Better Judgment:
The Dr. Wily Story

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

Chapter 4

199X

I don't think I could ever fully trust Alfred Gibbs. For starters, he was not a teacher I had asked for, but then again neither was the ever

forgettable Mrs. Fisher. Secondly, his class was... strange.

Don't get me wrong, it was a wonderful concept. Every Friday and Saturday morning, we were treated to a 30 minute presentation by a new presenter every day outlining their 'Idea' for the future. Some of these speakers were nobodies whose pitch was centered around gaining funding or at least trying to get more people on board with the idea, while other speakers were quite famous, had a fully fleshed out idea or a good way of moving forward, and were doing their best to convince us, as students, to help them find flaws in their logic or to study the long term effects of such ideas.

Unrelated to much of the rest of my studies, I found each of these presentations quite fascinating. Another joy of the class was an hour of Q&A back and forth between the class and the presenter, where we would ask questions and get clarified answers, or offer our own advice or opinions about the ideas discussed. There was one man who had done a fantastic study of the common crow, and found they could be taught, quite easily in fact, to collect garbage from streets and deposit it in certain drop locations to be awarded with treats. Another had made an incredible holographic display projector that transformed any boring old desktop into an interactive light show that would hover around you. I imagined that if I owned such a thing I would feel like a conductor instead of a scientist, but the whimsy of the idea appealed to me.

During a lot of these presentations, I found myself writing more and more in my personal notebooks and less in a course-study one. Many of the ideas presented set off my creative spark, and got me to think of alternate ways of accomplishing whatever the objective of the presentation was with a method more in line with my field of study. I kept circling back to ideas that would allow me to collaborate closely with Tom and his robotics work.

For example, during the conversation about the crows, I found myself designing a small series of robots that would follow a simple Jump-Search-Acquire-Deposit pattern. They would be mounted on a powerful spring and sticky feet to attach to almost any surface as they searched for garbage and waste that was the same size as or smaller than a soda can, leap onto their objective and scoop it up, and then leap back toward a designated holding unit. As the idea took shape, the holding unit became an almost literal dumpster that was also robotic, could move around and empty itself as well as broadcast specific signals to its attached worker units (which I had dubbed Fleas). By allowing the smaller units a way to collaborate, larger messes could be cleaned up quite quickly, I imagined.

I made a mental note to share the idea with Tom, and did not bring it up during the discussion and Q&A that followed the presentation. Some ideas were, after all, just too good to tell other people about.

I wasn't sure what I thought about the future at this point. During my time in this class, I had seen several ideas that would help the planet, aid mankind, and revolutionize life as we knew it, but there were no... truly BIG ideas. There was never anything that would radically alter life on Earth for the better. No jet packs. No flying cars. There was nothing truly fantastic about the ideas we would be presented with. And with the new millennium closing in on us, it seemed a damn shame.

I saw fit to mention this to Tom one day, and he agreed.

“There will never truly be anything to match to original Industrial Revolution,” Tom said, “but I do not believe that means we shouldn't try.” We were sitting on the grass now, out of class for almost an hour, and surrounded by our friends.

“I'm open to ideas,” I said, leafing through my notebook.

Isaac smiled. “I don't know about you robotics types, but I've got a pretty good gig lined up already. You know that Colonel that was on Campus the other day?”

“I heard about that,” I nodded. “What was he here for?”

Isaac shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me. I guess no one was supposed to know he was around, or something. Still, I managed to corner him and I told him about this idea of mine-”

“Argh.”

“Um... Mikhail? You okay?” Noele asked.

“Oh, yes, I am fine,” Mikhail assured her. “However, I may not remain that way if I hear about this ridiculous Bio Upgrade process in any further detail.”

“Bio Upgrade?” Tom asked incredulously, looking at Isaac, who grinned.

“Oh yeah. The name is still a work in progress, but I can probably create some pretty cool results in a laboratory setting if I could get the funding for one.”

“You'd go for military funding?” I asked. That seemed unlike him.

He shrugged, as if reading my thoughts. “I know I'd have to start with some things that I may not be too happy about, but the end result is curing disease and helping people. If I have to study military applications for my process, I can at least try not to make it... well, TOO dangerous, right?”

“Dreaming a little big, aren't we Eggman?” Noele chuckled. She knew he hated that nickname.

His mustache ruffled in indignation. “So I browbeat a Colonel into giving me money so I'd shut up. Who here wouldn't have done the same?”

Mikhail moved his head in a 'sure why not' way. “Back in Russia, I may not get much of a choice. The government is quite aware that I am here, and when I return I will probably be press ganged into their employ for a while. At least I shall be able to care for my mother as she gets older.”

“Eh, who knows, Mikhail,” Tom smiled. “You may yet find a nice girl and settle down.”

“Unlikely.”

“Speaking of girls-”

“Shut up, Isaac,” I cautioned.

“What?” he protested innocently.

“I know what you were about to say,” I told him. “And don't. Ever.”

“What's up now?” Tom asked.

“Don't ask, Tom.”

“Okay, now I HAVE to ask...” Tom grinned.

“Dammit Tom!”

“He asked,” Isaac told me. “Now I get to say it, right?”

“I'm not withdrawing my objection.”

“That wasn't a no,” Mikhail smirked.

“Much to my eternal dismay,” I sighed.

“What the hell is going on?” Noele asked. “Why are you all being stupid?”

Isaac cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. “So, ANYWAY, speaking of girls, Tom, I gotta ask, you and Noele, anything going on?”

“Dammit Isaac,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

“I mean, y'know, in the bedroom?”

“DAMMIT Isaac!”

“Just if you don't mind saying, obviously.”

“GOD DAMMIT Isaac!” I said, throwing my arms up in the air and flopping onto my back in the grass. My theatrics had reduced Mikhail to gasping laughter and tears, and Tom was faring little better. Noele looked both mildly appalled and a little amused, which I suppose was better than her merely screaming at us all for Isaac's stupidity.

“What inspired this?” Noele asked.

Isaac launched into a skewed explanation of what I had come to think of as the 'sock incident.' When he arrived at the speculation about what exactly had been happening in there, Tom went slightly red faced and Noele's face froze into an amused smirk.

“You're not serious.” She eventually said.

“He's not,” I cut in quickly.

“I'm a little serious,” Isaac grinned.

“Guys,” Tom said, laughing, “don't you think that if there WAS something like that going on, we'd tell you?”

“Honestly?” Mikhail said, raising an eyebrow, “No. Why would we care?”

“Because Eggman's a twelve year old girl when it comes to gossip,” Noele commented wryly.

“Stop calling me that,” Isaac grunted.

“Stop looking like an egg, then.”

“I have a condition! I go to the gym! Look how shapely my legs are!”

“Yes, quite nice. And the rest of you looks like an egg.”

Isaac fumed for a little bit as the conversation continued. While I would remember this day for different reasons later, I can't say I would have missed talks like this for anything. These were three very close friends, and Isaac, admittedly, and I never felt that the time we spent around each other was wasted.

Eventually, however, it had to come to an end. I stood up and stretched my arms. “I need to go find some dinner, and then I have to hit the library. Anyone wanna come with?”

Mikhail and Tom both stood up as well. “We're both going to a late lecture with our Robotics Engineering professor, Mr. Farnsworth,” Tom explained. “”Are you coming, Noele?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, I have other plans.”

“Shame,” Mikhail sighed. “That means Tom is going to talk at me the whole time.”

“Probably!” Tom smiled, and the two of them went off.

Isaac's mustache twitched. “Soooo... Noele. These plans of yours...”

“I would rather swim in hydrochloric acid.”

“Fair enough. I think I'm just going to head home and take a nap.”

“Sounds safer for you, at least,” I nodded, starting to walk toward the nearest Subway. “Have a good night all.”

20XX

“Good morning, Shadow Man. What do you have for me?”

The ninja-themed Robot Master's picture flickered in the window before me as I sat in my lab, putting a few disparate pieces of Punk back together. He was calling from half-way around the world, and even MY technology has its limits.

“Sir, we've found it.”

“Excellent! I trust you're making preparations to move it back here? I don't have enough resources to build another fortress right now.” Damn Roboenza.

Shadow Man hesitated, which was never a good sign. “Sir, the conditions here... it's quite damaging. We've lost most of the Metools you sent with us to frost damage, and long distance surveillance is pretty much impossible. We're sitting ducks out here for any satellites that may want a picture as well. This is not a good position for an excavation at all, let alone a fortress.”

I sighed. Of course. I had sent a small army to the arctic circle searching for my prize, and even though I had done everything I could think of to insulate the more vulnerable parts of the force, it hadn't worked out. Nothing ever seemed to work out for me, these days.

“Are Frost Man and Cold Man still there?”

“Of course. They're having a pretty easy time, unlike the rest of us.” His face twitched to emphasize his point.

“Dammit, Tom,” I said to myself, “why'd you have to be the one who designed Ice Man? I could really use him right now instead of these pathetic knock-offs...” Out loud, I told Shadow Man, “Okay, pack it in for right now. Get back to base and we'll work on a better solution.”

“Yes sir,” Shadow Man responded, signing off the transmission.

One thing a lot of people get wrong is the idea that I keep EVERY Robot Master Mega Man has ever fought kicking around my fortresses. While I admit that I'm not above stealing good ideas every once in a while (the first, fourth, sixth and ninth times) I don't have the Master Templates for anything other than my own DRWN series, and unless they survived their encounter with Mega Man (which NEVER happens), I can't just build a new one. The closest I can get is my Flash Clone device, but the damn thing has a bug that stops it from recreating the same robot twice. At most, I can send a Robot Master I didn't personally design up against that little blue dork twice, and I usually have by now just to stall for time.

So, I am stuck with my own designs: the DRWN series I through VIIs. Even MY prolific genius was taxed by series VII, and it was obvious. I mean... Sheep Man? What the hell is wrong with me? Anyway, the saying that the originals are always best runs pretty true here, because Tom's first six Robot Masters had almost a decade of work and original design behind them, while everything I had to work with was derivative. The DRWN series Is, which I had used to stage my second 'Robot Rebellion', were almost entirely made out of ideas from the first six and Tom's later two, and the notes I had stolen for them.

I had begun to rectify that with a device I had built into my last fortress: the Weapons Archive, which held all of my collected data on each Robot Master I had ever used, but since Mega Man had been through there, it was down in the Wreck Room with the giant shark ship that I had never bothered to really name. Hard Man and Stone Man were probably going to get into a fight over who could break 400 hours of my work down into tiny pieces faster. Joy.

Without that collection of data, rebuilding was going slower than usual. Tom still had all of my original notebooks and a lot of the files from before I started all of this, and I was having to re-research or try to remember certain formulas and design tricks while Tom had them all at his fingertips. I was basically having to re-invent the damn wheel every time I made a new series, and Tom was simply adding spinning rims and a flame job onto his Lamborghini.

Speaking of that Lamborghini... I sighed and turned up the volume on a window that was displaying local news, to hear the reporter gushing about Mega Man. That stupid robot's face was plastered behind her and she was going on and on about how heroic he was.

How much in that moment I wanted to call the station and threaten them all. How much I wanted to tell the world that this last 'attempt' to take over the world had been a giant misunderstanding that had gone WAY out of control. When I truly try to rule the world, the damn world will KNOW about it, not get some sickness and blame it on me. I had become modern society's bogeyman, the devil they all knew, but not enough to understand what was really my fault and what was really just humans being stupid.

I shut the window down and went back to work, fuming as I did so. Not helping my mood was knowing that later, I would be having a talk with someone I did not like at all. He was going to be in a mood, because he always WAS, and I was probably just going to shoot him this time. I was in no mood to be yelled at...