worked up from that alone? He… must have had some wires crossed somewhere.

From across the desk, Dr. Light’s eyebrows were furrowed together, not bothering to hide the concern he wore, “… You haven’t been the first to express some type of concern over this proviso we’re trying to work around.”

“… You’ve only spoken to three of my linemates so far.” Quick challenged.

“And all three of them were quite vocal about their thoughts and feelings on all of this.” Light answered, “Their anxieties and anger haven’t gone unnoticed. You’re not alone in this.”

… Carefully, Quickman tried to allow himself to relax in his seat, “… Why are you trying to help us?”

Dr. Light offered him a smile, a twinge of sorrow behind his eyes, “You all had no choice in being brought online. Albert and I were so passionate about our robot master project that… we may have overlooked the weight of giving a full artificial intelligence to a machine.”

If that isn’t the understatement of the century…

“Even if you aren’t my machines, I feel that as a robotics expert, I have a responsibility here,” Light continued, “A responsibility to give you all a chance at a semi-normal life. To simply toss you aside because Albert wanted you to be weapons feels… cruel, to say the least.”

Quick frowned, still having a hard time buying this wishy-washy sort of motivation.

“… I don’t know what it’s like, to be in your position. And I can’t change the law.” He admitted, “But if you can help me understand, I can at least do everything in my power to help you sneak around this law as much as possible.”

“And just how are you planning on doing that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “I doubt the feds want to keep a bot like me online.”

“Well, I would like to keep you online, so tell me,” Dr. Light brought his hands together, leaning forwards with an eager look on his face, “What would you like your new function to be?”

New function? … How the hell was Quick supposed to know???

He had his function hardcoded into his IC chip, coming up with a new one was literally nowhere in his programming.

Not really sure how to answer, Quick just shrugged.

“Well, what do you like to do?” Light offered.

At least Quick had a good answer to this one! “I like to beat up Megaman.” He grinned, completely aware of who he was speaking to.

Dr. Light kept the smile on his face, though it visibly grew more strained, “… Okay, well I would prefer you to not beat my son up. What do you like to do aside from that?”

Quick just rolled his eyes, “Listen, Doc, you asked. It’s what I was built for. It’s all I’ve known, all I’ve ever done, and all I ever really want to do right now.”

The doctor got a contemplative look on his face, clearly signifying the gears turning in his own mind as he tried to think of a good retort to that.

“Okay, let’s try a thought experiment, then.” He brought his hands together, tapping his fingers in thought, “Let’s imagine a scenario in which you successfully defeated Megaman.”

Oh, Quickman like where this was going already.

“Let’s assume you destroyed him, fully and completely, with damage to his IC chip so severe that he could never be fully brought back online. You’ve destroyed my lab, I’ve become a ruined former scientist who can no longer make any robot masters, and Dr. Wily has succeeded in taking over the world for his own gain.” Dr Light continued.

Quick wasn’t sure where Light was going with this, but he’ll happily imagine exactly that. All of his functions properly fulfilled, the Lights properly taken down, and his creator properly in the place of power that he should be. Yeah, he could get used to a future like that.

“… What would you do, then, after you won?” Light asked, tilting his head slightly.

Quickman mirrored the action, confused. He wasn’t expecting that to be where the conversation turned. “… Well, Wily would be in charge. He can’t run the world by himself, so he’d probably have all of his bots helping him run things. I’d just- you know, do that.”

Light frowned, clearly not happy with that answer. So what, it was fine to think about killing Megaman, but not helping Wily rule the world???

“Okay, let’s try a different approach,” Light pivoted, “Let’s say you defeat Megaman and all of that again… but Albert isn’t alive. What would you do then?”

Quickman blinked, stunned by the one change in the fictional narrative. If… Dr. Wily was dead? Well he would have served his original function still… But without his creator, he wouldn’t have anyone to give him a new function. So… He would… he would…

His internal fans kicked in to cool down his internal temperature, the thought processes making his CPU start to heat up from high usage.  He tried to simulate the scenario… but kept running into errors. Not enough information. Not enough direction. Not enough…

… What would he do, if Wily was gone and he had to stay online?

“Okay,” Dr. Light said, gently, picking up on the whirr of his fans, “I… take it you don’t know.”

Quickman didn’t answer him, because he didn’t want to admit he was right.

“And that’s okay!” Light seemed to make the assumption for him, “This can be an exciting time to explore the world and see what you may enjoy!”

That was more than enough to kick Quick’s vocalizer back in gear, “Okay, Doc. This is, uh, sweet, I guess? But… seriously, man.” He motioned to himself, “Whaddya want me to do? I’m Quickman. You want me to discover a secret love for being a fucking mail courier or something?”

Light hummed, “Well, let’s take a step back from finding the industrial function right now.” 

Sure, as if they aren’t on a literal deadline to find a new industrial function to avoid permanent decommissioning. Sure.

“Let’s focus on potential personal interests and go from there. How does that sound?” Light asked.

“Personal interests?” Quickman parroted.

The human grinned, clearly eager to elaborate, “You know, when we had originally drafted up the first line of Robot Masters, neither myself nor Albert had any intention for their functions other than their original industrial use. You can probably imagine the surprise I had when I’d discovered Gutsman’s affinity for karaoke, or just how quickly Elecman took to learning the guitar!”

… The construction bot singing karaoke? The electrical generation bot playing guitar? That… That’s so…

“That’s so stupid.” Quickman said matter-of-factly.

The surprised look Light gave him at that nearly made Quick laugh.

“That has literally nothing to do with their functions. Like, maybe if Guts or Elec were entertainment or companion bots, sure , but… they’re not.” The kind of motor functions to perform those tasks, on top of the songs they would both be committing to memory… jeez, how much storage were they taking up from that alone? “Are they bugged or something?”

Light opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything for a few moments. 

Quick couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride stumping the doctor like this.

Eventually, though, the human spoke, “Well… You may consider it a bug. I consider it a feature,” He offered, smiling once again, “For my own machines to grow beyond their original programming and explore their own interests for no reason other than creative passion… Well, it’s probably been the biggest joy of my profession. Because I see I’m helping create living machines, not just mindless drones. I can tell they’re happy with their lives.”

“… You sure like talking about robots as if we’re people.” He retorted, carefully.

“… Is that such a bad thing?” Dr. Light asked, seeming to be leading to something.

Quick wasn’t picking up whatever he was trying to put down, though, and just gave the doctor a funny look. They weren’t people. They were machines, and it felt silly to try and treat them any differently.

Dr Light sighed, relenting his point, “I’ll be having you shadow some of my own robot masters in the coming days and weeks. How about you observe what they do- both on the clock and in their free time, and see if anything might sound appealing to you?”

Quickman rolled his eyes, “And if I don’t want to?”

“I won’t force you to,” Light confirmed, “But… All I can ask is to at least think about it. I really think it’d be worth it to at least give it a try. You may be surprised and end up really enjoying something you never considered before!”

Wow, they were really dead set on this program. Despite everything he’d argued about since the moment he was brought back online, Light still wanted him to go through with it all. It was an illogical level of optimism, really.

Quick was tempted to play along, just to see the look on the stupid doctor’s face when this all inevitably goes to shit.

“Whatever.” He half-relented, standing to his feet, “You’re not gonna make me like your dumb Firsts.”

“I’m not trying to make you like them, Quickman,” Light explained, “I’m just trying to find a place for you to fit in.”

‘What’s the difference? ’ Quick thought to himself, bitterly.

Monday was mostly spent orienting all of the DWN, so on Tuesday, the Firsts came to meet the Seconds and Thirds and actually begin their “shadowing” process.

Quick tapped his foot impatiently, looking around the common area they had all gathered in, keeping a close eye on every DLN that tried to act friendly to any of them.

The Light bots weren’t nearly as impressive as him and his line, but they had the annoying advantage of having their weapon systems enabled. Even then, they were industrial bots, not combat bots. Quick was willing to bet he could take down at least one of them even with his own weapons disabled.

He looked them over, watching them try to make conversation with his linemates, silently assessing them. Gutsman and Iceman were chatting amongst themselves, seeming to crack jokes, given their lighthearted demeanor.

Gutsman could definitely flatten Quick if he wanted, but Iceman was far punier; his database pulled up information on some kind of “superconductivity”. Maybe a hose and a plugged-in toaster could do the shrimp in.

He glanced over to where Metalman was, and noted Cutman trying to make conversation. Quick nearly laughed at the sight alone. Metal was not the talkative type, and Cut would probably have more luck speaking to a wall. Didn’t seem like that was deterring Cut, though, given the way he kept yapping at Metal.

Hmm. Cut’s frame was tiny, and the cutter attached to his head was far clunkier than his own boomerangs. Quick would be able to easily out-maneuver any of his attacks thanks to his speed, and could definitely rip the bot apart, even without his weapons.

Would he have better odds destroying Ice or Cut? Probably Cut.

He heard a huff from next to him, and looked over to see Flashman standing right next to him. His arms were folded, and he was glaring at another bot. Quick blinked, following his gaze and wondering what pissed Flash off… and then saw just who his ire was directed at. Timeman and Oilman were arguing over something at the other end of the room, and Quick was certain Flash was glaring at Time.

Actually, strike his thoughts on destroying Cutman; Timeman looked like a stiff wind would blow him over. Looked as fragile as a human, which would’ve been impressive if the reality of that wasn’t so pathetic. Yeah, he has his new pick for easiest bot to take down weaponless.

Flash may have been one of the physically weakest of his line, but at least he looked like he could hold a fight.

… Wait, is he seriously mentally defending Flashman of all bots? Ugh. Quick must have a virus or something.

At least Shadowman was being smart: keeping to himself in a corner and not going out of his way to socialize with anyone.

“What a crowd.” Quick heard Flash murmur from beside him, and it took him a moment to realize Flash was speaking to him.

Quick regarded him with caution at first. Flash and Quick had never been friendly to each other in the limited time they were both online and working for Wily. At most, Quick would tease Flash from time to time, but Flash wasn’t known to tease back. More often that not, they’d be at each other’s throats.

Flash glanced at him, a spark of amusement shining in his optics, “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

Quick couldn’t help but snort at the sudden language from his linemate, daring to chance a bit of banter, “If these are the bots that’ll try to ‘rehabilitate’ us, I’d rather go back offline.”

“Tell me about it.” Flash cracked a small smirk, “How much are you willing to bet Light wants me to shadow Timeman today?”

Quickman shook his head, “Not gonna take a bet I know I’ll lose.” He looked back over to where Timeman was, running through his database. Time was one of the experimental bots Wily used before building the Seconds, and was built for testing temporal manipulation. His processor noted how his weapon was a time slow, not even a time stop.

“You’re not actually gonna, like, go with him, are ya?” Quick asked, raising an eyebrow at Flash.

Flash shrugged half-heartedly, “I don’t know. Maybe. Might be fun to prove how much better I am than him.”

Quick wheezed in a small laugh… before he realized Flash wasn’t entirely joking. Sure, he was still lightheartedly bragging, but he seemed serious in going along with Time. 

“What have you got to prove?” He asked, frowning at Flash, “You already know you’re better than him. You don’t have to prove that to anyone, let alone a stupid Light bot like him.”

Flashman looked back at him, a curious look on his face, likely taken aback by the implied compliment, before he looked back at Timeman. He stayed quiet for a minute, a contemplative look falling over his faceplates, clearly thinking over Quick’s words.

“Maybe.” He eventually said, “But still, could be amusing to show him how much better I am than him.”

Quick pouted, not satisfied with that kind of response. The idea of wanting to prove anything to those DLN… ugh.

Oilman had looked over to them both, noticing how Quick and Flash were looking over to him and Time, and gave them a lighthearted wave.

Quickman tried to glare at him, maybe give him the hint that he had no intention of being friendly… Which clearly didn’t work, as Oil simply shrugged him off and motioned for them to come over.

“And so it begins.” Flash murmured in amusement, rolling his eyes before actually walking over to where Time and Oil stood.

Quick blinked at the action, definitely not expecting Flash to be playing along so nicely. Where the hell was that stubbornness he’d always shove towards Quick?

Call it curiosity, or whatever came over him, but something compelled him to trail close behind Flashman, way too curious to see how this whole mess was supposed to play out.

Oilman kept a relaxed demeanor in his posture, clearly trying to show a friendly air to the Wily bots. Timeman, on the other hand, was as closed off as could be, keeping a stiff posture and frowning at them both.

Honestly, Quick preferred Time’s attitude. At least Time wasn’t pretending to be buddy-buddy with the bots that were clearly his enemy.

“Heyo, Quickster and Flash!” Oil greeted them eagerly, clearly not picking up the hostile vibes Quick was trying to radiate, “Good to see both of ya today!”

Before Quick could retort with some sort of snarky comeback, Timeman spoke up, changing the topic, “Flashman.” He turned his attention to the taller bot, “Dr. Light has you shadowing me at the Chronos Institute today.”

“Who could’ve seen that coming.” Flash replied sarcastically, giving Quick a knowing smirk, before the smile dropped and he focused back on Timeman. “Alright, fine, let’s get this over with.”

Timeman just nodded, not impressed by the attitude, and without another word led Flash out of the lab and over to their assignment, leaving Quickman alone with Oilman.

And suddenly Quick regretted following Flash over. He wasn’t expecting his linemate, after every fight they had with Megaman and those Light bots, would just… go with one, without any fuss. Not raising any kind of scene, not even trying to insult Timeman for being the inferior machine, just… going with him. That was that.

And now he was alone with Oilman.

“Hey, speedster.” Oil tried to get Quick’s attention, and flashed him a thumbs up when Quick finally turned to look at him, “You’re with me today!”

“… What.” Quick retorted, not even trying to hide how incredulous he was at the other’s cheerful demeanor.

“You heard me!” Oil answered, undeterred. “I know I can’t exactly keep up with your speed on my own feet, but I’ve got a board I can cruise at some pretty high speeds on, so I think I’ll be able to keep up!”

Quickman took a moment, processor buffering the entire situation. After a minute, his CPU concluded that Oil wasn’t messing with him, and was actually trying to socialize. 

He probably would have laughed, if he wasn’t so stunned by the audacity.

“Yeah, no thanks.” Quick replied dryly, narrowing his optics at Oilman.

Oil finally dropped the super-friendly attitude, looking shocked at Quick’s dismission. “Huh?”

“No thanks, I’m not going.” He answered, already growing annoyed that he even had to clarify the obvious.

“C’mon, mech!” Oil tried to recollect himself, putting his hands on his hips “You’re not even giving me a chance, here! You don’t even know what I had planned for us to tackle today!”

“And I don’t care!” Quickman spat back, anger rising with this bot clearly not taking the hint, “We could be going to frickin’ El Dorado for all I care, I’m not interested in anything you Light bots have to offer.”

Oilman pouted, starting to lose his own patience, “Now, c’mon, man, you-”

“Leave him be, Oilman.” Another voice spoke up from nearby, and Quick turned his head to see Elecman standing by them, hands on his hips and expression unimpressed. Sparkman was also standing with him, nervously glancing at the scene Quick and Oil were starting.

“We’re not going to force them into any of this.” Elec explained, patiently, not even glancing at Quickman, “If he wants to stay back at the lab, let him. He’ll shadow one of us when he’s ready.”

He scowled, glaring at Elecman. Sure, he got Oil off his case, but to have the audacity to suggest he’ll go with them ‘when he’s ready’? That stupid bot sure was quick to make assumptions.

Elec wasn’t deterred by his attitude, briefly glancing at Quick with an unamused look before turning his attention back to Oilman, “I don’t believe Bubbleman’s been given an assignment yet. Why don’t you see if he’d be interested in your pollution management tasks?”

Oil glanced between Quick and Elec for a moment, hesitating on what to do, before he sighed, slumping in defeat. “Alright, ‘Lec, you’re the boss.” He relented, shrugging and leaving the bots alone to presumably find Bubble.

Quick’s audials picked up that last statement, though. Despite being designed first, Oilman deferred to Elecman. Elec was the last in their line, but was likely being seen as a leader type to the DLN.

He made sure to keep that threat in mind.

Elec glanced back at Quick, still regarding him coldly, “You can waste your time however you want, but you aren’t permitted off the Light Labs premises without one of us supervising.”

“Yeah, I know.” He spat back, already fed up with the other bot, “Light gave us the whole rundown. I don’t need you babysitting me.” 

Elec just rolled his eyes, visibly done with the entire conversation, and turned to walk back to Sparkman, not paying Quick any more mind.

Quick just scowled, his entire day already ruined from this morning alone.

Screw this, he doesn’t need to talk to any more of these Firsts.

Turning on his heel, Quick stormed off, not giving anyone else the time of day.

“You can waste your time however you want!” Quickman fumed to himself, mocking what Elecman told him earlier that morning, “What an asshole. Gee, really makes me want to be just like him!”

At least he was able to retreat back to the bedroom he shared with the Seconds. Hopefully no one would bother him there, not even his own linemates, if they all decided to go with this stupid DWN RIP nonsense. He could just stay here, be angry with the world, and no one else can piss him off any more than he already was. 

Groaning, Quick flopped face-first onto his bed, getting a bit of comfort at the satisfying whump from beneath him.

This sucks, this sucks, this sucks, this sucks.

He was only left alone for a few minutes before he heard the door to the room open. Quick was about to snap at whoever felt the need to bother him, but stopped himself once he heard them speak.

“Quickman?”

That was Crashman’s voice.

Quick peaked up from his bed, looking over at the doorway and seeing Crash peeking in, a shy frown on his face.

Not having the energy to come up with anything witty to snark at his linemate, he just threw up a peace sign, letting it stay there for a moment before he let his arm fall back onto the mattress beneath him. 

That stupid haze was back in his processor, making him feel like he’d just run a marathon despite hardly doing anything the entire day. He blamed it on just how draining it was just to be around the DLN, let alone interacting with any of them. 

“You’re not going with any of them today…?” Crashman’s voice cut through the fog of his processor, bringing Quick back to the moment. His processor noted the hesitation in Crash’s vocalizer.

“Nope.” He answered, pushing away the haze clouding his systems in order to properly address his linemate, sitting up and letting his legs loosely hang over the side of the bed frame. “Not going to anytime soon, either.

Crash looked around the room, noting no other bots were with them, then fully entered, closing the door behind him.

Quick tilted his head, confused by Crash’s timid attitude. Crash was usually way more brazen than this, so something was up… something other than the obvious, of course. “Take it you’re staying back, too?”

Crashman nodded, sitting down on the side of his own bed, “I just… I saw you weren’t going with anyone, so…” He trailed off.

“So what?” He asked, frowning. “I’m not the leader of the Seconds or anything. You don’t gotta do anything just cuz I’m doing it. You can think for yourself; I’m not your boss.”

Not like stupid Elecman…

Crash’s energy came back a bit, with the way he glared at Quick. “Alright, jerk. I know I can think for myself. And I was thinking about spending some time with my linemate instead of my enemies. But if you’re gonna be like that-”

Quickman winced, suddenly realizing how bad that sounded, “… Sorry, sorry, that was kinda a dick move, wasn’t it? … Sorry. S’cool that you’re here.”

Crashman huffed, seemingly content with the apology. 

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, not really knowing what to talk about, let alone what to do together.

Crash was the first to break the silence, “Do you really think they’ll shut us down if we can’t integrate with all of Dr. Light’s bots?”

Quickman frowned, not exactly thrilled to be talking about this mess, “… Probably. Humans are dumb and irrational. They think we’re monsters or whatever just cuz we were built to fight, ohhh but Megaman gets praised for blowing bots up left and right. Wouldn’t put it past ‘em.”

Crashman got very quiet again, and Quick noted how much he began to shrink into himself, practically curled up into a ball on his own bed. 

What in the world had gotten into him…?

“Crash… Hey, Crash.” He spoke up, then paused. He wasn’t expecting his own vocalizer to sound so gentle just then. He then shook his head; there were more important things to focus on right now. Quick stood to his feet, slowly making his way over to Crash’s bed, and dug through his processor for the right words to say before settling on something, “… What’s going on, man? You’re acting… off.”

Crashman sighed, low and heavy, taking a few moments before answering him, “… I don’t stand a chance, do I, Quick?”

Quick blinked, definitely not expecting that sort of response. “… Whaddya mean?”

“Just look at me!” He snapped, anger igniting in his tone as he threw his arms out in front of him, showing off the crash bombs that replaced his hands, “Bombman uses explosives- I am an explosive!”

Quickman opened his mouth to speak, but Crash interrupted before he could.

“And- And I know I get angry sometimes! And I- I can’t help it- But it just makes me want to hurt something, a-and I know I’m just gonna hurt someone eventually- and they’re never going to want to redeem a bot like me!” He rambled, quickly falling into a more hysterical tone with each passing moment, “I’m going to get shut down no matter what I do, aren’t I, Quick?!”

“Crash, hey, woah!” Quick finally got a word in, putting a hand on Crash’s back and not even attempting to hide the concern in his voice, “Cycle your vents, man!”

Crash looked at him, a mix of panic and anger in his optics… but he didn’t snap at Quick.

Quick knew he wouldn’t.

Struggling, Crash forced air to cycle through his system, slowly beginning to calm down.

“… You want to go through with this DRIP thing, don’t you?” Quick asked after a moment, eyebrows furrowed.

Crash looked at him, opened his mouth… but then closed it. He turned his head away, and only then spoke up, quietly and nervously, “… Yeah. I-I think I do.”

Quickman sighed. He thought this entire program was horrifically stupid, and was clearly going to do more harm than good, if it’s making Crash act like this on the first day.

… But if it was what Crash wanted…

“Then go through with it.” Quick explained, making sure to slow the pace of his usual talking to ensure Crash could absorb what he was saying. “It’s literally day one. I’m… I’m sure if you really want to work with the DLN, they’ll find some job or whatever to work with you on.”

Crash worked up the courage to look back at his linemate, his own expression conflicted, “But… Don’t you hate this whole thing? You… You wanted to stay here so you wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, so?” He steeled himself, able to put up a strong front for his linemate, “If I don’t wanna deal with the Light bots and their goody-two-shoes program, then that’s my choice. If you wanna put up with those dumbasses and get them off my aft, then by all means, be my guest.” He joked, cracking a smirk.

“… And if they don’t like me? If they think I’m a lost cause?” Crash asked, hesitantly.

“Then they’re fucking stupid.” He answered, bluntly, “And their program kinda sucks ass. That would be on them, not on you.”

Crashman snorted, a smile finally coming to his face. “… Thanks, Quick.” He said, a soft look behind his optics, “You’re not so bad, sometimes.”

Quickman just huffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Something in his chest warmed at the compliment… He chose to ignore whatever that meant.

“Just don’t go telling anyone.” He joked, giving a light punch to Crash’s arm, “Can’t have anyone thinking I’ve gone soft.”

Crash couldn’t help but bark out a small laugh, “Oh, trust me. No one’s gonna be thinking that any time soon.”

On Wednesday, Crashman had taken his advice. 

Which, on one hand, was probably a good thing. Crash had gone with Bomb to do whatever assignment they had planned- apparently Hard and Metal were with them too. 

… On the other hand, Quickman was horrifically bored.

He laid in bed, staring out the window and numbly watching the clouds go by overhead. Must’ve been a windy day, given how fast they moved across the sky.

He took in a large amount of air through his vents, then let it all out with a heavy sigh.

This was awful.

He was at least able to entertain himself with Crash yesterday. Today, though? Clouds could only entertain him for so long.

Not to mention their bedroom was as barebones as possible. Sure, the supply of E-tanks was nice, but there wasn’t anything to do other than rest and recharge.

Yeah, no, he was going to go insane if he had to lay around here for a minute longer.

He sat up and hopped to his feet, beelining for the door and into the hall of Light labs.

He didn’t have a schematic of the place, but surely if he snooped around enough, he’d find something. There were only rules against leaving the premises unsupervised, not against snooping within the premises.

Dr. Light lived here. So did Megaman, Roll, and probably at least some of the Firsts. They had to keep themselves entertained off the clock somehow. Hell, he’ll even take a boring book on robotics at this point.

He traced the wall alongside him as he walked, glancing into each room as he passed. His room, the Thirds’ room, Light’s office, a repair bay, storage room…

He paused when he heard noise coming from one room down the hall. He thought all the bots were out on their assignments today?

Curiously, he jogged over, peeking his head into the room.

Unlike the sterile lab-like aesthetic every other room so far had, this one actually looked like something that humans would occupy. Carpeted floors, couches and coffee tables, and a large tv hung on the far wall. A few devices were laid around the tv, and his database registered them as gaming consoles: simulation devices humans would use to entertain themselves.

What caught his attention more than anything, though, was seeing three bots relaxing in the room, lounged out on the couches.

Timeman, Oilman, and Cutman.

Oh, come on. Seriously, all Light bots???

Some sort of show was playing on the television, but that was the last thing he was interested in right now.

“What the hell are you three doing?” Quick asked, bluntly, fully walking into the room.

All three of them turned to look at Quick when he called their attention. Oil glared at him, probably still pissy from yesterday. Time looked emotionless as ever.

Cutman, however, smiled brightly, “Hey, Quickman!” He said, his tone friendly… as if they weren’t literal enemies, “Dr. Light is going over some stuff with some of the Thirds this morning, so we’ve got some time to kill till our assignments with ‘em! So It’s movie night! … Movie morning, I guess?”

Quickman narrowed his optics, unimpressed by the quirky front Cut was putting up.

… But, they were entertaining themselves. And they probably knew a lot more about how to pass the time in a place like this.

“Wanna join us?” Cut offered, patting an empty spot on the couch next to him, “We’re only, like, 15 minutes in, so it’s probably not t-”

“Pass.” Quick interrupted before he could finish, feeling his energy drain from merely having to talk to the DLN. “Anything else I can do to not die of boredom in here?”

Oilman huffed, “Well maybe if someone actually came along and shadowed some of us, or even hung out with us when a bot offers, then maybe someone wouldn’t be so bored!” He snarked, not even trying to hide his ire.

Quickman snarled at him. “Honestly, I’d rather die of boredom than hang out with you losers.”

“Go do that, then!” Oil snapped back, waving him off dismissively, “Just don’t make it our problem!”

“Alright, alright, relax, both of you.” Cutman interrupted them both, holding his hands up defensively. “I’ve got an idea.”

Quick growled, not wanting to spend another moment with these bots… but stayed, enough curiosity about this “idea” keeping him there.

“Cut, c’mon.” Oil pleaded to his linemate, “You seriously gonna try workin’ with this?”

Cutman just snorted, rolling his eyes. “You know, you and Time weren’t the easiest to work with at first, either..”

Whatever that meant, it got Oil to actually go quiet, eyes widened… before he finally relented, slumping in his seat and grumpily murmuring to himself.

Cut, seemingly smug with winning that spout, stood up and walked over to a shelf near the tv, opening a drawer and rummaging through it, “I think I’ve got something that should… make the cut~”

… Was… Was that supposed to be a pun?

… Quick thought back to yesterday, when he plotted ways to offline a bot with his weapons still disabled. He wondered if he could still get away with it. 

He could probably offline Cutman. 

That was sounding pretty good right now.

“Alright, here we go!” He announced proudly, pulling a small device and a wired connector from the drawer. Cut smirked, tossing it in the air and catching it, then turning his attention back to Quickman.

Before Quick could properly scan what he had in his hand, Cut was already walking over to him, tilting his head in curiosity, “Can I see your audial input?”

Immediately, Quick went on the defensive, taking a step back and narrowing his eyes, “Why the hell do you want that?”

Instead of getting frustrated or annoyed, Cutman just rolled his eyes, not dropping the laid-back attitude, “Relax, edgelord, I just want to see if your manual audial inputs are compatible with ours or not.”

“The fuck did you just call me-?!” Quick barked at being called an edgelord.

“I said what I said.” He grinned, leaning over to scan the side of Quick’s helm, nodding in satisfaction after a few moments, “Okay, yeah, looks like Dr. Wily gave you similar parts to our own audials. You should be able to hook up to this.”

Quickman growled, “Hook up to what?”

“ This,” Cutman answered, holding out a small, handheld device in font of him, “Is a portable music player. It has a whole library of Dr. Light’s music you can choose from. Plus, you can plug this cord directly into your audial input, and it’ll just play music to your own processor! So you don’t have to worry about anyone else listening to your tunes!”

Quickman opened his mouth to retort… but couldn’t find any words to come from his processor. Was Cutman trying to mess with him, or was this actually legit?

He scanned Cutman’s expression, his posture, anything he could to try and decipher exactly what the bot was trying to do here. Sure, he’d been teasing Quick, but it seemed like at this moment he was being genuine, no strings attached. 

Something wasn’t adding up.

Hesitantly, Quick took the music player from Cut, not even trying to hide his suspicion as he inspected the device. His diagnostic scans displayed no warning signs… its functionality was quite literally just to play music.

“It’s not much, I know,” Cutman continued, shrugging, “But hopefully it’s something to help?”

Quickman looked back at the shorter bot, studying him for a few moments, trying to find some hidden sinister agenda behind that lighthearted attitude he held… but couldn’t find anything. Cut had actually tried to give him a genuine way to pass the time by himself.

Quick felt… He wasn’t sure how to feel, actually. Something churned beneath his stomach plating, and he couldn’t tell if that was a bad sign or not.

“Cool.” He eventually responded, voice stilted and awkward. 

He glanced over to Time and Oil, who were apparently watching this whole scene with clear interest. Oil’s eyes were wide, Quick wasn’t sure exactly why, and even Timeman had looked fascinated by the exchange.

Quickman’s cheeks flared in heat, suddenly nervous to have so much attention on him. Something inside of him told him to move, move, move now.

“Bye.” He bluntly said, jogging back to his room and at least trying to look casual still.

Behind him, his audials picked up a conversation the DLN had as he left.

“Did you just get a thanks from Quickman?” Oil’s voice was incredulous.

He also heard Cutman laugh, “I don’t know if a cool counts as a thanks, but… I guess? He-”

Quickman slammed the door to his room shut before he could eavesdrop on anything else.

--

Cut was right, it wasn’t much, but it was something.

Laying on his bed, Quickman plugged the music player’s cord into his input jack, running a quick virus scan before his systems permitted the device.

His internal displays immediately lit up in UI as the device pulled up a list of playable tracks. A long list of folders, playlists, individual songs all displayed before him, leaving Quick unsure of where to even begin.

His database began informing him of what exactly he was looking at. Track titles, written by the track artist- Songs could be organized by title, artist, album, even genre.

Genre. His database pulled up its definition and meanings. Categorizing songs based on the tone, style, and conventions at play to loosely group similar-sounding music together.

Quickman snorted, unable to help the amusement bubbling in him. Categorizing by genre was derivative, contrived, and subjective. Typical human behavior.

He noted how a large number percentage of tracks were listed under the “rock and roll” genre. Curious, he selected one at random.

… And was subsequently horrified, as he realized the music that was playing was from 19XX. Quickly scrolling through the rest of the tracks in the genre, he confirmed that this was a genre-wide phenomenon; most songs being dated from the 1940s-1950s.

This was the largest genre collection on this device? Did that imply that it was Dr. Light’s favorite type of music to listen to? … It was seriously 20XX, and Light was still listening to music from the 20th century?

Shivering at the thought, he quickly scrolled to a more modern genre, immediately feeling a sense of relief when the next song that played at least sounded like it was released in the last century.

Briefly, his memory brought up the conversation he had with Dr. Light from the other day. Specifically, how Elecman had taught himself how to play guitar.

Honestly? It was pretty funny to imagine Elec learning to play that cringe old man music.

Thursday, Quick was alone again, but he didn’t mind this time.

His linemates were all busy with their own assignments, and now he had a way to properly entertain himself till everyone else got back. More importantly, he could ignore any DLN who were also hanging around the labs. Absolute win-win scenario.

He laid on his side, idly thumbing through some genres he hadn’t given a try yet.

Classic rock was too old, alt rock was better at least. He didn’t vibe with country, pop was too… bubbly for him. Rap was fine, so was metal… It’d be funny if Metalman ended up liking metal music. Jazz was too old, classical was way too old. Electronic was a mixed bag: some songs tickled his processor in a way he liked, and some buzzed in his processor in a way he couldn’t stand.

He clicked on an artist he hadn’t tried yet- playing their songs on shuffle-

And gasped as soon as he heard the first few notes of the first track.

He knew this song.

It was the band that Dr. Wily would listen to while he was in his workshop. He’d often hear this music playing while he worked on Quick and his linemates.

A warm feeling radiated from his chest core, and Quick couldn’t help but smile. It was only a few weeks ago that they were working for Wily, rather than stuck here and forced to play nice for Light, but… those weeks held a fuzzy, nostalgic sort of feeling.

Quickman rolled over to lay on his back, closing his eyes and allowing the vibrations of the music to carry throughout his whole frame. His processor began to relay memory files from back then, and Quick permitted them to replay.

He remembered the song that had played when he was first brought online. His frame wasn’t even complete yet, but Wily brought him on to test his CPU functionality. He remembered the way they spoke for the first time, Wily casually making conversation while attaching the leg joints to Quick.

He remembered how Bubbleman was the first other robot master he met. Bubble was finished shortly before Quick, and still needed to stay in the workshop for some final tweaks.

Sure, Bubble was annoying, but he was still his linemate, for what that was worth.

Another song came on the shuffle, and Quick remembered how he was the first bot to meet Crashman, once he was first brought online. Crash was so shy back then, despite his quite-literally-explosive personality. For some reason, Crash had looked up to Quick back them, treating him like some kind of mentor figure, even though they were onlined mere hours apart.

… Quick couldn’t help but wonder if Crash ever grew out of that.

He remembered the banter, the fights, the dull and boring moments he’d have with his line before they would have to fight Megaman. The first- only time, really- they got to have downtime like that. Since then, it was all fighting someone , usually Megaman, every time they were brought back online.

He couldn’t believe he almost forgot about Wily’s go-to band. They weren’t exactly blasting music during their subsequent battles, but they were able to listen to Wily’s own music player in those first few days together.

Those days were nice.

Nothing like how things are now.

… No, he doesn’t want to think about that right now. He just wants to think about the good memories.

He sighed, playing over a particularly funny memory of him and Crash teasing Flashman while the current song faded out. They were ragging on him for his h-

The next song began, and within the first few chords, Quick suddenly realized he wasn’t in that memory anymore.

He wasn’t in their bedroom, either.

He was in a secret corner of Light Labs- he didn’t even know where - it didn’t matter. It wasn’t Wily’s lab. Wily was working on him- on them- in secret, behind Light’s back.

The song played from a small device Wily kept on hand. Breakman’s voice murmured something about staying quiet. Wily snapped back that it helped him focus under pressure.

The song progressed into its lyrical verses.

Pressure. Pressure in his processor, pressure in his frame, something was wrong.

‘This isn’t right!’ a panicked voice called out- it was Woodman’s.

But he wasn’t hearing Woodman externally- he was hearing him internally.

Woodman’s thoughts were his thoughts- no, no that wasn’t right. They weren’t his- but they were? They were right next to his thoughts, but all in the same processor.

The pressure intensified. More voices called out.

‘I can’t see!’ Crashman.

‘Where are you guys?’ Bubbleman.

‘Too loud!’ Metalman.

‘He didn’t…’ Flashman.

‘What’s going on?’ Quickman. His own thoughts felt jumbled in this mess, as if they weren’t his own. As if he had to fight to even get a thought into this storm.

He couldn’t cycle his vents, even as all his systems booted. He tried to move his arm- 2 programs pushed with him, 5 programs pushed against him. His arm didn’t move.

‘I can’t move!’ Heatman.

‘Stop moving- it hurts!’ Airman.

His systems- their systems- its systems- finished booting. Visual and audial input phased into his processor. He registered Wily. Breakman. The room they were in. That music player.

The song rose to its chorus.

The voices became louder. More jumbled. More panicked. Closer together. More pressure.

‘Where-?!’ Heat. ‘Can’t-’ Flash. ‘Shut up!’ Wood.

His body was moving, his body was listening to Wily’s commands, and was even responding. It was following designated protocols. And Quick watched, helplessly, unable to push his own inputs into the frame. Unable to stop the whirlwind of thoughts and voices that forced its way through his- their- its processer.

‘Stop!’ Quick. ‘Listen-’ Crash. ‘Can’t!’ Bubble.

‘Help!’ ‘Leave!’ ‘Obey!’ ‘Stop!’ ‘Please!’ 

Quick- Flash- Air- Metal- Crash-

‘HELP!’

Quickman gasped, suddenly coming back to the present, coming back to his room. He wasn’t in Doc Robot. He wasn’t in Doc Robot. He wasn’t trapped with them, he- he-

That song was still playing that song was STILL PLAYING-

Before he could register it, his hands had ripped the cord from his audial input and he chucked the music player at the wall with full force, the device shattering on impact.

The song stopped.

Quickman vented, heavily, struggling to get any air through his systems. He looked down at his hands and noticed them shaking. He tried to override whatever protocol was causing this response. It didn’t work.

He wrapped his hands around himself, feeling around his frame. His chestplates, his leg joints, his horns on his helmet, it was his frame. It was his frame. It wasn’t that thing’s frame.

He wasn’t in Doc Robot.

He had to keep reminding himself of that. He wasn’t in Doc Robot. He was in his frame.

His venting slowly, eventually, evened out…

He then realized how quiet it had become.

Oh, shit, the music player-

He looked over to where he had thrown it, cringing at the sight. The player was in pieces on the floor, completely destroyed. He hopped off his bed and ran over, scooping as much as he could into his hands and surveying the damage.

Oh no.

It was unsalvageable in this state. He’d properly wrecked it not even 48 hours after he’d gotten it.

Oh no, no no no no no-

He didn’t mean to break it. He wasn’t trying to break it. He just needed it away from him- needing that song to stop playing, he didn’t mean to ruin the player altogether.

Shit, that was the one thing that would keep him sane during this whole DWN RIP program, and he’d ruined it already. Why did he do that?

He didn’t mean to ruin it. He didn’t mean to ruin anything, he-

He hiccuped, coolant beginning to pool in his eyes.

He didn’t mean for any of this mess.

He tucked the pieces of the music player into the drawer of the nightstand next to his bed. As long as none of his linemates snooped through his stuff (and they should know better than to even try it ), no one would know about that… episode.

He laid back in his bed, blanket pulled over his head and curled up into a ball beneath his makeshift blanket cave.

It was dark and stuffy in his blanket cave, but he just… needed to shut out the entire world right now. Even if it was understimulating. Even if it made him look weak. Besides, he was alone, so no one could even see him looking weak like this.

Faintly, he heard the sound of the bedroom door opening.

… Speak of the devil.

Normally, he’d immediately sit up and pretend he wasn’t just brooding, putting on his usual tough act to keep whatever bot this was off his ass.

… Right now, though? He couldn’t really care less. He just wanted to stay in his cave and really, really hoped whoever this was would leave him alone.

Fate was really not on his side today, since the bot ended up speaking to him “… Quickman?”

That was Flashman’s voice.

Quick didn’t even humor him with a proper response, simply letting out a low “Mrrrr ” from beneath the covers.

He heard the door shut, then heard a set of footsteps approach. Only one set of footsteps, Quick noted. Flash was likely alone, which was good.

“How’s the brood cave?” Flash’s voice was much closer this time.

Quickman grumbled, “It’s fine, thanks.”

Quick felt a tug on the blankets above him, and sighed, letting Flash pull the blanket off enough to be able to properly look at each other.

“… You okay?” Flashman asked, a soft frown on his face.

Quickman huffed, turning his head away to avoid eye contact, “Yeah, just great.” He replied, not sounding convincing in the slightest.

“Did something happen?” Flash pressed.

“No, don’t worry about it.” Quick dismissed him, then searched for something to change topics with as soon as possible, “What are you even doing here? Is it the end of the day already?”

Flashman shook his head slightly, “No, everyone else is still out. Timeman and I wrapped our work up early today, so I decided to call it a day and hang out here for the afternoon.”

“You’re still shadowing Time?” Quickman asked, not bothering to hide the twinge of disgust in his vocalizer.

Flash chuckled, “Most days, yes. I don’t know how the Chronos Institute handled things with just Time on hand. You were right, I really am the better bot between us both- I’m barely even shadowing him at this point, I’m practically taking over his workload!”

Quickman huffed, at least finding it a bit amusing that his linemate was properly showing up one of those stuck-up Light bots.

Things fell quiet between them for a few moments. Quick thought it was a comfortable silence, but given Flash’s hesitance when he spoke again, he was willing to guess it wasn’t as comfortable for the other Wily bot.

“I… wanted to talk to you, about DRIP, actually.” He started, carefully, speaking slowly and precisely.

Ugh, not this…

“You mean DWN RIP?” He turned to look back at Flashman, cracking a smile.

He snorted, rolling his eyes with a fond expression, “Sure, whatever we want to call it.” He answered before letting his voice fall back to a more serious tone. “Quickman, I…”

Quick didn’t even need to wait for Flash to find the words to finish that sentence to pick up what he clearly wanted to put down. He groaned, “Don’t say it.”

“I really think you should go through with this.” Flashman stated, firmly.

“You said it!” He sighed, loud and heavy, overdramatizing his frustration as he buried his face into the pillow beneath him. “Absolutely not.”

“Quickman,” Flash kept his tone firm, putting a hand on Quick’s upper back, “If you don’t go along with this, they’ll shut you down. Permanently.”

“Good!” He answered, not looking up from his pillow, “I’d rather go offline than change myself and be anything like those stupid Light bots!”

“Quickman…” Flashman sighed, moving his hand to rest on the back of Quick’s helm.

Quickman froze at the action. He never had anyone touch him there before. It should have felt dangerous- giving another bot access to a vulnerable part of his frame like this- if Flash wanted, he could keep Quick pinned there and blast him to pieces, or rip his helm off, or a thousand other ways to hurt him.

… So why was his frame relaxing beneath the touch?

“I’m not saying you should be anything like the DLN. I don’t want you to be anything like the DLN.” He paused, then the humor was back in his tone, “You’re insufferable enough as you are, I don’t need another reason to want to throw you out of a window.”

Quickman let out a snort, unable to find the energy to laugh at that, funny as it was.

Flashman hummed, a somber tone leaking into his vocalizer, “It’s just… ever since we got stuck in Doc Robot together-”

Any safety and comfort Quickman felt had fizzled in a moment, painful memories from earlier that day already flooding back.

“We all agreed not to talk about that ever again.” Quick snapped, looking up from his pillow to shoot Flash an intense glare.

Flash startled at the sudden aggression, pulling his hand away. He stared at Quick for a few moments, expression conflicted… Then he found his voice again, frowning as he spoke.

“Ever since… that,” he started, speaking carefully, making sure to dance around the subject, “I just- I’ve been thinking. About a lot of things. And maybe… this could be a chance for us to start over. All of us. Maybe… find something out there, that won’t do… that to us, ever again.”

Quickman’s eyes widened as he started putting the pieces together, “… Are you… Are you defecting against Dr. Wily?”

“Wh- No, no, oh god I didn’t mean it like that,” Flash stammered, losing his composure for a moment before reigning it back in. “That sounded bad- that’s not what I meant.”

Quick nodded, letting out the breath he’d accidentally begun to hold. To go against their creator, that was- that was unthinkable.

“What I mean is … I think there’s an opportunity here.”

“Opportunity?” Quick asked, slowly sitting up to give Flash more of his attention.

Flashman nodded, “I mean… think about it. If we don’t go through with this… we get shut down. If we go through with this and they don’t find an industrial function for us, we get shut down. But… who’s to say you can’t go along with this for the time being… and defect back to Wily once it’s all over?”

Quickman sighed, shrugging. Sure, logically it added up. Playing nice until he got assigned his new function, pretending to be “reformed”, then going back to Wily once he came out of hiding and started whatever scheme to take over the world he had planned (and it was Wily. He always had some sort of scheme), but…

“I just… I’m a weapon. They’re going to try and change that- change me.” He admitted, discomfort flooding his circuits at the display of vulnerability this was, “I don’t want them to make me something I’m not just to guarantee my own survival with this.”

Flashman thought on that for a minute, leaving them in a tense silence for a short time before he spoke up again, “Well… I’m a weapon too. And I don’t think working at the Chronos Institute has changed who I am. Not yet, at least.”

Quick didn’t want to admit Flash was right. He sure was acting… less aggressive than from before. But he was still Flashman. Still annoying and frustrating and fun to tease…

“And what if my case is different? What if I can’t fit in with anything they’ll want for me without changing who I am?”

Flash huffed, “So you’re giving up already? Do the math, Quickman. You haven’t been shut down yet. You haven’t been changed yet. If you give up now, you’ll be guaranteed to be shut down. At least if you give this a chance… then you’ll have a chance to get out of this in one piece.”

 “And if it doesn’t work?” Quickman asked.

“Then at least we can say we tried.” Flashman answered, nodding, “We- We’re being handed an opportunity to get things right this time. It’d be too much of a waste if we just- let it pass us by, you know?”

Quickman couldn’t help but snort in laughter as he realized… this was just being on the receiving end of what he and Crash talked about the other day, wasn’t it?

“Careful, Flashman.” He teased, finally cracking a smile, “Keep this up, and our linemates might think we care about each other.”

Flashman scoffed, an indignant look crossing his optics, “Oh, please. I still can’t stand your ass. I’m just thinking about Dr. Wily: he’ll want as many of his robot masters online whenever he comes out of hiding, after all. I’ll still throw your ass out of that window if you keep being a little shit.”

Quickman couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, a real laugh for once, at that. 

Good, these Light bots haven’t dulled Flash’s fangs yet, at least. He could still bite.

Yet another reason Flash was better than Time.

Despite being talked into it, Quickman was not looking forward to getting up the next morning.

But it was Friday, and he was actually going to try out this DWN RIP mess.

“Just give it a few days,” Flash explained to him, “If you hate it, you can go back to sulking in your little brood cave.”

The brood cave was sounding quite inviting, actually…

Quick watched as Flash split off to go with Timeman. The rest of the Seconds and Thirds quickly started finding their own partners for the day, clearly starting to settle into some routine Quick was entirely unfamiliar with.

It didn’t take long for Quick’s protocols to flood with nerves, suddenly feeling entirely unprepared for whatever to do with all of this. He hasn’t shadowed a single bot yet, and had no idea what kind of assignments Light had for them, so he had no clue which DLN to even begin to approach.

Maybe he shouldn’t have listened to Flashman. Maybe he should turn tail before anyone notices him here and retreat back to his room. Maybe he can somehow bootleg some repairs on the music player… even though he didn’t have replacement parts or the tools to actually fix the thing. Maybe he-

“Quickman?” A voice spoke from behind him.

… Well. So much for sneaking out before anyone noticed him. Quickman cringed to himself, before steeling his expression and turning to face the bot.

It was Elecman. Because of course it was.

“What are you doing here?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow, “You haven’t been here since your first day.”

“Yeah, I know.” Quickman huffed, trying his best to look nonchalant, “I just… I dunno. Figured I’d see just how bad this DWN RIP mess is. Might be funny. Whatever.”

Elecman regarded him coldly for a moment, looking Quick up and down and clearly searching for something.

Those stupid nerves were coming back, and Quick reeeaally hoped they weren’t noticeable.

After a few moments of tense silence, Elecman cracked a smirk, an amused glint behind his optics. Before Quick could grill him on whatever that meant, Elec spoke up, “Alright. I can work with this.”

Quick felt a sudden sinking feeling deep in his stomach plating. His processor registered the sensation as “dread”.

Elec turned to look at a different bot, calling out, “Hey, Cutman!”

From a few feet away, Cutman perked up, his rolling cutter standing up to a more stiff position, as though the scissors were emoting with the bot. He turned to glance at Elec and Quick, sporting a bright smile when they had his attention and trotting over, “Hey ‘Lec, what’s up?”

“Would you mind taking Sparkman on your job today?” Elecman asked, casually resting a hand on his hip, “I was scheduled to take him, but I think it’s as good a time as any to switch him up on shadowing a different bot. Besides,” He motioned to Quick with a casual nod of his head, “I’ll be solo-ing this one today.”

… Wait, he was going to be shadowing Elecman?

Oh. Oh that dread was quickly morphing into regret. Oh no.

Cutman glanced between them both, eyes briefly going wide as he looked at Quickman, before his cheerful demeanor was back to its usual levels, “Yeah, that’s no problem! It was just gonna be me and Wood today, so having Spark’ll be a fun change of pace!”

Quick rolled his eyes, not even humoring a response to the bot’s annoying attitude. When he looked back at Cut, though, he found the bot smiling at him, not Elec.

“Good to see you out and about, Quick.” Cut said, and Quick struggled to find any trace of teasing or sarcasm in his tone… until Cut continued, “Good luck. You’re both gonna need it.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Elec asked, giving a light glare towards Cutman.

Cut just shrugged, nonchalantly, that stupid grin still plastered on his face, “Oh, nooooothing~! Welp- I’m gonna go grab my bots; have fun, you two~!”

Before either of them could snap back at him, Cut threw up a pair of peace signs and turned on his heel to dash off, leaving Quick and Elec alone once again.

Elecman just huffed, murmuring to himself, “He is a child.”

Quick couldn’t help but crack a smirk as he saw his opportunity to get an insult in, “If he’s a child, and the first in your line, what does that make you? An infant? Sure would explain a lot.”

Elecman turned to glare at him, and Quick silently challenged him to try something.

… But Elec just dropped it, sighing, “Whatever. Just- follow me, I don’t want you making me late for work.”

Quick couldn’t help but snort at the irony of that, following as Elecman lead them out of the main room and down a nearby corridor, “Me? Make you late? Did you forget that my name is literally Quickman?” He teased.

Elecman initially regarded him with annoyance… but then a more playful look crossed his face. “That you are. But I’m also the fastest bot in my line. I’ve been told your own speed systems were based off my own.”

“More like improved upon.” Quick corrected, “I could do laps around you.”

“Then let’s put that to the test.” Elecman challenged, a bright glint behind his optics.

Okay, Quickman was officially interested, “What kind of test?”

“You’ll be shadowing me at the power plant today,” Elecman explained, “Do you know how to get there from here?”

Quickman took a moment, accessing his database. The locations of Light Labs and the city’s nuclear plant were all public knowledge, so it only took a few moments for his systems to map the fastest route between them both, “Yeah, I’ve got a map.”

Elecman smirked at that, and Quick couldn’t help but find the energy contagious.

“Then let’s have a race.”