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Naughty agents who talk back get put on the naughty step – the naughty step being assigned to Dr. Robotnik babysitting duty. The brass have numerous names for the doctor: ‘freak’, ‘psychological tyre fire’, ‘Doctor Manchild’ among many others, and any agents put under his command straightened out their ways in record time simply to escape the situation.
Unlike Stone, who had positively thrived in the position. Under threats, name-calling, physical and emotional abuse, overwork, handling volatile and unpredictable mood swings etc., Stone had found a man who he had connected with not quite on an equal intellectual level, but on a loose moral and mutual distaste for humanity level. Stone, perhaps self-deprecatingly, considers himself a reprehensible person and the doctor enthusiastically unearths that buried part of his psyche out of him at every available opportunity. Digs up those relieving rants about the incompetent co-agents who surround him, drags out of him the confessions that he might enjoy conducting interrogations just a little too much, and much more. The doctor is a terrible influence and Stone makes sure to repay that generosity in kind.
Over the years he’s become somewhat of a ‘Robotnik Enthusiast’. Months and years of study has well taught him the doctor’s habits and how his whims are not actually as random as they appear to the less informed. Stone has become well practiced (if not an expert yet) at managing and manipulating the doctor’s moods. He can’t prevent the total meltdowns, of course, but he has learnt what to say and at what time to prompt Robotnik into a particular mood before it can become a serious problem, to others or to the doctor himself.
It usually results in him being screamed at from less than an inch away from his face, some light manhandling or being sent out of the lab entirely, but if it saves some lab equipment from a grisly fate on the cold tile floor then that’s a success in Stone’s book. And it results in a calmer outward demeanour in Robotnik, rather, that lost anger is replaced with harsher, more cutting insults instead.
The biggest con they’ve pulled is making the brass believe Robotnik has been tamed somewhat, when in reality they’ve only made eachother much worse.
It will take the cavalcade over twenty-four hours to reach the nearest military base and even longer for the mobile lab and several security cars to be loaded onto the cargo plane destined for Washington D.C.. Stone’s own car and driver travel in the middle of the pack just ahead of the black truck so he can keep the vehicle’s presence in the rearview mirror at all times and monitor its safety. It’s a pretty safe assumption that the mobile lab is travelling on Robotnik’s own proprietary self-driving AI (that works flawlessly, unlike some companies), and that the doctor himself is immersed in some project or another, oblivious to the world outside.
The doctor will surely be extra cranky, however, once they reach the base, after a whole day with only his own mediocre coffee brewing skills – if he could even bear to tear himself away from his work long enough to even attempt a brew. Stone already knows his first task upon walking through those doors at the home lab will be to make a good latte for the doctor.
Which is exactly what he does, inwardly smirking with pride as Robotnik takes a greedy mouthful and sinks in his chair with a satisfied sigh.
He can't help but comment on it. “Did you know you get milkstache when you drink like that?”
“Did you know you don’t know when to shut your mouth,” Robotnik responds and wipes his moustache clean of latte foam.
“Yeah, it’s what got me this position in the first place.”
He grins outwardly when Robotnik rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, your master plan of having the loosest lips in the agency.”
“I just don’t appreciate being ordered around by those beneath me.”
Robotnik slaps his console and barks out one loud cackle. “It’s your job to be ordered around, Agent.”
“Well,” he ventures, “i appreciate it a lot more when the person ordering me around is someone i respect.”
A sniff. “Not your best ass-kissing to date, but i’ll accept it, sycophant. Now go and write your silly little report on the operation or whatever other menial tasks you occupy yourself with, i’ve got actual important work to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
The doctor pushes himself across the lab on his rolling chair to his workbench and proceeds to ignore Stone for the next several hours.
So he’s surprised when Robotnik later approaches his desk with a peculiar demand. “Stone, i need info on Noel Busk.”
It’s such a left field request it renders Stone speechless for a moment. “I thought you didn’t care about Busk?”
“I don't! That's why i require data!”
How does that track , Stone wonders, but over time has learnt to not question how his boss’ mind truly works. “Uh, well, he just had his thirteenth child.”
“Ugh,” Robotnik groans and cradles his head. “I feel that immediately replacing something valuable in my brain. But go on.”
“He pays teenagers to sockpuppet games so that he looks good to other teenagers online. Um, he once offered a woman a horse to sleep with him, he once got booed by thousands of people on stage, and he has a broken penis implant – ”
“Stop, stop, stop! You’re causing irreversible damage!” Robotnik dramatically flails, falling onto the main console.
“Sir, maybe it’s not my business but why do you want dirt on Busk?”
“Because,” Robotnik slowly looks over his shoulder with a snarl, “that blithering fool is coming for an,” several air quotes, “'''inspection’’’.”
“On whose authority?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Stone! ” Robotnik shouts. Turns on him and comes across the lab space in multiple long strides, looming over his chair, caging him in. “It’s your job to keep these people away from me! I thought you were halfway competent but maybe i was mistaken! It appears you are just as much of a nincompoop as every other wretched being on this miserable, rotating, wet spheroid!”
Maintaining his well-practised passive face, Stone has precious few moments to redirect the doctor’s anger before it fully sets in for the rest of the day and becomes an issue.
“This new department for Government Spending Oversight is just a kindergarten for Busk and his cronies.”
“Yes…” Robotnik narrows his eyes.
It’s not like the doctor doesn’t know when Stone is diverting his attention onto something else, it’s just that his emotions are so overwhelming and out of his control that it almost always works anyway. So ironic that a man who deeply derides expressions of the human condition to be the most emotional man Stone has ever met. In those dark eyes, Stone can see the rapidly rising anger and disgust seizing command and Robotnik throws his hands up.
“If it’s not one thing after a-fucking-nother with this shower of incompetents!” The doctor backpedals and collapses in his chair, spinning in irritable circles and flexing his fingers with the need to fiddle with or break something.
“Hand massage, Doctor?” Stone offers and sighs with relief as two gloved hands are presented to him.
He wishes the doctor would allow him to do this without the gloves, but he presses and rubs hard enough to be felt through the material anyway, banishing the aches and tense muscles to another day.
“When are they arriving, sir?”
“In about… twenty minutes.”
Stone startles. “That really doesn’t give us much time to prepare.”
“Well,” the doctor huffs and he isn’t looking at Stone, “it’s not my job to read my emails.”
Not that it’s email that appears to be the exact issue. Somehow these people have gone over Stone’s head and to the doctor directly – he’ll have to investigate how they managed that later. Texts directly to his phone probably, something that only Commander Walters should have the authority to do. This new administration has been in power for less than a month and is already overstepping so many boundaries.
“That fraud should do the world a favour and double or triple his ketamine intake,” the doctor mutters and Stone chuckles. It seems the older man is sufficiently calmed now as he takes his hands back. “Well, if this is going to be forced on me then i’m at least going to have some fun with it!”
They both rush about the lab hiding and displaying whatever is necessary; Stone decides to pull up some endless scrolling code for ‘Sims 4’ on the holoscreens, judging that sufficient enough for impressing someone like Busk and his mindless entourage. Robotnik gathers up his unsanctioned personal projects and stores them in the back-back space, and workshops more scathing insults with his assistant.
Alongside several federal black cars, a hideous angular monstrosity pulls up that may as well have ‘assassinate me’ painted in fluorescent pink lettering on the roof; it almost physically pains Stone to look at it. The design philosophy – a direct polar opposite to the doctor’s sleek, aerodynamic designs – almost certainly actually pains the genius engineer, and sure enough, when Stone discreetly peers to his side he notices Robotnik’s moustache lifted in disgust. But then, Stone’s eye visibly twitches as Director Rockwell makes herself visible amongst the throng of interlopers. It’s going to be one of those days, for the both of them, Stone laments.
Robotnik leans over. “Keep a running tally.”
“Good afternoon, Doctor,” Rockwell greets them once the group has approached.
“Hardly,” Robotnik sneers.
The director chooses to ignore the response. “Mr. Busk, this is Dr. Robotnik.”
The man heading the newly formed GSO department created solely as one epic ego stroke of catastrophic proportions gathers together with his posse of barely-graduated interns. Incredulously this blowhard and his band of merry idiots have somehow gained a large portion of control within the new government administration – a nightmare Dr. Robotnik will not be able to wake up from for several years yet.
“Wow! That’s a name straight out of a Marvel movie!” Busk says.
“Yes,” Robotnik drawls. “It’s very difficult to find appropriately named novelty fridge magnets.”
“I was in Iron Man, y’know.”
Robotnik looks aside to Stone for help already, but who can only offer a sympathetic frown. He will prepare some migraine medicine for the doctor at the first convenience.
“Dr. Robotnik is one of the government’s most valuable assets,” Rockwell reiterates exposition that has almost certainly already been told to Busk, but likely leaked out of his brain some time ago. “Many of our most effective weapons and much of our most efficient equipment comes from this lab.”
“A fellow engineer, of course!” Busk exclaims, and Stone can positively feel the doctor tense up beside him. The man gestures to the vehicle he arrived in. “As you can see: my magnum opus.”
Robotnik looks at the ridiculous vehicle – really looks at it – then turns back to the man. “You must be very proud.”
The idiot preens in response. A downside to being surrounded by yes men 24/7 is losing the ability to identify blatant mockery.
“One,” Stone says and ignores the curious look Rockwell sends him.
The doctor doesn’t so much as invite the group in, he just spins with his coattails and walks away. The door closes behind him forcing Director Rockwell to open it again for the entourage. Robotnik walks quickly through the maze of corridors designed to confuse and disorientate, leading to the basement entrance of the home lab. The only other department down here with them is the mail-sorting department whose staff must also suffer the corridor challenge each day they clock in.
Stone pulls up the rear.
In the centre of the lab floor, Dr. Robotnik stands with his arms folded. Surrounded by a murmuration of efficiently working automated machines, and drones whizzing from one task to another; the man looks magnificent, intimidating, handsome, and oh no, Rockwell is sending Stone the stink eye – she can infer far too much and it’s beyond irritating.
“It’s like the Matrix in here,” Busk says.
“You are the Neo to the ignorant masses, Noel,” one of the chumps says.
Dr. Robotnik blinks slowly when the herd all begin talking about taking pills. It’s unclear to Stone if the doctor has seen the trilogy, considering the genius’ sporadic pop culture knowledge, but he suspects a series about humans overthrowing their robot overlords would be ranked pretty low in the doctor’s opinion.
“Do what you must,” Robotnik says through gritted teeth. He walks by Director Rockwell and stops behind her. “Oh, actually. Better keep him away from Buck and Skinner.”
Their two terrestrial cleaning badniks with hunting knives attached to them. For sport. Sadly the pair of not-roombas had become obsolete once Stone arrived on the scene and proved himself more proficient at cleaning up the doctor’s various messes (and Robotnik doesn’t even have to empty Stone on the regular – Stone makes sure to do that by himself!), but their motion detection has proven to be too robust and they have yet to collide, even years later.
A certain someone could learn a thing or two from them.
“What’s this?” Busk examines the repeating Sims 4 code.
“Oh, that? That’s code for the satellite project NASA have commissioned to replace the Aura unit tracking CIO, N2O and chlorofluorocarbon levels in Earth’s atmosphere,” Robotnik says as some code for marrying the grim reaper scrolls by. “Trivial work for someone such as yourself who works in aeronautics, i’m sure.”
Busk slowly nods in agreement.
“Two,” Stone counts.
The idiot and his interns begin to float aimlessly around the floor pointing at various machines or apparatus and nodding to each other as if they understand a damn thing about the doctor’s work… or just, any work in general. Occasionally the goons will laugh at something inane Busk says. Robotnik tracks them closely with his eyes.
“His brain is liquid, Stone,” Robotnik quietly says to him from the side of his mouth. “It’s just sloshing around in there.”
Busk and an intern manage to avoid having their heads taken clean off by a badnik drone whizzing along its designated flight path – all of the regular routes that Stone and the doctor have memorised and regularly dance between. Rockwell pinches her lips as if this was a planned attempt on the CEO’s life and not just a regular occurrence that Stone has learnt to work with.
The doctor continues with his private little game.
“I must say, it’s a delight to converse with a mind such as yours: if i could pick your brain for a moment. I’m in the process of building an MOVCD reactor to create a sapphire substrate with a lattice mismatch below 16%...” Robotnik continues on in excruciating detail about n-type and p-type band types.
And Stone understands that the doctor is rambling without taking a breath specifically to taunt and mock a smaller mind (a much smaller mind), but Stone can always get wonderfully lost in these speeches, allowing the doctor’s passionate voice to wash over him.
On the other hand, Busk stares blankly.
“Good talk,” Robotnik drawls.
“Three”
The intrusion continues and over time, Robotnik’s patience is beginning to wear thin, Stone can observe. It’s no different from watching the doctor play with his food until it's become cold and his interest in it wanes. This is not a ‘deep dive’ (as they label those particular working binges) and so the predictable outcome is Robotnik’s attention moves to something else, and if denied, a foul mood begins to brew.
“My new department,” Busk thumbs at himself, “promises to save the government one billion dollars by 2028 and $1,000 stimulus cheques for every taxpayer in the country! And to do that we gotta trim some fat off of federal services and weed out wasteful spending and benefit abuse.”
“And you believe defence of the country and projected power abroad is wasteful spending?” Robotnik asks, only slightly incredulous.
“I just know a lotta things get sent down here and i want to know what it’s used for.”
Robotnik growls. “Rare earth materials enter my lab, killer robots leave; that's all you need to understand regarding my process.”
The curt response does not seem to deter Busk, however.
“I’ll have the B-squad look into the files,” Busk postures.
The files that Stone doctors and lies about. Far more material enters Robotnik’s lab than official finance reports claim and the requests for increased funding never cease. Perhaps they will have to play this game a little more subtly from now on.
“Perhaps if i added a subscription service to my badniks that would interest you?”
Busk appears thoughtful for a moment before an intern gestures no. The intrusion continues with Director Rockwell closely shadowing the group but also not losing sight of either Stone or the doctor. For his part, Stone doesn’t take his eyes off her either.
Eventually, Stone gestures the group into the break room to serve themselves refreshments because he’s not about to debase himself by waiting on them. They had better not touch the doctor’s stash of biscoff cookies – of course, those are stored in a urine sample container so it’s unlikely that any will disappear (a useful trick from university).
Robotnik steps forward and locks the door.
“Doctor, what’re you doing?”
“We can just seal the door in, Stone. Contain the toxicity,” Robotnik gestures so. “Our own little Chernobyl.”
It’s a tempting proposal, but no; they need that room.
“Director Rockwell doesn’t look very pleased,” Stone dutifully informs, a balancing act between not outright disagreeing with the doctor, but still advising him what’s not a wise idea.
“Oh, you’re such a limp dick, Agent,” the doctor complains, but he unlocks the door. “You once said you wanted a pet.”
“Yeah, but i want one that’s potty trained.”
Robotnik cackles.
The fraud and his entourage remain blissfully unaware about how they have just escaped captivity. Standing dumbly in the doorway, the doctor and the agent watch as Noel Busk balances a teaspoon on his nose to the rapturous applause and praise of his little clique of yes men.
“This man is my age,” Robotnik looks to Stone for clarification.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“My faith in the human genus continues to wane by the second.”
The secondhand embarrassment is overpowering – Dr. Robotnik shakes his head to banish the cringe and then steps over the threshold and into the break room. He holds his hands out genially.
“Unrelated to what’s being discussed at the moment, but is anyone here planning to have a ketamine overdose any time soon?”
There’s an uncomfortable silence.
“Please do not interrupt when someone is speaking, Doctor,” Director Rockwell sternly speaks up.
Robotnik shrugs. “I was just wondering.”
“Carry on,” Rockwell instructs the stunned room.
Another count is added to the current tally.
Busk puts the spoon down. And then Stone panics when one of the freshly graduated goons with broccoli hair fiddles with his precious coffee machine. That’s a Siemens EQ6! That thing wasn’t cheap and it came out of his own pay cheque! He un-politely shoulder-checks the young idiot away and then proceeds to make some truly shitass coffee to match the quality of work that Busk and co. bestow upon the world.
“How’s your wife?” Robotnik asks the terminally divorced man.
“We’re not married and she’s taking me to court, actually,” Busk responds, with pursed lips. “Over custody of our ninth son.”
“Tragic.”
xxx
The humour in the situation has long since dissolved.
As the man yammers ceaselessly on, Dr. Robotnik takes a long, deep breath loudly through his nose, his chest rising and shudderingly falling, and Stone’s hands itch to reach over. To reach over and calm, to reassure, to distract; the doctor is trying heroically hard to contain himself, to reign in his righteous anger. And righteous it is, Stone knows this, and with any justice in the world they’d be allowed to reduce this useless windbag to smoking ashes on the floor.
Abruptly, Dr. Robotnik rises up so sharply that his chair is knocked over and he stalks towards the exit. Stone jumps up with him, loyaly following the simmering man – that thin string of self control is hanging on by a single, desperate thread and the doctor needs to get out immediately.
“Hey, buddy? Where’re you going?”
He’s the first to notice the attempt; Stone grinds his jaw with barely suppressed rage as the simpleton follows and dares to reach out to the doctor – has the sheer audacity to touch his doctor. Upon contact with the back of his coat, the reaction from Robotnik is instantaneous.
“Do not TOUCH ME!”
The thread has snapped, the string has broken, the dam has burst and Stone is treated to witnessing the fury of his doctor focused and unleashed onto one small, pathetic man.
“Do not dare to presume,” Robotnik aims his pointer finger at Busk, backing him up towards a wall. “We are not ‘buddies’, we are certainly not equals , and we do not like each other! We are the Ghallager brothers of engineering!”
Busk’s face begins turning red, and his horde of nobodies begin jabbering nervously.
“Doctor,” Rockwell puts herself in between both men. “It was merely an unenforced error.”
“This man’s entire life is an unenforced fucking error!”
When the lead broccoli-haired intern pulls their phone out to record the confrontation Stone’s hand shoots out, violently knocking the device out of the young man’s grip and sending it skidding across the floor where it comes to a stop in the remains of its own smashed screen. Skinner promptly appears to sweep it away. The lab blocks all activations and streaming from devices not sanctioned by the doctor anyway, so Stone considers his action a learning moment in respect.
At the same time, a feeble whimper and a stuttering mess of broken words escape the cowering Busk – the director sends him a sharp look and attempts to regain control of the rapidly deteriorating situation. She looks up at Robotnik.
“I’m sure you must be very busy, Doctor,” Rockwell placates.
“I have a to-do list from our magnanimous overlords longer than War and Peace! Which i would looove to get back to if this human-shaped sack of used condoms would fuck off!”
“H-how dare—! I’ll be looking into the efficiency of your subcontractors!” the fool attempts to threaten, his face puffy and red.
Yes, the doctor’s nonexistent contractors, Stone subtly grinds his molars. A brilliant and paranoid and machine-like worker such as Dr. Robotnik would never allow unnecessary outside eyes to view his projects or any pieces of said projects during the design or construction phase. Not even the clients who commission them are provided with full schematics upon completion. And this idiot would know that if he’d done even the barest minimum of employment checks before stumbling face first in here.
“Gladly!” The doctor barks. He grabs the front of the man’s shirt and slams him back against the wall, pushing himself thoroughly into Busk’s personal bubble. “They do about the same amount of work as you do!”
The script kiddies all gasp in shock and, from his peripheral vision that Stone has kept Director Rockwell in, he notices her twitch for her firearm, but Stone has already slipped his own hand into his jacket. The director and himself maintain their own little stand-off while Robotnik terrorises the self-proclaimed genius.
“Say‘the line’, Busk,” Robotnik commands.
“F-full automation within the year,” the CEO cowers.
Robotnik punches the wall near the man’s head, the dull sound of bone on metal reverberating around the room.
“Ahh!” Busk yelps, and holds his ear.
“Oh, now look, you’ve hurt yourself!” Robotnik snarls.
“You hit me!”
“I did not hit you,” Robotnik says, “i hit the wall.”
And his fist ricocheted off the wall and into Busk’s head, Stone notes. Plausible deniability, he nods approvingly. Busk whines.
“I didn't vote for this prick!” Robotnik looks back at the stunned group. “Did any of you vote for this prick? No! No one voted for this prick! Get him out – get him the fuck out! Before i do something you’ll all regret!”
All around the lab red eyes activate, like bats in the night, trained in one singular direction.
Like a deflating balloon, all the air wheezes out of Busk and his entourage of goons all begin murmuring in fear. It appears all of their spines have suddenly fled their bodies when faced with real, legitimate danger.
“I think this concludes the inspection, don’t you, Mr. Busk?” Rockwell attempts to de-escalate the situation.
“Huh?” Busk looks at her, lost.
“You’ve seen everything you need to, sir,” she says, forcefully.
The man tilts his head ever-so slightly, looking into Robotnik’s furious face that is still far too close into his personal space, and nods dumbly. Rockwell rallies some of the yes men into showing their unsteady leader back outside.
“Fuck you very much!” Robotnik shouts after them. In the now emptied lab, the doctor is breathing heavily, flexing his injured hand.
The director decides to break the silence.
“I will see you at mandatory training, Agent Stone,” she says, the glint in her eye suggesting that Stone will be the one to be punished for the doctor’s insolence.
Before he can respond, Stone’s shoulder is grabbed and he’s pulled protectively behind Robotnik.
“And why does he need mandatory training?” the doctor steps up. “He already knows how to make coffee!”
Outside, Busk can be heard impatiently beeping the horn of his ridiculous vehicle so Rockwell does not have the time to properly confront the doctor on this matter. “It’s regular scheduled training,” she says, analysing the iron grip Robotnik has on his agent. “We’re not taking your agent away from you.”
“Naturally, no one shall be taking my things without my explicit permission beforehand!”
Stone shivers to be objectified in such a manner and Rockwell sends him a disgusted look. But it’s true that Stone has not attended regular training for three years now due to Robotnik utilising his powerful position. However, those times were under a more reasonable administration, not one voted in by the braying public based on social media follower counts.
Rockwell’s lip curls in annoyance. “I’ll be drafting the appropriate paperwork once i have escorted Mr. Busk off the premises.”
This time they will likely not be able to disregard direct orders via paper shredder, but that doesn't stop the doctor from accurately imitating the appropriate machine noise anyway.
“Escort him off the edge of the solar system for all i care! GET OUT.”
The Director performs a slight salute heavy with sarcasm then narrows her eyes at Stone; he merely smiles back and she spins on her heel with a huff then disappears through the automatic door.
Abruptly, he’s dragged forwards – almost pulled off his feet with the force – when Robotnik stomps up to the control panel by the door and inputs several numerical codes to multi-lock the entrance. It appears he has not yet realised he’s still holding onto Stone.
“What happened to the days when billionaires would fund museums, universities and hospitals,” Robotnik grouses. “We should’ve never allowed buffoons to become rich.”
Stone silently agrees and remains quiet. He suspects that Robotnik needs some introspection time and he’s frequently told he’s at his most useful when he keeps his mouth shut and simply listens.
“At this rate i might not even have a job this time next week,” Robotnik ponders and Stone gasps.
That’s the trigger for the doctor to realise he’s still holding with a vice-grip strength onto his agent’s shoulder; he snaps his hand back and Stone fervently yearns to touch the sore spot. He’s definitely going to have Robotnik’s hand branded onto him for several days at the very least. While the doctor has his back turned, dragging his listless body over to the main console, Stone raises up his marked shoulder and rubs his cheek against it.
“I’m not a fool, Stone. No, i may not possess the highest level of social skills around here but even i know that didn’t go well.”
Stone doesn’t want to think of no longer working with Robotnik. Doesn’t want to think about being reassigned to some dullard and slipping back into his old life of numbing boredom, drifting aimlessly and joylessly with no goals beyond making it to the end of the day with a heartbeat.
There’s a long pause. “How do you feel about Iran or India?”
“Sir?”
Robotnik sits in his chair facing away, twirling a set screw between his dexterous fingers. “Poachers, Stone. As if i’m not getting a new offer under the table every other week. Frankly, the India offer has always been enticing – i would be permitted to finally work on a rocket, Stone! Without having to scurry secretly under the boots of others like a common sewer rat! And naturally, if i were to leave i would of course be taking all of my things with me,” he spins his chair around to make direct eye contact. “ All of my things.”
Stone swallows.
He returns home that night in a daze. Auto-pilot carries him through his nightly routine until he finds himself in bed staring at the ceiling
In an absurd scenario where Robotnik is relieved of his position by their short-sighted and incredibly incompetent administration, and Stone is presented with the choice of continuing on with the agency or illegally following the doctor… the choice is more than obvious. He will follow Dr. Robotnik to the ends of the world – to the ends of the universe – through whatever life throws at them. He will happily twist on a dime to shoot and kill his former coworkers if the DoD comes for them. He will do anything to stay at his doctor's side.
The badwatch on his bedside table vibrates and Stone scrambles for it in a panic; there’s a text from Dr. Robotnik.
“I’m asking you a personal question,” the message reads and Stone nervously swallows.
Is this it? Has a decision already been made? Under normal circumstances, in a sane world, it would take weeks for such an important decision about such a valuable asset to be made – after numerous meetings between various bureaus. But under this joke of an administration largely operating on ‘vibes’ and emotion and personal spite, Stone can easily picture Robotnik being thoughtlessly tossed aside. Now may already be the time. Is the doctor stealing him away to a foreign country?
The next message arrives.
“If Jurassic Park were a real place, would you go?”
With a cold rush of adrenaline all the tension leaves Stone’s body. A bit hysterically, he giggles. The doctor has no idea how he plays with his agent’s emotions so; no idea how tightly he holds Stone’s dreams, and life and entire being in the palm of his hand. These non-sequitur, and vaguely friendly, moments happen none-too frequently, and Stone can perfectly imagine (fantasise) the strange and amusing conversations they’d have if they spent time together outside of work.
“I’d go to Jurassic Park with you, sir,” he responds, hands shaking slightly. “Are you watching the movie?”
But there’s no further response.
That night he dreams about a vacation with his doctor to an island of dinosaurs.
xxx
The next day, and the day after that, continue as if nothing is amiss. At one point Dr. Robotnik appears to be on the receiving end of a reprimand from Commander Walters, and Stone still needs to investigate how the doctor’s unregistered phone number has been compromised.
“What was the tally, Stone?”
Stone looks up. The doctor sits at his workbench with his back to the agent, a pair of magnifying glasses on his face with one lens extended as he works on a miniscule motherboard no larger than a man’s thumbnail.
“What was my final score?” Robotnik vaguely clarifies.
“Ah. Total number of Noel Busk humiliations: twelve. A perfect dozen, Doctor,” and one assault. Stone answers with an impish grin.
“Hah! I impress myself sometimes,” Robotnik self-congratulates.
Though nothing else is said between them, the air in the lab remains jovial and Stone happily taps away at his keyboard and Robotnik hums silly tunes to himself. Not even the looming threat of regular scheduled training can dampen the agent’s mood right now.
The only thing that could rain on his parade is—
~i am here, i’m awake, cos this is my world to take, through the power of will…~
Robotnik digs his ringing phone out of a pocket and blindly tosses it at Stone for him to deal with instead. “If that’s Walters again i’m going to birth a cactus out of my asshole.”
“Sorry, Doctor,” Stone confirms the caller and frowns sympathetically as he passes the phone back over.
With a strangled noise, Robotnik turns it to speaker and flings it onto the table. “What.”
“Good afternoon to you too, Ivo,” Walters’ civil, elderly voice speaks up.
Robotnik growls. “If this is about that ’’’inspection’’’ again, i already said my piece and i stand by— ”
“No, no. We’ve already spoken with the appropriate departments and smoothed things over… somewhat,” Walters sounds strained. “I understand your frustration, this administration change has been difficult on all of us. But i have some different, unrelated news to share. Some bad news.”
“As if you ever bring me anything else,” Robotnik grouses. “Go on then, make my day worse.”
“Professor Bradey has passed.”
“Uh?” the doctor mumbles, suddenly still and Stone doesn’t think he’s ever seen Robotnik at a loss for any type of reaction before. It’s strangely disconcerting.
Commander Walters continues. “Yes, it doesn’t appear to be suspicious but investigations are underway either way. I know your relationship was not the most civil but you did work with the man for nearly a decade, so i thought you deserved to find out first from an official source.”
Silence follows. Dr. Robotnik takes the disregarded phone and brings it tentatively to his ear despite it still being on speakerphone.
“Is that… all?” he haltingly asks.
“Yes.”
“But, Commander, what’s the bad news? You said there was bad news?”
“Goodbye, Ivo,” the commander sounds too tired to play games and hangs up.
It appears to be shock? Stone waits for the doctor to react in any kind of meaningful way, but the man’s eyes are staring off into the distance, his mouth slightly open as he slowly lowers the phone from his ear back to the table.
“I always win…” the doctor whispers almost too quietly.
Stone reaches out warily. “D-Doctor? Is everything okay?”
“I always win, Stone!” Robotnik suddenly lurches into motion. He grabs Stone by both shoulders and hugs him tightly to his chest – and Stone’s breath is robbed from him for numerous reasons – and twirls them around several times before flinging the man away. “I ALWAYS WIN, BABY!! WHOOOO!!”
Stone spins several feet, regaining his footing before he can fall, and watches with fascination as the doctor erupts into pure, uninhibited jubilation. He twirls and spins and pumps his arms, moving his hips and body to a beat only heard in his head, all the while grinning and laughing like a lunatic. It’s an undeniably infectious energy and Stone finds himself grinning broadly in the radiance as well, despite not knowing who this Professor Bradey is or why the doctor is so happy about his, presumably, untimely death.
“I don’t know what to do with myself, Stone!” Dr. Robotnik admits, moving his shoulders and hands and waist, unable to keep still. “Good things don’t usually happen! How do I celebrate? I must celebrate!”
He thinks of the things the doctor usually enjoys; lattes, popcorn, sugary foods in general; putting outspoken morons in their place; running social experiments on Stone; working on his personal (secret) satellite project…
“Blow something up?” he ventures.
“Yes! Yes!” Robotnik spins once more, accentuating it with a Michael Jackson noise for good measure. He points at Stone and one-handed air guitars his way over. “Brilliant thinking, my precious sycophant! Yes, we’ll blow something up! Something big and expensive and important! Something with Busk’s punchable face on!”
Stone turns crosseyed with an index finger pointing directly at the tip of his nose; surely he looks like a fool grinning like this. Then that pointing finger turns into a hand that grabs his jaw and shakes his head side-to-side, the doctor giggling manically before jerking him out of the way and running past him and from the room. A swarm of badnik drones follows out into the corridor.
That’s definitely an outburst he hasn’t seen before, Stone considers fondly, rubbing his jaw. And one he would absolutely not mind experiencing again. Particularly the gyrating hips and the part about being called ‘precious’ ...
xxx
At the funeral the doctor tries his best (not really) to not fall asleep during the eulogies, and when it’s his turn to say a little something he calls the man a waste of military funds even in death. The widow sobs. After the coffin is lowered six feet under, Robotnik squats on the fresh mound of soil, grinning and throwing up a peace sign as he takes a selfie with the gravestone. Surprisingly, they are not invited to the wake.
They wait some time until all the mourners have left and then the doctor has Stone record a short video of him performing a saucy little dance on the man’s grave.