Maniacs On Patrol

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

The Bank Job (Which was also the Hotel Job)

Red and blue flashing lights make me nervous. Hell, who DON'T they make nervous? They're the ultimate sign that something bad is going down somewhere, and things are about to be very unpleasant for someone. I know every time I see them, I find a hole to hide in until they go away, and I'M a cop.

Well, technically a cop.

Well, I do what my boss tells me, at least.

And right now, he's not telling me much aside from hold position. That's okay. I can do that. I'm a big guy, and holding position comes naturally to me. Newtonian physics and all that. It's WHERE I'm holding position that's important. Currently, my four ton butt is standing between almost every cop car in Monsteropolis and the United Conglomerate Bank, or UCB, which is one of the largest financial establishments (in WAY more ways than ten) in the country, let alone the city. Seriously, like, next to the national banking deposits and maybe Fort Knox, this is one of the biggest stores of pure cash next to... well, any undiscovered gold deposit, really.

So it's a little mind boggling as to why it's getting robbed at all, y'know? I mean, there have been a grand total, in the building's history, of two robbery attempts. The first was by a man who committed suicide IN the building itself after ten hours of being surrounded by police, and the second attempt... Well, let's just say the Mechanical Maniacs were involved, some people were thwarted, and that's really all I know. Nobody tells me much about what the team did in the days before I joined.

The Mechanical Maniacs? That would be the most prestigious, active, and dangerous (not counting Drastic Measures. Those guys are CRAZY.) Megaman Team on planet Earth. Me? I'm Hardman, nice to meet you. I run a bar in my spare time, but ever since we got 'deputized' (a dubious process, to be sure, although I'm not really sure who, between Shadowman and the Chief of Police, conned who into doing it.) I've had less and less of that. Situations like this robbery thing keep coming up.

To bring you up to speed, some psychopathic robot stormed the place all on his lonesome, crashed the gates and blew away most everyone inside. He's got two hostages, destroyed every security system the UCB has built into it, the high ground, and the advantage of being a crazy, crazy sonuvabitch. Me? I've got lots and lots of armor, my arms spread out, and, like, four cop cars taking cover behind me with regular, everyday human cops taking cover behind the cars. I've been standing here for four hours, and I think my arms are going numb.

It doesn't help my disposition that someone saw fit to superglue a red light to my left shoulder and a blue light to my right. Seriously, not only do those pick me out like a Christmas tree in the dark of night when the power to the block's been cut, but I can see them out of the corner of my eye, just flashing there, for the past hour at least.

Which brings me back to the fact that red and blue flashing lights make me nervous.

My eye began to twitch as time passed, and I tried hard over the murmur of the crowds that inevitably gather at these things and the frantic, fruitless talking of news crews in a semicircle about 50 yards behind me to hear my buddy Snakeman talk with the ranking Police Officer on the scene.

"No. Completely, totally, and absolutely not," Snake was saying.

"It's standard procedure in this case," the officer argued, "and doubly so since the FBI is on the way and I have to resolve this before it goes completely out of hand."

Snake actually laughed at the guy. "Standard procedure stopped applying when the guy laid siege to the place with a pair of grade 4 plasma weapons. Not familiar with the classification? Let me put it this way: No human alive can fire one without melting his own face off, or survive the splash damage from one of those things from 5 feet away, let alone directly, and if both of them were fired at Hardman, even HE would fall over, crushing your police vehicles."

Thanks for the faith, Snake.

"It doesn't matter, metalhead," the cop sneered. "SWAT is already on the roof and they enter on my signal, which I'm going to give RIGHT now." He spoke something I couldn't make out, probably into a walky-talky or similar device, and waited for a reply. My hearing isn't what it could be, but I'm pretty sure he waited a very long time for a reply. And then he got one.

"Sorry, officer," came Shadowman's voice in a tinny, electronic way, "SWAT's been decommissioned. Nobody's badly hurt, but you need to teach them not to attack a fellow officer just because he's not human and squishy. I'm going in, alone, and that will be that, clear?"

There was some shouting, some swearing, and some breaking noises, but I didn't listen much. A voice in my head was talking. No, I'm not crazy; Shadowman had only switched over to the Maniacs' team communications system. "Snake, you have eyes in the building?"

"Makoto's in, but I haven't located our renegade yet," Snake's voice returned.

"Keep looking," Shadowman said in an assertive tone. He lived for stuff like this. Sneaking in where the enemy doesn't expect you, accomplishing the mission and sneaking out, giving more than his share of people the finger on his way out and laughing about it over a drink later. I swear, some people hate him, but I'd probably jump off a building if he asked me to. I mean, yeah, that would suck for the ground, but I'd be fine with it.

"I have something," came Topman's voice. He and Spark Chan had split up and started carving up the underground looking for clues as to the identity/motive of our armed-and-dangerous robber and hostage taker. Knowing WHO you're dealing with is important in a situation like this.

"Talk to me," Shadowman said in the barest of whispers. I could hear him fine, but he probably hadn't made an audible sounds when he spoke.

"Some out-of-town Freebot calling himself Milostraga. Nobody has much of a description for me aside from the fact that he is apparently wide," Topman's voice was strained against his words, giving me the impression that he had to do more than talk to get that information out of someone. "He apparently spoke briefly with Rival," one of Topman's informants who had close ties to Wily in the past, "about the location and layout of the UCB, and then more at length about the security systems."

"What's he got about this guy's armament?" Snakeman quizzed.

"All he said is the guy was armed, and then he laughed. Some kind of private joke I am not getting, I guess."

"Keep working, Topman, there's bound to be more dirt on this guy somewhere," Shadowman said by way of congratulating him.

I felt the need to say something. "Anybody else kinda offended by th' term Metalhead?"

"A little," Geminiman came in on the comm. "I mean, that guy was one of the worst Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bad guys EVER."

"Be serious, Gem," Needlegal's voice cut in. "I can understand where Hard's coming from on this. I mean, having to make a distinction between Freebots and Robots is bad enough, and now we're getting called names?"

"None of that Freebot crap is law yet," Gemini growled, "and here's hoping it stays that way."

"I jus' thought it was a sad statement that a guy can get away with callin' us Metalhead and NOT get, I dunno, punched in the face or something," I said with a mental shrug.

"I could arrange for it," Magnetman's voice came in. I don't know why, but his voice always sent a chill down my spine. Maybe it had to do with the fact that one of the most psychotic members of our team had control over the weapon that could hurt me the most? Just maybe? Nah, couldn't be.

"Stand down and cut the chatter, guys," Shadowman hissed.

"Got him," Snakeman cut in almost at the same time.

"Where?"

"Third floor, a center office... he's staying far away from door sand windows... holy crap..."

"What is it?" Shadowman asked, and I could tell he was already on the move. There was a momentary silence. "Ah. I see what you mean."

"What? What is it?" Needlegal asked. "Do you need Gemini and I in there?"

"Too risky," Shadowman said grimly. "I... how does that WORK?"

"Skill and precision, would be my guess," Snakeman said.

"WHAT IS IT?" Needlegal shouted. "What is making you guys freak out so bad?"

"It's... you just... gah... it hurts my eyes to look at him..."

"He's complicated," Snakeman summed up. "Trust me, when you see him, you'll understand."

"Moving in now," Shadowman said after a moment of collecting himself.

"Be careful," Snakeman told him.

"Aren't I always?" Shadowman returned. I could just SEE the smug smirk on his face. Then...

"Oh, crap."

Two dull thumps. The windows on the third floor exploded outwards. Cops, media, and onlookers ran for cover. I just stood there, razor shards of glass bouncing off me like a summer rain. Something flew off the roof, chased by a pair of yellow bolts.

"Well... that went well," Geminiman said before all hell broke loose.

People started screaming. "That's Shadowman!" Snakeman shouted over the roar as he got closer behind me, pointing at the shape that was starting to fall back to earth.

"What the hell hit him?" I asked, reaching up and crushing the two lights on my shoulders without a second though.

Magnetman was beside me in a flash, and I realized that he'd been in the crowd somewhere with Snakeman. He pointed at the middle window that had just exploded all over the cement. "That."

I gotta hand it to Snakeman and Shadowman, when they say you have to see it to understand, they aren't kidding.

Milostraga was about six feet tall, a sturdy-without-being-fat kind of build with a dull green and faded purple color scheme. His head had a swept-back, Sonic-The-Hedgehog-like three tipped mask, a fairly dull set of eyes, and no visible mouth. Two of his hands were holding hostages, and two of his hands were clenched into fists. Wait, let me make this clearer: At his shoulders, he had what I can only describe as an additional shoulder on each side, with their own arms, and those arms have two shoulder-mounted grade 4 plasma weapon turrets. The outer set of arms are much boxier than the rest of his design, and also a little bigger, colored in red and white, giving the impression that they might have once belonged to someone else, and he grafted them onto his own arms. The overall effect made him, as has already been said, wide. About eight feet wide at the shoulder/shoulder/cannon. Those cannons? Pointed at the biggest thing on the street. Yep, me.

Ever been hit by a pair of guys in full football pads when they're trying to pick you up and drag you a couple of yards? Any quarterback knows what I'm talking about. This was like that, except for a lot more light, a bit more hurt, a much louder roaring, and way more 'me falling over' than I'm strictly comfortable with.

The cop car behind me crumbled and screamed briefly before it couldn't become any flatter. I barely felt the impact of hitting the ground, but breaking glass from the car windows sent people scurrying for cover again. I rolled onto my side and stood up quickly, craning my neck to look over my own mass.

Milostraga leapt from the building, chucking his two hostages as he did so. Snake and Magnet had no choice but to make an effort to save the humans while Milostraga landed, took two steps, and shot into the air again, crashing through a window on the opposite side of the street.

"Nimble lil' bastard, ain't he?" I grumbled, getting up on my feet again.

"He's heading your way, Needlegal," Snakeman said over the comm. unit. I didn't spare the time to turn and check on the former hostages. If there was anything that could be done for them, I certainly didn't have a degree that said I could charge them an ungodly amount to do it, so I went with my remaining option.

"I'm chasin' 'im," I grunted over the comm. unit, and without stopping to hear any replies, I took off at a dead run. I'm one of those guys, see, that says move, and pretty much everything does, be it living or architecture. There's a reason I'm not really allowed out on jobs like this much.

The wall fell apart more out of fear than anything else, I think, and I ran straight into what turned out to be a hotel lobby, leaving great big holes in the shape of my feet behind me. Jumpy-McShootsFirst might be anywhere in the building, really, but that's why I have teammates. The telltale bark of a weapon that spat metal death like a machine gun told me Needlegal had spotted our psycho on the other side of the building. I didn't even bother to slow down, and that revolving door didn't stand much of a chance.

A crashing shower of glass and the scream of shrill alarms hit about the same time as I exploded out onto the street, taking a brief moment to assess the situation. A pair of smoking holes in the parking center across the street from the hotel marked Needlegal's previous position rather neatly, but Needlegal herself was now a floor higher, raining her Needle Cannon down on Milostraga, who didn't look very amused, and was still a floor higher than me.

Not really a problem for a guy with rocket hands.

The distraction provided by the Needle Cannon masked the roar of my own Hard Knuckles, catching the four-armed psychobot completely off guard. The first one smashed into one of his plasma cannons, while the second hit hard across the left side of his midsection. Not really a solid blow, all things considered, but any interruption when you're getting hit by a dozen needles a second can be fairly painful.

Give the guy credit, though, he reacted like a pro. His remaining cannon glowed briefly before firing straight ahead, propelling him backwards as he surrendered to the recoil of the launching mechanism. The shot seemed like a stray at first until it blew through, then blew UP several cars in the parking garage. The whole place shook and Needlegal was forced to vacate as the floor she was on collapsed, devoid of support from the blasted-out level below.

"Crap, they're going to bill us for that," Shadowman sighed over the comm. unit.

"Good to hear from you," Needlegal said almost sarcastically.

"Lost 'im in th' hotel," I said to the listening crowd, trying to stay focused. We had our bad guy on the run, and we needed to shut him down before he (or I, for that matter) did more damage to the city. "Anyone on 'im?"

"A step ahead of you," Snakeman replied, and I caught a flash of green as he entered my impromptu back door to the hotel and darted up the stairway. Magnetman was not far behind. Neither was Topman.

"Glad ta see ya made it, pint-size," I grinned.

"It was only eighteen blocks," Topman replied. "Sorry I took so long."

"Hardman, Needlegal, you stay on the ground floor and make sure he doesn't disappear on us," Geminiman's voice came over the comm. unit. "Shadowman and I are on the roof. We'll work our way down and meet you in the middle, Snakeman."

"Roger that," Needlegal said, passing me to get to the other side of the hotel.

An orange flash that lit the fourth floor of the hotel brought my eyes skyward. In familiar fashion, the windows blew out, but I was less worried about the raining glass than I was for my friends. The cracking of the Gavel Arms rifle Snakeman was toting reassured me a little, as did, oddly enough, that slight sinking feeling in my gut that told me that Magnetman was using his own weapon within a hundred yards of me.

A breathless Spark Chan arrived at my side. "Whew... that was a bit of a trek... Is everyone okay?"

"Shadow took a hit, but he seems okay," I shrugged. "Guy actually knocked me down, but I'm fine. Tried to collapse a building on Needlegal, but she's still kickin'. Dunno past that, but I'm bettin' everyone's okay."

A loud shout followed by a scream that wasn't entirely sane or, well, English cut across the general noise of panic, sirens, and alarms that was accumulating in the streets. Not long after that, the four-armed shape of Milostraga was ejected out of a sixth story window, and fell without ceremony to the ground, making a classic indentation on the pavement. Spark Chan and I walked over to his still form casually. Psychobot looked like he'd seen better days.

I calmly stepped on his working plasma cannon, rendering it two dimensional, and proceeded to place another foot on his chest, ever so gently, to hold him there. Even if he DID wake up, he wasn't going anywhere unless he had Gutsman-like strength, and even then I'd notice early enough to punch him in the face.

Shadowman was suddenly, somehow, THERE. "Good work everyone," he said with a grin under his mask.

The rest of the Maniacs filed out of the hotel and we gathered in a haphazard circle around Milostraga, taking a moment to appreciate our work.

"Well, that went well," Needlegal said eventually.

"Yeah," Snake said, "I guess so..."

And hard and fast they came at last, and more and more and more.

Monsteropolis media, that is to say news casters, journalists, spin doctors, paparazzi, radio show hosts and... eugh... producers.. of those various media formats are actually, I'm convinced, part of some greater alien hoard that functions on a hive mind. They instantly know WHERE 'news' is happening, who to pester to acquire said 'news,' and also what questions will make those thy annoy the most uncomfortable. Such was the case here.

"Mr. Shadowman!" someone shouted to be heard over the rest of the assembled media, "Gary Igart, Monster Times; do you think the separation of Robot and Freebot classes will lead to a rise in this kind of crime?"

"Needlegal!" someone else was shouting, "I'm from Women In The Workplace, do you find it difficult to be heard in a predominantly male society?"

"Mr. Top!" yet another voice was shouting, "where do you get your clothing made?"

"Snakeman! Do you send your Search Snakes into girls' locker rooms?"

"Gemini, dude, you should totally date Needlegal! It would be such a hit with the celebrity scene!"

"Hardman, how do you balance your work and your hobbies?"

"Spark Chan, pose for a picture ma'am?"

"AWRIGHT," I bellowed, reducing all but the most hardline reporter to a wide-eyed child, afraid of the voice of authority calling them out like they've done something wrong. I took a heavy step forward to make them all back up and away from us. "Show's OVER, folks."

Shadowman nodded, helping me push people back. "The criminal is in custody, and that's what matters," he told them sternly.

Someone who didn't quite understand what is meant when I say 'show's over' decided to fire off another question, undoubtedly before his brain could check to see if that was a bad idea. "Shadowman, what do you say to accusations that Freebots think themselves above the law and should all be deactivated, starting with the Megaman Teams?"

Now, I have no idea who threw the rock, and I have no idea where they GOT the rock, and I have no idea WHY they threw the rock, but I am very aware of the fact that a rock, somehow airborne, smacked me in the head at that point. I noticed it much the same way you might notice rain when you're wearing a hat. The crowd went totally silent as the rock fell, hit my shoulder with a sad ping, and fell to the ground. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for me to do something about this.

I sighed. "Go home, people, seriously," I grumbled.

They slunk away as an slightly upset looking police officer picked his way through the debris in the hotel lobby and double cuffed our four-armed perp with a set of Magna-cuffs, which were specially treated to shut down limb function in robots with focused EMP signals and magnetics. I'm not really all that sure how they work, but they make me sick being around them. The cop got four of his friends to haul Milostraga first to his feet, and then into a large, waiting van. He then turned a red, high-blood-pressure-from-stress kind of face to us.

"This should have been handled by my men. By me."

Shadowman shrugged. "HQ asked us to step in. He'd have blown your little crowd of boys in blue away without us."

The cop sneered right in Shadowman's face, which was something to witness really. Seriously, nobody but retarded people with bad attitudes get in Shadowman's face like that and expect to keep their face for long. "I could have gotten the job done, and with no collateral damage."

Geminiman politely coughed into his hand to mask a bad word, but Shadowman stared the man down without a problem. "You were under-equipped and outclassed. We got the bad guy, so it doesn't matter. The job is done, let's all go home, get on with our lives."

I saw some of the cops nod. Sage advice to men who'd been on the job for eight long hours like they had been. The officer who had a chip on his shoulder, however, spat on the ground. "Filthy Freebots. Go back to the hole you crawled out of and stay there."

A few minutes later, after some paperwork I had to sign for property damage and general police desk-jockey stuff, we were heading home. Mostly in silence, really. It had been a good day's work, but office DoesntShutUp cast a decent pall on our night.