Maniacs On Patrol

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

An Interlude: The Countermeasures (or Why Cops Suck)

All eight Mechanical Maniacs were gathered, but for the first time in recent memory it wasn't at home or at my bar. We were standing in the firing range at Monsteropolis Police Department Headquarters, waiting.

Well, not all of us were waiting. The rest of the firing range was empty, and Needlegal, Geminiman and Snakeman were taking turns shooting targets at increasing distances to see which one was more accurate. That was always the same old story, though. Snakeman was as accurate as any laser, but Geminiman packed a greater punch to his weapon. Needlegal, on the other hand, simply dealt damage on a massive scale with incredible speed, and her aim had been improving over the last few months, which was a scary concept when you gave it some thought. Hundreds of rounds a minute pounding like a storm into precisely the same location could crack just about anything. Me included.

Topman, while not participating in the marksmanship competition, was going through some basic pistol exercises: taking the gun apart, cleaning it, oiling it, and putting back together. I gotta give it to the kid, he's fast. From disassembly to reassembly, it took him fifteen seconds. He's got really, really fast hands.

Magnetman was sitting quietly, relaxed and meditating, as was Shadowman, although the latter did his standing up and leaning against a wall. Spark Chan found herself with very little to do but sit and fidget, which was odd to see, really. She was always doing something, it seemed, to keep herself busy. This left me.

I was thinking.

In the previous story (which ended with a shocking cliffhanger! Suspense!), Magnetman had been attacked by a mob that hid some rather nasty surprises. Namely weapons designed specifically to disable a few of us Maniacs. I'd been assaulted by an electro magnet, and Mags had gotten hit by a lightning gun. Another guy had a laser rifle that had been intended for Needlegal. After we brought the assailants in, we were told to wait here.

So here we were.

And it wasn't long before someone came down. Now, a lot has been said about certain people, and many of them have been true. Our messenger was a guy we'd dealt with before. One we hadn't been happy about dealing with.

"Listen up, Metalheads," he barked. Yeah, this guy. His name is Captain Landigarm, but pretty much everyone, even the mass media, calls him Garm. We met him when a guy tried to knock over the UCB (see issue... I mean, story one, kiddies!) "The chief wants to see all of you."

"Imagine my amazement," Shadowman spat. "What does he want this time?"

Garm grinned. "He wants to show you something. A side project."

"Fun," I rumbled as we all filed out of the firing range.

There are, currently, three divisions of the MPD: the Monsteropolis Police Force, the Robotic Police Department (us), and then the Monsteropolis Special Forces Unit, which is filled with guys that could probably kill someone with a napkin. Seriously, nobody ever saw them operate twice unless they were part of the unit. I only hear rumors about these guys, that's how good they are. Each branch had their own commander (I think Shadowman answers to someone, but I've never met the guy) and each commander answers to the overall executive arm of the MPD, which handles paperwork, warrants, and is also the DA's office.

And the man who commands it all is the Chief. I'd met the guy once, when we were deputized, but I didn't remember much. He smelled like cigars and brandy, which made him your average cop, but he sat behind a really nice desk.

It was a long, silent walk to the Chief's office. I got another look at the desk as we filed in. It was REALLY nice.

But the man behind the desk was... well, to say he was a different person would be inaccurate, but neither was he the same. He was sharp, aware, and seemed ill at ease with us. And he got right down to business.

"When you were made official members of the RPD," he snapped, seemingly to waste as little time as possible speaking with us, "certain things had to be taken into account. Your strengths and your weaknesses.

As robots, there is always a danger that you will go rogue, blow a circuit, or just plain decide you don't like us anymore. Now, several lawmakers are pushing for provisions that'll prevent that from being an issue," he said with a pointed smile, "but until such time, we had to take matters into our own hands."

"Does this have anything to do with those men that used the mob as cover to attack us?" Shadowman demanded.

"Indeed it does," the chief nodded somberly. "Without your knowledge, or anyone's knowledge, really, I put some men on the case of creating countermeasures. Specific equipment and proccedures that could be used to take down each and every one of you quickly and quietly should something go drastically wrong. In fact, we have a variety of weapons that mimic your own special abilities for that purpose, to utilize your own inherent weaknesses that you all apparently have for no reason."

I have to admit I expected that. I mean, hell, I know I'VE got a contingency plan for taking down every other Maniac should any of them ever stand against us. I don't want to use them, but if Boss tells me to take someone down, I have to be prepared to do it. Even Magnetman.

Somedays, I think, especially Magnetman. That kid creeps me out.

"I believe I see where this is leading," Topman said with some thought in his voice. "You had these weapons to use against us and they... somehow fell into the wrong hands."

"An inside job?" Snakeman wondered aloud. The Chief shook his head.

"An internal investigation is already underway. This is tantamount to betrayal, and I will not stand for it on my force for any reason," he said with a seriousness that lended credibility to his sentiment. I smiled inwardly. This was a guy we could trust. "However, the investigation is being handled internally, and in all fairness, I cannot ask you to help apprehend the guilty party."

Shadowman gave him a nod. "I understand, sir."

The Chief gave him a similar nod. "I wish I could do more than just give you a heads-up, but I have no idea how long those items were in the possession of the assailants, and I have no idea if copies were, or even could be, made. As it is, Maniacs, I've done all I can. You'll have to be more careful when out on the job."

"Duly noted," Shadowman said as he turned to leave. We all followed him out and got home without a word exchanged between us. We all settled into our regular routines, but none of us were speaking, really. We were all lost in thought.

I know I was.

I was thinking about how this just figured. A lack of trust in us had driven larger and larger wedges between the robotic community and humanity at large. It made sense, in my head: Humanity always needed someone to compare themselves to, to feel better about their own lives because someone else had it worse. Since the human race had pretty much abolished (at least on the surface) racism, they BUILT a race they could be better off than.

At least, I bet that's how it was supposed to work. Robots were stronger, faster, and lived forever if they were allowed to. So, to counter that, several humans saw fit to create laws, provisions, and even instill required programs that could shut down a robot if he stepped out of line. None of this bull$#!% had passed into law yet, but everyone could see it coming. Hell, the Chief's plan was actually reassuring. It showed that humans could deal with things without feeling the need to stomp down on robots with (forgive the irony) an iron foot.

I passed out on the couch, my face turned toward a TV I hadn't really been watching, and my mind lost in speculation of just how hard BOTH of my jobs were going to be in the future.