Mechanical Maniacs: Back on the Beat
Plus 'Maniac Mechanica!'

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

The Vacation Job, Part Deux (Or, Part 2)

Where was I? Broke in Vegas? Ah, yes.

Despite Needlegal's somewhat soul crushing claim that she had lost the vast majority of the world's wealth by betting, not on me, the four ton finely tuned engine of architectural destruction, but on a shoddily built mechanical dragon through a bookie who had just HAPPENED to be on the sidewalk when the fight broke out, we were not completely without funding. I still had about twenty bucks, and Topman had his debit card, although he kept calling his bank with a worried look on his face, so I'm not sure I had a lot of faith in it.

Long story short, the way things stood, we couldn't pay for the hotel room, let alone the flight home.

Since Top and Needle didn't have to pay for the room until they LEFT, we weren't in much of a rush, but every day wasted would mean we needed that much more money to be able to check out, not to mention my parking space. That, combined with the cost of a plane ticket when I'm involved (turns out a lot of airlines bill you extra if you bring cars or heavy machinery or finely tuned engines of architectural destruction with you onboard) boiled down to the fact that, to get back home, barring some incredibly wealthy deus ex machina or counterfeit money machine, we'd need about $1200. In the space of two days.

Keep in mind, we had $20 in cash. In Vegas. That constitutes broke.

Topman and I were sensible enough to disallow Needlegal from trying to win more money by gambling in the casinos. She might win, yes, but there was also the very, very real chance that she wouldn't, and we'd be oh so screwed. I'm in enough financial trouble by now already, I don't need to turn up as a penniless bum in the city of sin.

Which meant we needed a sure way of winning money, and FAST. So we turned to the most convinient source of information available.

Remember that bookie who'd just HAPPENED to be on the sidewalk? Just the right place at the right time? Well, I happen to know that no bookie ever, EVER takes bets on ANYTHING, even in Vegas, that they didn't have information on beforehand. That meant that, one way or another, this particular bookie knew the dragon was going to go nuts. Maybe he even modified it for that purpose himself, who knows? The point is, he probably had criminal ties, and bringing criminals to justice for lump sums of cash was something the three of us happened to be good at.

We tracked him as far as an empty backlot some four blocks away from the Strip, and he started to cry around the time we pinned him to the wall. Literally.

Needle Cannon rounds sank into the wall behind him, catching his coat and the excess slack in his pants and holding him there. "I... I'll give you anything you want!" he shouted before he knew what was happening. Then he looked up, and another look of absolute terror crossed his features. "Ohgodpleasedon'tkillmeI'mjustanemployee InevermeanttohurtanyoneohgodIdon'thaveyourmoney butIcantellyouwheretofinditjustpleasedon'thurtmeI'mallergictopain!"

Topman rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm not even going to get started on how bad, grammatically speaking, that was."

Needlegal, one the other hand was a bit more direct. "You said you know where to find the money?"

"YesyesIdoandI'lltellyoubutpleasepromisenottohurtmeorreportmetothepolicepleasepleaseplease-"

Topman groaned, almost in physical pain at this point. "ALL RIGHT," I said, slamming one open hand against the wall to shut the little man up. He did with a whimper. "Look, here's wha' I don' get. Wha' was sup'osed ta happen ou' there? I get th' impression tha' fight was sup'osed ta be someone else's job."

"Wellyesthebosswassupposedtoshowupandfightthedragonandwinaftergettingbatteda
roundabit andmakingsurethatalotofpeoplebetonthedragonandthenwe'dhavemoneyforrepairsandstuff sohecouldgetbacktohisrealjob."

"You're speaking in a normal voice," Topman said through gritted teeth. "You're in no real danger. STOP TALKING LIKE THAT."

"Likewhat?"

"You mentioned a 'boss'-" Needlegal began.

"You understand him?" Topman asked incredulously.

She ignored him. "- who is he? And what repairs?"

A look of some pride, which was rather out of place amidst all the fear that covered his face, came into his eyes. "WhyLasVegas'sveryownrobotsuperheroofcourse!"

"Wait, what?" Needlegal asked.

I, on the other hand, wanted to cry. "Oh god dammit," I growled. "Riffman." The way the little bookie's face lit up let me know that I was right in an infinitely regrettable way.

"Wait, what?" Needlegal repeated, looking at me.

I explained it to them, but I'll give it to you in a descriptive paragraph rather than my actual... well, rant about Las Vegas's robot 'hero', mostly because between my accent and the swearing, I don't think you'd be able to understand it very well.

Riffman had been built a little after the Second Robot Rebellion (That's Megaman 2 for those keeping track) by a conglomeration of casinos and hotels located on the Vegas Strip for their own protection. While in those days, Megaman was enough to put down trouble, he was a reactionary force who was, at the time, based in Monsteropolis, and the big money in Vegas felt it needed its own protection. While his overall design was the result of what I'm sure were too many drinks, his effectiveness was not to be doubted. He used an admittedly heavily modified electric long-necked 1970 Astral Re-issue, which I'll get into later, and was surprisingly agile despite how overtly gaudy I remember him being.

As I finished talking, Topman's face contorted into something unberable. "What?"

I sighed. "Look, jus' read th' descriptive paragraph above later 'n yer own time."

Needlegal nodded sagely. "That's what I always do."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she admitted, "I have a hard time understanding your accent."

"No kiddin'. Huh."

"Are you two done with the fourth wall jokes?" Topman sighed.

"Eh, I sup'ose."

"So, okay, knowing what I know now, how does that change the situation?" Needlegal asked our small captive.

"Ya mentioned repairs? 'S Riff damaged 'r somethin'?"

"MorelikeadebtyouseehedamagedtheMGMGrandinoneofthefightshehadwiththeSAtroops
thattriedtotakeoverLasVegasandtheownersalmostshuthimdown becausetheMGMGrandownersaretheheadsoftheboardthatcontrolshim sohesbeenkeptoffhisnormalprotectiondutieswhileheworksupthecashtorepaythem sotheycanrebuildthedamagedwingoftheirhotel."

"When do you have time to breathe?" Topman asked offhandedly.

"So... where does tha' get us?" I asked.

"Does this Riffman arrange fights like that one a lot?"

"Aboutonceaweekbecausethey'reentertainingandpeoplecanbetlargeamountofmoneyonthem sothey'retheperfectwaytoraisethemoneyheneedstopaybackhisdebts."

"Where c'n we find 'im?"

"RightnowyoucanprobablyfindhimhangingaroundtheMGMGranditself probablyinthelittleamusementparktheyhaveouttheba-"

Around this point, Topman punched the bookie, who went slack. "Good GOD," Top exclaimed, "THAT was overdue."

"So's this," some other voice cut across the vacant backlot.

I knew what was coming next, and I had just enough time to place a hand each on Needlegal and Topman and send them off to either side before screaming electric death slammed into my back, burying my face in the wall.

I took a heavy step backwards as my hands came back, turning as I did so. Topman and Needlegal picked themselves up, both a little disoriented from the quick action. "Riffman," I growled, taking him in.

He looked a lot like I remembered. Flamboyant red hair hardened into a battle helmet covered his head, with a sleek, slender body built for speed and reflexes. He had a wide collar which doubled as shoulderpads, and a deceptively well tailored and sturdy suit motif etched into his armor. A band around his waist was punctuated by a gold circle with a pair of musical notes inscribed into it, and the rest of the belt glowed a neon red. His armor was mostly white, with red, pointed forearm and lower leg sections, and off the back of his head came a long cord with a variety of audio input jacks at the end. In his left hand, he held the 1970 Astral Re-issue that was his weapon.

I mentioned before how the electric guitar was heavily modified. Specifically, it was modified into a weapon, and a fairly potent one. Using a lot of the same technology you'd find in a lightning gun, the instrument could 'paint' a target with an ion charge that the lightning generated by playing the guitar would seek out. As a headless electric guitar, the 1970 Astral was almost perfect for the application, and a large, foot long spike that doubled as a melee weapon had been affixed to the part of the guitar where the head would be on a normal version of the instrument. It was a difficult weapon to use if only because painting a target that was aware of you was difficult without getting in close, but Riffman had more than enough time for that while we had grilled his friend. Even broke in Vegas, I'd place money on the idea that all three of us now had a big, invisible, lightning attracting target on our backs.

Fortunately, none of us were Magnetman.

"Do I know you?" Riffman asked me, his body poised and ready for action. It occured to me that, as I was now, Riffman didn't know me. He and I had our run in years ago back when I was still just regular old Hadrian (In an alternate dimension, no less, come to think of it...). I decided not to bring that up now, since I saw no reason to make him hate me even more than he apparently already did.

"I've heard o' ya. Fallen on some hard times, 'eh?" I responded, trying to buy time for Top and Needle to get up. I heard a click in my ear as they booted up their team comm channels, a handy tool Shadowman had picked up for us to help coordinate battle strategies.

"We can take this guy down easy," Needlegal said in my head. "I'll lay down suppressing fire, Top, go for his flank, Hard, keep his attention."

"Roger that," Topman replied.

"Got ya," I said in my head. It was a solid plan, since I knew Riffman wouldn't be able to avoid a Topman he never saw coming. His guitar only generated enough lightning to strike one opponent at a time, and if I was he closest one, it would keep hitting me and ignore Topman. I shared this bit of information with my teammates as I started to approach Las Vegas's robot 'hero'.

"So yer fixin' fights an' endangerin' th' public now?" I demanded, keeping his eyes on me. I could see the fingers of his right hand twitching.

"I do what I have to. Protecting the people here is all I have, and the owners are taking that away from me!" There was an edge to his voice. Something like desperation. It was true that he'd been built for that one purpose, and being forcefully prevented from acting on his drive because of a simple mistake was probably driving him nuts. I kind of knew how he felt, but he had serious bodily injury planned for me and my friends. It was him or us at this point.

And, frankly, I like us better than him.

"Sorry, Riff. We gotta job ta do too, an' we can't manage it if we're stuck here like this."

I was about halfway between him and the others by now, and I gave a silent signal. It was a great time to open fire, and Needlegal obliged.

A whirlwind of Needle Cannon rounds scattered tiny pockmarks all over the pavement Riffman had been standing on moments before, but the nimble robot had leapt as the first round was fired. My own Hard Knuckle dug a deep furrow in the concrete of the lot, but the second one was already away, pursuing him in the air. I thought I had him, too, but he kicked on some sort of secondary booster system in his legs and vector-jumped out of the way, spinning with an uneccessary amount of flair as he drew back to hit the strings of his Astral.

I braced myself for electric torture, but was spared when he was forced to change course again by another batch of needles, landing on the pavement between Needlegal and myself. I threw one Knuckle as soon as it returned, only to watch him deftly sidestep it and hit a rather painful chord. Synthetic lightning flashed and left a small, smoking crater in my reinforced armor, and I felt a little nausea as the rampant electricity backwashed into my delicately balanced system.

Needlegal attacked again, firing low so as not to hit me should she miss, which she did. Riffman had gotten a lot faster since last I'd seen him, and he hit two more chords before landing, each bolt of light striking me in the same spot, digging just a little deeper into my armor each time.

I suddenly realized that I was in a very real kind of danger. Due to the guitar's method of targeting, Riffman would strike EXACTLY the same spot every time with enough energy to power a decent-sized house for a month. The damage it was inflicting was actually not very heavy, but it was focused, and the electrical backwash it was somehow causing was screwing with me something fierce.

I fired another Knuckle, just hoping to keep him off balance, but it was no good. He rolled to the side and struck a short but vicious solo. Luckily for me, if not for Needlegal, he was now halfway between us, and the electric fury he played into existence shook back and forth, digging holes into both our armors. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours, as pain and colors washed over me in equal measure.

Needlegal's hair frizzed out as Riffman let us have a reprieve, and we both opened fire with our respective weapons in response. His reaction was quick, flipping the whammy bar on his instrument down, and launching into a longer stretch of wailing notes. I braced myself for the impact, but it never came, and instead watched as the Needles and my own two Knuckles slammed into some sort of shimmering wall mere feet away from him.

"Compressed soundwave barrier," Topman's voice crackled in my head. The residual electricity from Riffman's attacks had even messed up my comm unit. "This guy's got a noisy bag of tricks."

"Can you Top Spin through that?" Needlegal's choppy voice inquired.

"Not without a lot of risks," Top told her. "I'm not really willing to take the chance that pure kinetic energy beats out soundwaves which, as science tells us, are also a form of pure kinetic energy."

"Point goes to science," Needlegal sighed.

"He's buildin' up a charge 'n th' guitar," I said, remembering that his instrument generated electricity as it was played, and not seeing any lightning arcing out. The amount of playing he was doing, while preventing us from harming him, was also building up for a bigger, less pleasant attack.

"Get as close as you can," Needlegal told me, "You and I will try to hit him as soon as his barrier drops. Top, when he moves, be ready to catch him."

"Can do," the smallest Maniac affirmed.

Needlegal and I started to move toward the wailing sounds Riffman was producing, and his eyes were locked on ours the whole time. As we moved forward, I heard Needlegal mutter over the sounds "I miss the days when we fought really, really pathetic bad guys in these short stories."

"Me too," I sighed.

Riffman's expression shifted as his hand shot down to the whammy bar and brought it up. The shimmering barrier died instantly, and the Needle Cannon rounds and Hard Knuckle were fired almost imperceptibly later. He'd been ready for the attack, though, and leapt forward, between Needlegal and I.

"Oh no ya don't!" I shouted, reaching out with my second arm in an open-handed Hard Knuckle that managed to catch his ankle. The fingers of my weapon of choice wrapped around his leg, bringing him to a jerking halt in midair as the arm began to come back to me. He turned as much as he could, his eyes ablaze with fury as he got ready to strike more painful notes.

"NOW, TOPMAN!" Needlegal shouted, jumping up and away from potential electric fury.

An orange tornado cut right in front of me, engulfing Riffman like some sort of saving grace. The flamboyant robot was thrown across the empty backlot, forced to roll and take most of the impact from the fall to preserve his weapon. Before he got his feet under him, Topman struck again, this time in a simple flurry of kicks that put Riffman down hard.

Needlegal and I were on him before he started moving again, and he held his hands up and away from his Astral.

"Fine. You got me," he coughed. "Now what?"

"NOW," I grunted, grabbing one of his arms and hauling him up, "we talk."

Needlegal stepped in between the two of us. "No, WE talk. Nobody can understand a word you say when you get going, Hardman."

A startled look crossed Riffman's features. "Wait a minute... the Mechanical Maniacs?"

"That's us," Topman nodded.

"Oh, crap," the robot hero of Vegas cried. "I didn't know it was you guys! Honest, I'm sorry..."

"No need ta apologize," I shrugged.

"Yes there is," Needlegal huffed, kicking me in the shin.

"In either case," Topman said, trying to get us back on track and turning to Riffman, "I think we can help each other."

"How?"

"Well, we need plane tickets back to Monsteropolis, and you have to repay that debt, right?" Needlegal asked.

"Well, yes," Riff admitted.

"Then let's go grab a drink or something and figure out a way we can get those things without killing each other."

"I gotta make a request, tho," I spoke up.

"What do you need, Hard?" Top wondered.

"I'm just checkin' ta see 'f it's okay wi' ya that we break here fer this bit. Y'know, to be continued-ize this? It's runnin' a bit long."

"Sure, no problem."

=== === === ===
To be continued!
=== === === ===

And now, because it just wasn't long ENOUGH....

Maniac Mechanica!

Hardman: See? NOW things are getting good.

Topman: I admit, that was a neat battle scene.

Snakeman: What drugs do you take to come up with new characters, Hard?

Hardman: That list is between me an' my doctor.

Geminiman: Wait, so this is going to be, like, a three-parter? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of short stories?

Shadowman: I was wondering that myself.

Hardman: Well... er...

Needlegal: At least we made it through another 'story' without making it look like I have a gambling addiction again.

Topman: Yeah, thank the writer for forgetting little details like making us all look like horrible people.

Hardman: You're welcome!

Topman: I WASN'T ACTUALLY SAYING IT!

Snakeman: Well, this is turning out okay, I suppose.

Needlegal: And we're learning something, too!

Shadowman: No we're not. Stop lying.

Needlegal: But... but...

Shadowman: No. Bad Needle. BAD.

Needlegal: Awwww...

Topman: Well, until Hardman is off his meds, we are... the Mechanical Maniacs.