Better Judgment:
The Dr. Wily Story

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

Chapter 5

199X

I was sitting in the library when he approached. The conversation that would change my world.

“Hello, Albert.”

I was startled. “Mr. Gibbs?” He sat down next to me and I found myself quite confused. “Um... can I help you?”

He smiled. Alfred Gibbs had a dignified air about him. He had a streaked gray beard and a high forehead that made him look smart and friendly, but his eyes were the kind that let you know, deep in that wary part of your brain that never shuts off, that he was up to something. Whether or not that something was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

“Albert, my boy, I believe I can help YOU.” He said, his voice that sort of soothing baritone that made you trust someone. I didn't, but give credit for the attempt, I suppose.

“I'm doing quite well already, sir,” I told him. “Top of all of my classes. I doubt I need help.”

“I didn't say you'd need help with your studies,” he smirked. “But I've been made aware of a few things you've been planning with some of your fellow students, and I know that you might have some trouble finding the money to get your ideas off the ground.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked him in the eye. Fury etched my features, but the smirk never left his face. “You're well informed.”

“I keep my ear to the ground.”

“So you're the reason a Colonel has to give the Eggman money?”

This threw him for a moment, which was the point. “I'm sorry, did I just walk into a Beatles album?”

It was my turn to smirk. “I'm going to make a logical assumption that the reason a U.S. Marine Corps Colonel made an unannounced visit to the MEU campus was to speak with an operative the American military had tasked to keep an eye out for especially bright and promising young minds for possible future investments. I will also further posit that YOU are the operative in question.”

“That is quite the fantastic little spy novel you have imagined for yourself.”

“Oh yes, I'm certain I could get quite the book deal. I'd ask for it to be placed in the non-fiction section.”

He chuckled. “Be that as it may. What do you think of my offer?”

“I am reticent to accept such dubious generosity,” I said snidely.

“Boy, Cambridge really gave your vocabulary a workout, didn't it?” he sighed, standing up. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.” With that, he began to walk away.

I waited for a moment before speaking, a little louder than was probably appropriate for a library, even one that was empty on a Friday night. “I know what your next move is. You'll be talking to Tom.”

“What makes you think I haven't already?”

“I would know,” I said offhandedly, “Trust me. I also know that if you try talking to him, you'll find this to be a less pleasant conversation next time around.”

“Are you threatening me, Albert?”

“I will not go so far as to fall into the cliché of telling you that it's a promise, not a threat, but all the same, I'm sure you understand my meaning.”

He chuckled again, in a maddening way. “Put your thoughts to rest. Thomas is not singled out for recruitment. Not yet anyway. We'll talk again soon.”

He left, and the tension in my shoulders and neck followed him after an hour. I couldn't focus on my studying, not now. I'd just been thrown into the shallow end of a pool I couldn't even begin to fathom the bottom of, with no clear objective and no end in sight.

Alfred Gibbs. A dangerous man. I would have to put some work into discovering his secrets before our next one on one encounter. I had studied enough Psychology at Cambridge to recognize a man who would kill if he felt it necessary when I saw one, and unless my guess was incredibly off the mark, Gibbs already had blood on his hands. I would need leverage of some sort to ensure I was not the next stain he cleaned off his fingers.

I packed up my notebooks and put the reference material back on the shelves I had found it on, noting with dull surprise the way my hands were shaking. Fear was not unknown to me, but it had been quite some time since I had found myself in the grip of it.

I took a few deep breaths to relax myself as I left the library. Now was not the time for fear. Now was the time to work, and to prepare myself for what was to come, even if I had no idea what it might be...

20XX

There are days when I have no idea what I'm doing. This was rapidly turning into one of those days.

I had been awake now for six hours, off two hours of sleep and very little actual food. My antibiotics were not agreeing with my stomach, and while my flu symptoms were vanishing and I felt pretty good about that, I still felt winded and tired. Part of that was recovering from the damn flu, but I knew that most of it was because, let's face it, I was getting old.

It was almost 40 years ago that Tom and I had designed the first six Robot Masters. I was in my late 60s now. Incredible. There were a lot of days when I was almost certain I wouldn't have lived this long.

And hell, there were entire WEEKS I was sure Mr. X wasn't going to live this long.

Yes, I know you're a tad surprised. Mr. X was an actual person. In fact, the truth of his existence was... well, much more complicated than a lot of people knew. He was known the world over as Mr. X, on the given ground that he was a philanthropist from Europe that, while quite popular, didn't want to have the spotlight shone on him for his good deeds.

The truth of the matter ran a lot darker, as I am certain many intelligence agencies might be aware. Mr. X is the title given to the current front man of an organization known as the Book of Revelations, a group of authentic wackos who viewed themselves as the invisible hands of fate, guiding whole nations in the path of some grand design. What they actually were, and what any organization like this ever is, were criminals. High society criminals, to be sure, but every bit as convict-able as yours truly in a court of law.

My dealings with the Book and its front man were... complicated. We had some very sordid history together, and I had once tried to settle a debt to them by posing as Mr. X during one of my schemes to make the REAL Mr. X look positively angelic. Hell, I had done actual jail time for that one. Granted, the sentence had been for life and the series IVs had busted me out in a manner of months, but still. That had NOT been pleasant.

As repayment for various services I would render them, they funded my research and development costs, occasionally made requests of my vast tactical resources and acumen, and for the most part kept to itself and its various plots. Currently, they were using my most recent, highly publicized screw up as media cover for a rather nasty culling of revolutionaries from a batch of African countries they were trying to keep control of. I knew this because the bulk of the DRWN series VI Robot Masters were down there, keeping a low profile and making sure no aid would get through.

This would have been the situation that warranted a visit from Mr. X. I knew his real name, but I'll not divulge it here as it would be a rather shocking and frightening revelation to the average person, so I'll just refer to him in the text as Mr. X and be done with it. My lab alerted me as he crossed every security checkpoint, and I could have set my watch to the very second when his body darkened my lab's door.

“Al,” he said with a smile. “It's so good to see you again.”

I doubted that, but out loud, “Albert, please. As I've said some four thousand times by now.”

“Oh, I know. We can quibble about names later, Al, but first we should probably talk business.”

I sighed. I waved a hand to bring up a menu and tapped a few things, barely distracted from my work. “Everything going well in your corner of Africa?”

“Oh, swimmingly,” Mr. X smirked. “Every time the UN sends down a relief effort, they think the convoys and ships are attacked by pirates. Pirates! Can you believe that? In this day and age?”

“People are willing to believe anything,” I said offhandedly. “Especially if they are being led by a robot named Pirate Man.” Pirate Man had indeed been tasked to keep UN ships well away from the African coast line where they could make an impact. I also was well aware that Burner Man was doing the bulk of patrolling on the land routes with Ground Man and Dynamo Man. Magic Man was my contact point for the region, and while he wasn't always as punctual as Shadow Man on his operations, he was competent enough that I didn't worry. Much.

“Yes, quite the colorful family you've built,” Mr. X chuckled. “In fact, I dare say the only one more colorful than yours is Dr. Light's.”

“Do you have a point, or is this merely a social call?” I asked, my tone annoyed.

The smirk vanished from his face and he held up a folder from within that overly dramatic cloak he always wore. “The Book is giving you some new marching orders.”

“Oh really.”

“Yes, really.” His voice was sharp and unhappy. It was like he was trying to scold a child. “This most recent debacle of yours has complicated things. You're drawing attention, and while that's why we keep you around, you need to keep said attention off of US.”

“The world is still coming down from the Roboenza scare. Cool your jets for a week and nobody will give a damn what happens next door anymore.”

“Humanitarian aid to war stricken regions is not the problem,” Mr. X said. “Your brief hospital visit left the barest hints of a money trail, and while we've had the records removed or altered, any CIA or MI 6 yokel could have picked up our scent on your disaster.”

I almost laughed in his face. If the governments of the world were curious as to where my funding came from, they could have just asked. I would have loved to see the Book of Revelations have to deal with black-hats and special ops for a while. It would have provided some entertainment while I found a new backer for my work.

“So I suppose you want me to keep a low profile, then? That won't be a problem.” Mr. X set the folder down on the table I'd been working at, scattering some of the smaller components of Ballade's arm in a few different directions. I frowned at him before noticing the Robot Master at the door. “Ah, Quick Man. Thank you.”

Quick Man stepped into the lab, and was beside Mr. X in an instant. The old man shied away from the Robot Master as he grinned and set a small bag on top of the folder. Quick Man winked at my barely suppressed grin and then he was gone, with the faintest rush of the wind.

“What the hell was that about?”

“Hm?” I asked as I picked up the bag, looking inside. What a good boy. “Oh, this is lunch,” I shrugged. “He's like my own in-house Jimmy Johns.” I unwrapped the minimalist sub inside the wrapper and bit down hard. I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

“This is the Book's problem with you,” Mr. X said accusingly. “You have all of these war machines, and you just have them keep your house clean! If you were SERIOUS about taking over the world, you could have done it by now, and you're just sitting here and wasting time and energy on little revenge schemes!”

I rolled my eyes as he ranted, enjoying my sandwich. JUST the right mix of salami and ham, with those little bell peppers and lettuce. GOD but this was the best part of my day so far, and I saw no reason to let him ruin it.

“I'm not going to conquer the world for you,” I said in between bites. “I'm not Charlemagne for hire.”

Now he smiled. “We're not asking you to take the American continent as some sort of prize. We have our own plans for that, but what we DO need from you is a little... extermination.”

I stared at him for a while, chewing thoughtfully. “You want me to arrange for someone to be dead. Seriously?”

He turned his back to me and raised a hand theatrically. I hated when he got like this. “Despite what many people believe, we know you quite well. You have never ordered your robots to kill anyone. Collateral damage is unavoidable, but all told, the body counts of your various attacks have been much, much lower than they would have been if you had let your robots break the first rule willingly.”

“Murder leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” I said, playing it off as a joke. I was not liking where this was going.

“The most startling example of this, really,” he continued, “is the fact that Dr. Thomas Light is STILL ALIVE. With the resources the Book has placed at your disposal, killing him should be child's play, and removing his champion as a threat should have been even easier.”

“Try something for me,” I said snidely, “YOU build eight robots and send them after Mega Man. YOU see how they freaking do. As much as I hate to admit it, he is practically unbeatable.”

“Which is why we're going to help you finish this petty squabble once and for all, and get your energies focused on the more important issues facing the world.”

“Wait... what?”

“The Book of Revelations is hereby ordering you to commence with Operation Dousing Light. The details of the operation as well as some recommended courses of action are in the folder.” He turned back and smiled. “It's time to graduate from petty revenge to the big leagues, Dr. Wily.”

He left, leaving me alone with a folder and half of my sandwich.