Better Judgment:
The Dr. Wily Story

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

Chapter 14

199X

I hadn't felt this terrible in my entire life.

It was a month after my encounter with Julius Kintobor. Mr. X. Whatever he was calling himself. My life had taken a drastic turn. Thomas and I stood along with several other people in a line, black suits and ties on, and sorrow in our hearts for the deceased. They were lowering the casket into the ground now, and the rain was starting to transition from a fine mist to a downpour. Despite the threat of the oncoming storm, I knew Tom and I would be here long after anyone else had gone.

It had been a fitting service. Full of hopeful dialogue, looking forward to a bright future, and dozens of faces I would never see again heavy with the loss of Walter K Weisel. His second heart attack had been a violent one, and he had passed on his way to the hospital.

And I couldn't help but feel that I was responsible.

As dangerous as I had believed Alfred Gibbs to be, it was nothing compared to the sheer vileness that was Julius Kintobor. I had known him, in that moment in the penthouse when his facade had melted away, and I knew he was a man with means, money, and no morals to hold him back from doing whatever the hell he pleased. If he wanted to ruin me for refusing to help him transcend his human body, removing Walter from the world was a profound step in that process. Tom and I had built up most of our fledgling reputation on his word, and without him...

I couldn't face Tom. I was lucky, in a way, that he'd been so much closer to Walter than I had been, because his grief prevented him from discerning what was truly making me feel guilty. I had crushed our shared dream in a single stroke, and while I knew Tom would not simply give up after an appropriate period of grieving, I knew that this was only the first in a salvo of increasingly prohibitive obstacles that Julius would place in our paths.

Speak of the devil, a somberly dressed Isaac approached, motioning that he wanted to talk to me personally.

I walked over, leaving Tom to watch them bury the casket. “What?”

“Wow, short temper much?” Isaac asked.

“Look, what do you want?”

“I just wanted to offer my condolences,” he countered, sounding hurt.

“Your condolences? Or your father's?”

He looked confused. “What?”

“I met the man. Julius Kintobor.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, what is that overbearing gas bag doing this time?”

“What?”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Look, Albert, I telling you, I have nothing to do with my dad. He has his own life, such as it is, and I have mine, and I want to keep it that way. Why did you even meet him? What's going on?”

His reactions and body language were screaming concern for me. Something about the mention of his father set him on edge, much the same way Gibbs set me on edge. I let myself relax a little.

“Isaac, look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed anything but... your father is a piece of work.”

“There's a reason I don't talk to the man,” Isaac said. “He keeps trying to get me to work on some weird project of his, and I don't care how much money he tries to throw at me. Hell, part of the reason I took that military contract was to drive him crazy. Now I have the funding I want and the protection of the U.S. Armed Forces.”

“You trying to sell me on this crap again?”

“Look, I'm not an idiot. I knew that this was going to ruin what you guys were working on, and I like you guys. I like your ideas and I think they're pretty cool, and if you have to take a bitter pill to get your work done, for god's sake man up and do it.”

I stared at him for a while. “I cannot for the life of me figure out if you're trying a tough love approach or genuine generosity.”

“I had a plan up until you mentioned meeting my father.”

“Fair enough.”

“I still don't understand, how did you two meet?”

“It's a long story-”

“Tell it anyway.”

“Not here.”

“Okay, fine, pick a damn sandwich place and tell me the goddamn story.”

I made a thin excuse to Tom and Isaac and I found a quiet, out of the way place to talk. I caught him up on the dealings with Alfred Gibbs that I had and told him about the meeting with his father. Isaac's reactions ranged from amused to infuriated. More the latter than anything else.

“Why didn't you SAY anything?” Isaac demanded. “God damn Albert, for a guy who's pretty smart, you can be such a dumb ass!”

I started to make an excuse, and he waved me off. “Just... I understand, I think. I mean, this was a weird situation from the start, and it only got worse, so... I forgive you for being a moron.”

“Thanks... I think,” I said.

“But with all of this out in the open now, I think it's more important than ever that you at least talk to Colonel Hathaway.”

“What, for protection?”

“Bah,” Isaac waved a hand. “My father prefers less direct methods than outright murder. I'm not saying he didn't have a hand in Mr. Weisel's death, god knows, but he won't gun for you personally. No, what you need right now is funding. You AND Tom. A secure, untouchable... to him at least... source of money, and the ONLY way I can guarantee you getting that is with a military contract.”

I sighed. “I get what you're saying, but... god. I know Tom won't go for it. He just won't.”

“You'll have to convince him,” Isaac shrugged. “It really is the only way.”

He wasn't kidding, either. During the last month, Tom and I had been mysteriously turned down for a small loan to help pay for the cost of the garage, and I had actually gotten a letter recently about being pre-declined for a credit card. How the hell does that even happen? I knew Julius Kintobor was behind it, in my gut, but it was only today that I fully understood exactly how much trouble I had managed to land myself in. Both me and Tom.

Dammit all. I would happily burn in hell before I let Thomas Light down.

“I hate it when you're right,” I said finally.

“You must hate it a lot then,” he said with a grin.

“Not sure your sense of humor is entirely appropriate right now, Isaac.”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “Look, I know this won't be fun for you, but... I mean, hell, what's the worst that could happen?”

“In twenty years, robotic armies of indestructible, indescribable power could walk the Earth and kill humanity with impunity,” I answered without hesitation.

He stared at me for a while. “Um... okay, what's the second worst thing that could happen?”

“A lone man who knew enough about programming and robotics could use the world's robots as his personal army to conquer the planet,” I replied without missing a beat.

“Well that doesn't sound so bad...” Isaac said thoughtfully, I glared daggers at him and he raised his hands defensively. “Okay, okay, I get it... You don't want to design the weapons of tomorrow.”

“Screw tomorrow, I don't want to design the weapons of any day...”

“Think about it, though, Albert. If you and Tom are designing them, you can make sure they can't actually DO much. I mean, make them combat capable, but make them costly, hard to maintain, or something else prohibitive. I mean, you're a genius, certainly you can think of a way to please the brass and still produce a substandard weapon. Right?”

I gave this a modicum of thought. More and more of my recent physics courses had been in the fields of plasma technology, and while the technology was still pretty young, I could think of eight different ways to turn it into a weapon, and four of them would be expensive as hell. Maybe...

“I know that look,” Isaac smiled. “you're up to something. You want me to set up a meeting with Colonel Hathaway?”

I smiled. “Yeah. I think it might be time to do that...”

It was a day later when I spoke to Tom about the idea. We were sitting in our dorm room, and the conversation was... not going well. Mostly because I was leaving out my dealings with Julius and thus some 70% of my reasons for pushing him in this direction.

“You can't be serious, Albert,” he said.

“Tom,” I sighed, “this is the best way to proceed. I miss Walter too, but all of the goodwill he built up for us with the bigger names out there evaporated at his funeral. I can't even get people to pick up the phone anymore.”

“But weapons?” Tom asked. “Albert, this isn't even close to what-”

“Don't you think I know that?” I shouted him down. “But this is reality, Tom! We have to keep moving forward through any avenue available to us, and right now this is the best one left.”

He sat and stewed for a while. A byproduct of Tom's friendly personality was a passive aggressive streak that was truly irritating. He would shut down during an argument and refuse to offer his opinion or viewpoint, preferring instead to think about things and offer compromises. It prevented huge fights, but it was nonetheless quite annoying.

“Look,” I sighed, “I figured out a few ways to make this more palatable. Yes, I know this isn't the ideal way to proceed, but with a military blessing we can advance our timetable by YEARS. The humanoid robots? We can prototype them with military funding, prove the idea works. Once the contract is up, we can leverage the bulk of the design's appeal into private funding.”

He proceeded to not say anything.

“God, Tom, you're like a brick wall. Can you please just say what you're thinking?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Albert... I know why you're doing this. I know this makes the most sense, really. It's a solid plan and it really WILL be the fastest way but... I mean, god... We haven't even graduated yet.”

“I know,” I sighed. “The world moves too fast.”

“It does.” He sat for a while, mulling things over. “I'm going to assume, because I know you, that you've already agreed to meet this Colonel Hawthorn?”

“Hathaway,” I corrected him, “but yeah.”

He shook his head. “I don't really approve, but... I should be there to keep you out of trouble, I suppose.”

I cracked a smile. “Let me show you my idea.” I pulled out my most recent notebook and put it in front of him. He flipped through a few pages, taking an interest in a few of the more technical details.

“The Sniper Joe series?”

I shrugged. “It's a first pass at a name, really.”

“They have one weapon?”

“Plasma based. Terrible at long ranges and hilariously expensive to maintain.”

“And yet... Sniper?”

“So? I have a sense of humor.”

“Albert?”

“Yes, Tom?”

“You are a brilliant, evil bastard, you know that?”

I smiled. “Yeah, Tom. I'm starting to get that feeling.”

20XX

Albert Wily, you brilliant bastard, you have actually outdone yourself.

Ten minutes ago, the first 24-hour news organization had picked up my message. Five minutes ago, my E-Mail to Tom had been sent, as per my instructions. Two minutes ago, the Mega Man Killers and I, in the MK 6.1 Combat Pod, had arrived unannounced on the grounds of Mr. X's base in the Alps.

In ten seconds, Punk and Hyper Storm H would be tearing through the hangar bulkhead and into the base proper, and the Mega Man Killers would be able to go to work on Mr. X's private collection of aerial escape vehicles.

I love it when a plan comes together.

The MK 6.1 Combat Pod was functionally the same as my earlier ride, but included a small broadcasting dish and CIC package, similar to the one in my Lab to help me manage the global conflict as well as the more immediate one. All of my teams were proceeding on schedule, and despite a few minor annoyances, they were meeting little actual resistance.

The financial buildings and mainframes were history, now. It had been that fast. Eight locations around the world had suffered a blitzkrieg assault from teams of super-powered Robot Masters, and demolitions was something they were all good at. Buildings had been smashed, mainframes mangled beyond use or repair, and more than a few country clubs of the more financially discriminating variety had been 'accidentally' caught in the crossfire. Now my Robot Masters were moving onto their secondary targets, dealing more directly with the BoR and its allies.

I almost wanted to be in Africa right now, seeing the look on those morons faces as the DRWN series VI Robot Masters, who twenty minutes ago had been their allies and attack dogs, were now marauding through their complex and destroying their power base in the region. The strange thing about this was that it meant the slaughter and genocide they'd been perpetuating in the area was going to come to an abrupt halt, saving thousands of lives. Not that I'd take credit for that.

But hey, Africa, you're welcome.

In Indonesia, more specifically the capital of Jakarta, the DRWN V series was laying siege to the home of the President, who had stacked his legislative houses with cronies to better facilitate laws and policy changes to help move BoR resources through the archipelago. He owed his position to the work of the BoR, and I was punishing him for that. Throwing a whole country into an uproar where there had previously been peace sort of balanced out the whole 'stopping genocide' thing, I think.

The series I Robot Masters were in Latin America, taking on a BoR sponsored drug cartel and their hired mercenaries. This particular cartel had been a major focus for American intelligence agencies, and its removal would free up such agencies to hunt down or investigate some actual threats. The series II Robot Masters were in Argentina with a similar goal in mind.

The middle east region was being met with the series IIIs and IVs, each tasked with a separate terrorist organization and their various holdings. The Book had been manipulating their religious fervor into sowing enough discord in the region that nobody had much cared about the unrest in other parts of the world. Religious conflict was always somehow more interesting to humanity than humanitarian conflict. Napalm Man would be annihilating poppy fields right now, if he was on schedule, and Turbo Man would be running down towel-headed ingrates with glee.

Cossack's stolen designs were being used in Russia, hilariously enough, to find and destroy a turncoat General who was facilitating the sales of arms and ordnance out of Russia's military depots and into the BoR supply chain. This General had been in the BoR's employ for years, and I had met him a few times. His love of chess was one of the few things we shared, and I'd be a little sad to see him go. But right now my focus was hurting the BoR and crippling the organization enough so that it wouldn't recover.

The bitter work continued in Canada, where the series VII Robot Masters were hunting down an old friend of mine, with orders to bring her to Mr. X's compound once they had dealt with whatever defenses she might have in place. It was painful to involve Dr. Lalinde in this, but she had made that decision for me a long time ago, and it as time she learned a few things.

I straightened my tie at the thought of seeing her again. This wasn't going to be the nicest reunion.

Punk and Hyper Storm H tore through the hangar bay door and into the vast expanse of garage beyond. The Mega Man Killers went to work, wrecking every vehicle in sight, and I followed along in the Combat Pod, still cloaked and waiting for a real problem to present itself before announcing my presence. The plan was in motion, and now all that was left was the execution. And then the rest of the plan.

Here's hoping this works.