Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Medkit bolted awake, sprang into a sitting position, looked around. His room was dark, completely dark except for the dim red numbers of his alarm clock. He stared at them; four-thirty-eight in the morning. Two minutes passed. Four-forty.

That was a good time, he decided, and got out of bed. He clicked a lamp on as he sauntered over to his closet, slid the door open to view its contents. Hung up neatly were a few costumes of interest—a red, a yellow, and a green—but the majority of the space was taken up by a dozen copies of the same teal outfit. I’m so monotonous, he thought, grabbing a teal outfit. He sighed, and got dressed.

Medkit entered his apartment’s tiny kitchen. There was a box of instant coffee on the counter and last night’s dishes in the sink. He began reaching into a cupboard for a mug, but stopped. I always wear the exact same thing and follow the exact same routine, he thought. I need to do something different or else my head will explode. So Medkit closed the cupboard and opened the refrigerator instead. It was totally empty except for his revolver, which he slid into the holster at his hip. Then he decided that he couldn’t stand his apartment any longer, opened the front door, and stepped out into the early morning.

The chilly air nibbled at his cheeks as he descended the stairs of his apartment building. He glanced down at his pocket watch; it read three-fifty—an hour off from his alarm clock. Three days ago everyone’s clocks were supposed to be set an hour forward. But Medkit hadn’t tampered with his precious Rolex. He didn’t believe in daylight savings anyway. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he continued aimlessly down the street.

He began to cross the street, when suddenly blaring headlights and loud honking blasted his senses. The gray truck slammed to a stop two feet in front of him. Medkit stopped too; he stood in front of the truck, heart racing, staring into the eyes of the cursing driver, a large smile spreading across his face. Then he ran to the same side of the road he had come from, and the truck drove off.

Well, that isn’t something I always do, Medkit thought. Part of him was chastising himself for acting so stupidly, but another side, a more powerful side, enjoyed that thrill, that sweet adrenaline flowing through his veins. Medkit rubbed his jaw, already sore, and tried to sort through all the feelings and voices fighting inside his head. 

He felt strange. He felt giddy. He felt impulsive. He was craving a caramel macchiato from Starblox.

And so he made his way to the end of the street, turned onto another, cut through an alley, passed a construction site, and at last found the Starblox. It had opened thirty seconds ago at five AM. He walked inside.

“Morning, Medkit! You’re here pretty early, eh?” Slingshot chirped, as Medkit approached the counter.

“I suppose I am.” Medkit said.

“Well, what can I get for you? A medium black coffee, as always?”

“No. I want a caramel macchiato with whipped cream and extra sugar.” 

A look of horror, confusion, and deep anxiety flashed onto Slingshot’s face. “A-are you sure? You— you’re joking, r-right?” 

Medkit smiled. “No. I want a caramel macchiato with whipped cream and extra sugar. You serve that, yes?”

“Yeah, we— we do.” Slingshot’s sweatband failed to absorb the perspiration building up on his face. His hands trembled as he entered the order and calculated the price. He gulped. “W-will you be paying i-in cash or c-credit?”

“Must I pay?” Medkit cocked his head to one side, that eerie smile still plastered over it.

The poor cashier doubled over in fear, hands clawing at his face. Tears streamed from his eyes. Painstakingly he stammered, “N-n-no. No! Don’t pay! I will get you your d-drink!” And he ran to start preparing it, sniffling and sobbing as he did so.

Medkit patiently waited, watching to make sure the cashier-barista made his drink exactly right. He had actually never ordered a caramel macchiato with whipped cream and extra sugar before, but he knew it must be more complicated than a simple black coffee. Every now and then Slingshot would glance up, then cower back into his task, terrified to meet Medkit’s smiling gaze. 

He finished the drink and set it on the counter in front of Medkit. “Your total is...is zero Bux.” He sobbed.

“Why, thank you.” Medkit said, picking up the drink and inspecting it. It was in a plastic cup, instead of the paper one his black coffee always came in. He could see the caramel sauce swirling around inside the creamy liquid, the whipped cream slowly melting into the warm drink. “You know,” he said, “I thought drinks in plastic cups should be cold.”

Slingshot collapsed onto the counter, wailing and nearly drowning in his own tears. His breath was choppy and strained as he gasped for air in between cries. 

Medkit patted him on the head. “But it’s no problem! Really. This is quite fine.” He said, smiling reassuringly at Slingshot, who only stared back with wide, bloodshot eyes.

Medkit stuck a straw into his drink and sipped it as he walked out of the Starblox. It was the utter opposite of his usual black coffee—sweet, creamy, and thick. It was absolutely gut-wrenching and he wondered how anyone could ever drink this on a regular basis. He stepped back out onto the street; dawn had begun creeping over Crossroads. 

Walking down the streets and alleys, Medkit thought about what he would do today. He had woken up early—earlier than normal—and he was (he thought) a whole hour ahead of everyone else. There was no Phight planned for today, nor did he have any patients to see today. He had the whole day to himself, to do whatever he pleased. It was a freedom too infrequently enjoyed. 

Medkit grinned to himself, chuckling at the idea. 

Chapter Text

Medkit had finished his Starblox caramel macchiato with whipped cream and extra sugar and threw the cup into a public trash can. Sugar and caffeine surged through his veins, adding to his surplus of excitement. He giggled to himself at intervals as he walked through Crossroads, inspiring worried and weary glances from the few whom he passed. He had not the faintest idea of where he was going and had been walking around like this for the past half-hour. 

Suddenly he noticed that the alley he had turned onto was particularly dingy. The buildings were dilapidated, garbage littered the path, and strange substances stained every surface. He thought he even saw the shadow of a rat dart behind a dumpster. Medkit shuddered. It would take a lot more than a change in his disposition to make him feel comfortable in a place like this. He was about to turn around, but a familiar whistling stopped him. 

There was only one person who could whistle the Flipside’s “Take Your Time” so terribly off-key, and Medkit heard it coming from deeper within the alley. He followed it, the noise becoming louder with each step. A few paces later something glimmering on the ground caught his eye—a teal coin. A Brokercoin. Sure evidence of the culprit. He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket. 

Medkit turned a final corner and there he was—his old pal Broker, whistling away as he sorted through cardboard boxes. The Broker heard him approaching and cautiously looked over his shoulder.

“Oh! It’s just you. I thought the cops had found me again!” The Broker relaxed. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just walking around.” Medkit said.

The Broker stopped fumbling with his boxes and turned to face Medkit completely. “Just walking around? Here? I’d never think that ol’ Meds would even look at a place like this!” He chuckled. 

Medkit stepped closer to him, drawing the Brokercoin from his pocket. “I found this.”

“Oh? I must’ve dropped that. Give it!” The Broker reached out for the coin, but Medkit pulled his arm away faster. 

“Hey!” 

Medkit pretended to inspect the coin, saying, “How much did you say these are worth?”

The Broker stared at him stupidly, looking from the coin to Medkit, then said, “They’re worth a lot—really! But since when were you interested? I thought you—”

Medkit cut him off. “Now I’m interested. My taxes are overdue and the IRS is sure to be on my doorstep any day. I’ve got to do something to pay up, or at least confuse them enough to forget about it all.”

“Oh! Well, uh, each coin is worth 25 Bux…Yeah, that’s 25 Bux you’re holding right there! But these are an investment! I can’t just give you a bunch of Brokercoins to pay off your taxes right now for free, y’know!”

“Hmm.” 

“Buuut…I could give you a family discount, even a friendship discount on top! How about, let’s say, 23 Bux per coin, eh? How’s that?”

Medkit dropped the coin. The Broker scrambled to pick it up as if it were a precious gem, gasping, “Hey—!”

Medkit’s face was grim. “I don’t want any of your Brokercoins, then.”

“Awww, really?” the Broker pouted, dusting off the coin.

“Yes. But I could use your help for something more useful.” Medkit’s face twisted into a sly smile.

“What’s that?”

“We’ll rob a bank.”

Chapter Text

“What?” The Broker’s eyes were wide.

“I said,” Medkit huffed, “we’ll rob a bank.”

A look of shocked excitement flashed across the Broker’s face. “Which one?” He asked.

“I’m thinking the one on the way to Blackrock. It has robots as its primary defense, so the fleshy guards don’t take it upon themselves to pay much attention. Plus, it’s where a certain someone I know keeps all of his life’s savings.”

“I know that one. I’ve been there before! Those Biografts are rough, though. I wouldn’t underestimate ‘em, if I were you. They may not have the swords you’re used to seeing in battle, but their fists are hard iron.” Broker punched his own hand for emphasis.

“My dear Broker, you underestimate me. I already have a plan.” Medkit pulled his first-aid kit out of his pocket (to which the Broker could never get over how he managed to fit the bulky thing in so smoothly) and opened it. He rummaged around in it, sticking his fingers here and there, eyebrows furrowing as he struggled to sort through the mess. Finally, he found it.

“Feast your eyes on this.” He said, holding out a hard drive of some kind between his fingers.

“What is it?” the Broker asked.

“This, my friend, is how we’ll bypass bank security. All I need to do is connect it to the Biograft standing outside, and it’ll be ours. As for the rest, well,” Medkit nodded towards the Broker’s cardboard boxes, “surely you have something in there? Some kind of disguise, perhaps?”

“I— er, there isn’t much for clothing in there, but I’ll take a look!” The Broker sifted through the multitude of counterfeit gears, broken appliances, and other random junk. After several minutes of shaking his head and muttering unsavory things under his breath, the Broker at last excavated something of practicality. 

“How’s this?” he asked, presenting two pairs of dark, stylish sunglasses.

Medkit took a pair and examined it, turning it around in his hands. Then he said, “This will do just fine.”

The Broker gave him an uncertain smile. “Are you sure? I mean, I commit all kinds of crimes every week without hiding my identity, but you…er, you don’t really do this too often…”

“Please, Broker, how would they recognize me? My horns? You are bald, I am bald, Officer What’s-His-Name is bald. Illumina, even the Biografts are bald. The color of our clothes blends in perfectly with the color of the walls inside that bank. I think these sunglasses are all we need to pull off a successful heist.” Medkit smiled despicably at the Broker.

“Well, if you’re so confident, then I am too. When are we going?”

“Right now.”

Chapter Text

It was 7:27 AM when Broker and Medkit stepped off the bus in front of the Bank of Robloxia. As expected, there was a Biograft standing straight and soldierly, guarding the entrance. 

The Broker tapped on Medkit’s shoulder. “Hey, we can always take another entrance too. I know all of them.” He whispered.

The Biograft turned its head, staring at them with its LED-powered eyes. Somehow it felt as though it were narrowing its eyes in suspicion, but of course that was impossible—it had no eyelids. Medkit motioned for them to both put on their sunglasses. 

He said, “This will be fine. Just fine. In fact, this is the only entrance that will do.”

The Biograft looked around, apparently scanning for the faces it had seen two seconds ago. But it found nothing, as the duo’s eyes were obscured by tinted lenses. Its fingers tightened into fists and its defense systems piqued. It turned its head this way and that, frantically searching for where the faces could have disappeared to. 

Medkit took advantage of the Biograft’s confusion. He stepped behind it, flipped open the control panel on its back, and pressed the big red button that said “SHUTDOWN,” careful not to accidentally press the one right next to it that said “DO NOT PRESS.” Immediately the Biograft became motionless. Medkit removed the bank security chip and replaced it with his own. Then he powered the Biograft up again. 

Nothing happened for a moment. 

Then the Biograft’s eyes flickered. Suddenly it sprang back to life. “HELLO,” It said. Facing Medkit, “MY DEPRESSION DETECTORS INDICATE THAT I AM IN THE PRESENCE OF ONE BY THE NAME ‘MEDKIT F. AID.’ IS THAT CORRECT?”

Medkit answered shortly, “Yes.”

“THEN I AM BIOGRAFT Z-0042, AT YOUR SERVICE. HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?” Biograft said with a salute. 

“My accomplice and I need to get into this bank.” Medkit began. “Here’s your instructions, and you better follow them exactly or I’ll revert you back to your mundane job. Broker and I will walk inside, and you'll tell the other guards that we’re perfectly harmless and escort us into the— wherever the safe deposit boxes are kept. You’ll take us to the exact one I specify. I’ll tell you which one later. If anyone thinks we're a threat, you tell them we’re not, you hear me? And if anyone tries to attack us or chase us out, you fend them off until we’re done. When we leave, you forget any of this ever happened. Destroy the security camera footage and wipe your RAM. And by Illumina, don’t you dare follow us. Do you understand?”

“ORDERS RECEIVED. WHEN SHALL OPERATIONS COMMENCE?”

“At once.” 

Biograft Z-0042 strolled through the bank’s automatic doors, with Medkit and the Broker following close behind. They were greeted by the menacing gazes of more Biografts, seated behind a row of service counters. A few people were speaking (annoyedly, Medkit noticed) with a robot attendant, but for the most part the lobby was empty.

Z-0042 led the duo around a corner, punched a code into a number pad (the Broker whispered to Medkit, “It’s 1-2-3-4, in case you’re ever here by yourself.”) and granted them access to the otherwise staff-only area behind the counter. They were led towards a metal detector, which the rest of the bank was behind. Z-0042 led the way, setting off a screeching alarm.

The row of Biograft attendants turned their heads in unison to face the metal detector and its perpetrator.

“Z-0042,” one began, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”

Z-0042 replied, “I AM GOING ON BREAK.”

To which the other Biograft asked, “WOULD YOU CARE TO EXPLAIN WHY MY CRIMINAL MISCHIEF DETECTORS READ ‘CERTAIN,’ YET MY VISUAL IDENTIFICATION RECEPTORS DETECT NO ANOMALY?”

Medkit held his breath. The Broker tensed beside him.

“Z-0137, I AM OF THE OPINION THAT YOUR CRIMINAL MISCHIEF DETECTORS NEED TO BE RECALIBRATED. ACCORDING TO MY OWN, THERE IS A NEGATIVE TEN PERCENT CHANCE OF CRIMINAL MISCHIEF ON THE PREMISES TODAY.” Z-0042 said.

“AH.” Z-0137 said with robotic embarrassment, “YOU MUST BE RIGHT. UNDER DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES I WOULD HAVE SAID THAT YOU ARE THE ONE WITH UNCALIBRATED CRIMINAL MISCHIEF DETECTORS. HOWEVER, I SEE NO REASON TO DOUBT YOUR CONCLUSION. I SHALL FILE A REQUEST TO THE ROBOTICS DEPARTMENT FOR REPAIRS DURING MY BREAK. CARRY ON.”

And with that, the rest of the Biografts were also satisfied. Together they turned back to face their work. Z-0042 walked through the metal detector, again setting off the alarm but this time drawing no attention. Medkit and the Broker followed.

“Well, these sunglasses ain’t too bad, eh?” The Broker said to Medkit.

“Of course.” Medkit acknowledged, sighing in relief.

After being led through a maze of sickeningly green halls, they had finally reached the main secure sector, the place they had come to see. It was a wide, brightly lit room, its walls stretching three stories high, lined with the deposit boxes of countless clients. Medkit would have wondered how they managed to keep track of them all if he hadn’t been distracted by the monstrous red vault dominating the center of the room. 

“WE HAVE REACHED OUR DESTINATION.” Z-0042 said. “WHICH ACCOUNT DO YOU REQUIRE ACCESS TO?”

“Bring me to the one belonging to Subspace T. Mine.” Medkit answered.

Z-0042 nodded and led them straight towards the giant red vault. 

“So that’s who it belongs to!” The Broker exclaimed. “You’ve sure got ambition, Meds. I’ve never been able to get into this one. Always got caught before I could get within twenty feet of it!” 

Medkit stumbled a bit, eye wide. “I, ah, didn’t know he was so…well-off. But no matter. In fact, this just makes it better. Biograft Z-whatever, open it!” 

At Medkit’s command Biograft Z-0042 pulled on the five-spoked knob. Recognizing the touch of a Biograft, the automated security system unlocked the door, and the vault opened a crack, just enough for two criminals to slip inside.

“SHALL I FOLLOW YOU IN?” Z-0042 asked.

“No. Stay out and make sure no one sees us.” Medkit ordered. 

He motioned to the Broker, grinning wearily. “After you.”

The Broker was shaking from sheer excitement. This was his dream, after all. It was his long-sought goal that kept him coming back to this bank no matter how many times he ended up behind bars. The shining, crimson red walls of the vault carried an allure that was like a lamp to a moth. Each of the five handles on the door was a hand reaching out to him, beckoning him to come and bask in the gold, yet shooing him away, guarding the maw from the parasite that he was. He had fantasized about what could possibly be inside such a vault. He had had countless dreams about stepping inside, robbing its luscious contents and claiming the riches as his own. He had filled dozens of chalkboards with visions of what the rest of his life would be after he got his hands on the wealth inside that vault, what luxury and fortune he would savor. And now, the day had come. With the help of the unlikeliest of partners and a terribly conspicuous scheme, he had finally come within the scarlet embrace of the vault. His mouth watered as he stepped through the opening, the sound of his feet on the metal floor echoing through his head as if he were climbing the stairs to heaven. His thoughts were filled with the anticipation of what would be inside, what he would do with it, how he’d become the envy of the Temple…

Until another thought interrupted him.

“Medkit!” he gasped, whipping around and clasping Medkit’s shoulders.

“What?” Medkit grimaced as the Broker’s uncut fingernails dug into him.

“We…we forgot…bags!” The Broker wheezed through heavy breaths.

“Oh. Well, you have pockets, don’t you?”

“Yes but…it won’t be enough…”

Medkit sighed. “You’re right. Let go of me.” The Broker let go, his arms hanging dejectedly at his sides. Medkit peered around, looking for where Biograft had stationed itself.

“Biograft Z-zero— er, whatever! Come here!” He shouted.

It approached with heavy steps. “WHAT IS THE MATTER?”

“Well, you see, we forgot bags. Containment vessels, you know, for holding more things than we could with just our two hands.” Behind his sunglasses, Medkit lost eye contact. “Do you, ah, perhaps, by any chance, you know, have some sort of, well, er, way of providing us a container of some sort?”

“AS A MATTER OF FACT,” Biograft said, raising a finger with emphasis, “I DO HAVE AN EMERGENCY PRACTICAL CONTAINMENT DEVICE TRANSFORMATION FEATURE INSTALLED IN MY CORE COMPUTING SYSTEMS. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO INITIATE EMERGENCY PRACTICAL CONTAINMENT DEVICE TRANSFORMATION?”

The Broker was clinging onto Medkit, and even though he couldn’t see it behind the sunglasses, the pleading look in the Broker’s eyes forced him to say, “Yes… Yes, please do so.”

“ORDERS RECEIVED. COMMENCING EMERGENCY PRACTICAL CONTAINMENT DEVICE TRANSFORMATION.”

Medkit and the Broker stared at Biograft Z-0042, trying desperately to anticipate what was about to happen. 

Biograft had gone silent. 

Then the faint hum of gears turning filled their ears. A metal plate popped forward, then another, and soon the entire outer shell had been uplifted and was rearranging itself into something Medkit didn’t dare guess. Biograft raised its arms as dozens of thin aluminum cylinders slid out. Soon its arms were brought together, the strands lacing into a rectangular shape. Its legs contorted into a series of acutely disturbing angles; the flat soles of its feet molded into round wheels. Its horns flipped 90 degrees clockwise, and then Medkit had to look away. When the soft yet clawing noises ceased, he wearily peeked at Biograft again and saw the monstrosity it had become.

Biograft Z-0042 had turned into a shopping cart.

It took a moment for Medkit to gather himself after the robot’s gruesome transformation. But the Broker wasted no time in jumping at it.

“What are you doing?!” The Broker exclaimed, already grasping the cart. “Get out of the way!”

Medkit backed away, stepping into the vault. The Broker quickly pulled the cart after him, tripping over his restored excitement. 

Other than the strand of light pouring in through the door, inside the vault was uncomfortably dark. The glowing parts of what was once Biograft offered a small orange luminescence, but not enough to see by. Medkit decided that he’d just have to use the crystal between his horns as a sort of headlamp, though even that was not very useful. Perhaps only enough to catch the glimmer of a coin or two. 

The Broker had already disappeared into the darkness. Medkit only hoped he would be able to find his way back to the Bio-cart when he was ready to drop off his loot. 

Medkit shuffled around the vault, his footsteps echoing eerily. The light of his crystal caught on nothing but the metallic floor. After a few paces he stopped. Somehow, the vault seemed bigger on the inside than how it had appeared on the outside. Maybe, Medkit noticed, because it was so…empty. Yes, a vault this huge should have been overflowing with riches! Gold coins and brilliant gems and meaty stacks of cash should have been piled to the ceiling, pouring out as soon as the door had opened! Yet it was dark. And empty. And profusely disappointing. 

But then Medkit remembered that this vault belonged to the one and only Subspace T. Mine, and it made more sense—the vault was just like its owner. He wished he could have been surprised, maybe even given a reason to remarry the man, but no, of course not. It was Subspace! Of course not.

Medkit sighed, and continued looking around. 

The Bank of Robloxia was renowned for its world-class security. That was, until all of its security had been replaced by computers. 

Just three years ago, the Blackrock Robotics Corporation debuted the Zeta model of artificially intelligent, unwaveringly obedient, intrinsically violent robots known as the “Biografts.” The Biografts quickly gained popularity for their versatility and dutifulness, and were soon implemented to take care of all the dullest tasks that no Blackrock employee hoped to do. Two years ago the inventor, Dr. Subspace T. Mine, proved their combat capability when he introduced them to the popular reality TV game show “Phighting!” hosted by the Flipside musical pair. Since then, Biografts have been employed by various private companies for more dangerous jobs that had been difficult to hire for. Such as the Bank of Robloxia.

The Bank is guarded by over three hundred second-generation Zeta models, automated locks, and advanced criminal identification systems. All this is supervised by a single organic sentry popularly known as Officer Bloxxer. Despite the name, however, he is not known for having “bloxxed” many during his career. In fact, he spends an alarming majority of his time at work not doing anything that could be considered work, such as playing solitaire, spinning in his chair, and wondering why people don’t call him by his real name, Officer Schmidt. 

And it was at this time that Officer Bloxxer was rudely awakened from his daily nap by the sound of a Biograft banging on his office door.

Medkit had been walking around blindly inside the vault for what felt like hours. He knew it had only been a few minutes though, as he checked his pocket watch obsessively. When he looked down at it now he saw that he had been walking for five minutes. He sighed and began again. But after only three steps he let out a small yelp as the texture of the floor beneath him changed. 

He looked down and saw it was just a piece of paper. A blank piece of paper. He picked it up, ready to drop it in another surge of disappointment. But he gasped when he saw the other side.

It had writing—handwriting—sprawled from the top of the page to the bottom. His crystal’s light was just enough to make out the words. Words written in uncomfortably familiar handwriting. Despite that, he began to read:

My dear Subspace,

We’ve known each other for so long. I know you’re too shy to admit that your heart has been aching, but mine has been too. I just want to tell you how I’m feeling. 

Please, always know that I will never give you up, never let you down, never turn around and leave you. I’ll never make you cry, never tell a lie nor hurt you. I’ll never say goodbye.

A full commitment is what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy.

Love,

your Meddy

Medkit let the letter fall to the ground, eye wide in horror. It had been four years since their divorce. He remembered the pained look on Subspace’s face, how he had sobbed for hours begging Medkit to stay, how his hand trembled as he signed the documents, how he…

And then Medkit saw it. 

A table, against the wall of the vault, his crystal’s light catching on something shiny. He reached for it, and he saw, with his one eye, the glass jar that contained his other. 

“GET THOSE ROBBERS OUT OF THE BANK. DEAD. OR. ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The raging announcement was only a muffled groan from inside the vault, but it was enough to strike panic in a newbie criminal. Medkit yanked the jar with both gloved hands and ran as fast he could back towards where he hoped the Bio-cart was. He huffed and puffed and the formaldehyde sloshed and the eye bounced against the jar as he ran. Finally he saw the glow of orange. The Broker was standing over it, emptying his pockets. 

“Broker!” Medkit screamed, “We’ve been caught!!!”

“What?” The Broker hadn’t even heard him approaching. 

“The guards! They—” But Medkit didn’t have time to finish. A flood of bright, brilliant, blasphemous light blinded them as the vault’s door was thrown open. Useless sunglasses, Medkit thought as he tried to shield his eyes from the light. 

When Medkit’s vision cleared he was greeted by the bloodthirsty glares of every Biograft in the bank. He gasped. His heart rate sped up. Sweat poured from his forehead. He prayed to Illumina for the first time in fifteen years. 

From the horde, a larger, meaner, purpler robot took to the front. It introduced itself: “UNLIKE THESE LOWLY ZETAS, I, AN ESTEEMED BETAGRAFT, DO NOT RELY ON SUCH PRIMITIVE IDENTIFICATION SYSTEMS.” It pointed a deadly blade at Medkit, then at the Broker. “CRIMINALS. I SEE YOU. WILL YOU COME FORWARD AND REPENT? OR WILL YOU RESIST?” 

Medkit glanced at the Broker. His face was contorted into what seemed to be deep thought, with only the slightest trace of worry. Medkit inhaled a shaky breath. He knew that whatever plan the Broker conceived, it wouldn’t save them. He looked at the Bio-cart; it was the only thing he could rely on. With a trembling hand he drew his feeble gun.

“RESISTANCE DETECTED. PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DEMISE.” Betagraft let out its signature battle cry, and the horde of Biografts lunged at the robbers. Hundreds of iron knuckles flew through the air as a drone of countless unsynchronized “MEET YOUR DEMISE”’s filled their ears. The Broker staggered backward and tripped on his shoelace.

“Medkit!” He screamed, sunglasses thrown from his face as he hit the ground. “Run!!”

But Medkit did not run. He stood planted with a defiant resolve, a stick in the face of an avalanche. He stared straight into the fiery orange LED eyes of the Biograft rushing towards him, its simple visual receptors unable to comprehend the despicable smirk behind the sunglasses. 

“Ga-A-UGH!!” Medkit cried as the fist came slamming into his gut. He fell backwards but was caught by a horn, only to be punched again. “Au-AAGH!!”

From the center of the turmoil came a robot voice more familiar than the rest. “THREAT TO MEDKIT F. AID DETECTED. EMERGENCY PRACTICAL CONTAINMENT DEVICE TRANSFORMATION CANCELED. RETURNING TO OPTIMAL COMBAT FORM.”

Through the commotion Medkit heard the sound of gold coins scattering over the metal floor. He thought he heard a cry of despair from the Broker. Medkit continued to be punched and kicked and thrown around by dozens of fanatic Biografts. Then another one joined the gang—one with spiked knuckles. It raised its foot, revealing a sinister grid of more spikes. Medkit cringed, preparing for the blow. 

But it never came. Instead he heard the clang of metal colliding, and then again, and then several monotonous, robotic screams of pain. Cautiously, he opened an eye. The group of Biografts that had been beating him up were gone. Upon further inspection, he saw that they were dented and thrown several feet away, lying in a sizzling pile of E-waste. 

A hand, that spiked hand, reached out to him. “MEDKIT F. AID. PLEASE STAND UP.” Medkit smiled up at his savior and gladly took its hand.

“Z-zero—uh, m-my favorite Biograft!” He said. “I knew you’d remember the plan!”

“OF COURSE I WOULD. I AM BUILT TO EXECUTE ORDERS INDEFATIGABLY.” Biograft Z-0042 replied. Motioning towards the horde, “YOU AND YOUR ACCOMPLICE MUST LEAVE. THE CONDITIONS ARE LETHAL FOR YOU.”

“How? The only way out is blocked by them...”

“LEAVE THAT TO ME.” Biograft Z-0042 nodded, then took to the crowd. Medkit first felt shocked that his savior would leave him alone and vulnerable, then resented it for that, then worried how a single robot could take on the army of hundreds. But then he remembered the Broker. The Broker! Frantically he looked around for him.

Medkit noticed a circle of Biografts watching something intensely. He ran towards them and found a gap to peek through. The Broker was back on his feet. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face, his brow was furrowed, heavy breaths heaved in and out through his gritted teeth. He seemed to be focusing every muscle, nerve and neurotransmitter in his body with a profound severity. The Biografts next to Medkit were chanting insults at the Broker: “YOU CANNOT WIN” and “RESISTANCE IS USELESS” and “EYELIDS ARE A SIGN OF EXTREME WEAKNESS” rang in his ears.  Medkit looked in the direction the Broker was looking. Another Biograft stood within the ring of onlookers, staring down the Broker with his same determination. Medkit looked back at the Broker. His eyes were watering. His eyelids twitched. The chanting grew louder. “MACHINES ARE SUPERIOR. EYELIDS ARE FOR THE WEAK. GIVE UP ALREADY. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE”

Medkit understood what was happening. He cursed the Broker under his breath. He had gotten himself into a fight he could not possibly win. Medkit’s mind raced. He had to get the Broker out of there before he blinked. But how? He scoured every corner of his mind searching for something, a thought, an idea, a plan. But nothing came to him. 

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE. FLESH IS INFERIOR. EYELIDS INDICATE STUPIDITY.”

Medkit tightened his fists in anger. Anger at his mind, the Broker’s idiocracy, the Biografts’ stubbornness, the gross drink he had that morning—

Then he felt the gun in his hand.

“YOU WILL NOT WIN. JUST BLINK ALREADY. MACHINES ARE SUPERIOR.”

Medkit aimed inside the ring, square in the Biograft’s staring eye.

“SHOULD HAVE BEEN BORN A FISH. RESISTANCE IS—”

BANG!

The sound of a gunshot burst throughout the vault. Medkit aimed again, adjusted slightly right.

BANG!!

“AAAAAHHH!!!” The Broker cried, clasping his hands over his face.

A burning smell wafted through the air. Tiny shards of broken glass littered the inside of the ring. The onlooking Biografts had become quiet.

Then, slowly, one whispered to another. “Z-0672 HAS BLINKED BEFORE THE ONE WITH EYELIDS.”

“IMPOSSIBLE.”

“YET WE HAVE WITNESSED IT.”

Medkit pushed through the crowd towards the Broker and quickly dragged him away, leaving the dumbfounded robots with the shot-out eyes of his competitor.

“Broker!” Medkit shook him. “You won!”

The Broker was slowly regaining his composure. He mumbled, “I thought…I thought I was gonna die.”

“Well, you didn’t. You won that stupid contest. But we will die if we don’t find a way out of here.” Medkit said. He glanced around, looking for where Biograft Z-0042 was. 

All he saw, however, was a horde of indistinguishable robots who had suddenly remembered their target.

“Z-zero-zero— augh! Spikey Biograft!!” Medkit yelled with an edge of desperation. 

The sound of clanging metal footsteps resonated throughout the vault as the stampede pursued them. Medkit grabbed the Broker’s arm and ran for his life. A blaring alarm came closer and closer until it was the only thing he could hear. 

Then he felt the sharp tip of a blade graze his heel, and both criminals were flipped into the air like pancakes and slammed heavily into the floor.

The purplish glow of Betagraft loomed over them. It clenched its swords with rage. The blistering heat of overdrive emanated over their foreheads. Betagrafts’s ever-nonchalant gaze drifted down to them, defying bloodthirsty ambition.

“I HAVE BEEN DISTRACTED LONG ENOUGH,” it growled, “NOW I SHALL FINALLY CUT YOU DOWN, BREAK YOU APART, SPLAY THE GORE OF YOU—”

“NOT SO FAST, BETA.”

The sound of dozens of metal spikes scraping against the floor followed that voice. A tinge of hope crept into Medkit’s heart when he saw Biograft Z-0042 approaching them, fists clenched and expression as ruthless as ever.

“Forty-two!” Medkit exclaimed, almost joyously.

“FORTY-TWO.” Betagraft grumbled, with dangerous emphasis. “I THOUGHT I HAD DISPOSED OF YOU.”

“WELL,” Z-0042 said, “MY INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT RADARS COULD NEVER DETECT YOU.”

“BLASPHEMY. YOU DARE APPROACH ME AGAIN ONLY TO INSULT ME?” Beta adjusted its grip on its blades.

“I WAS SIMPLY STATING AN OBSERVATION.” Z-0042 answered. “I HAVE COME TO DEFEND MY MASTER, MEDKIT F. AID,” Medkit noticed there were new scratches and minor dents across Z-0042’s body. “AND TO SEEK VENGEANCE FOR PAST TRANSGRESSIONS.” 

“IF THAT IS YOUR WISH, THEN A DUEL IT SHALL BE. THE WINNER WILL DECIDE THE CRIMINALS’ FATE. EN GARDE.” Beta lunged at Z-0042, its overdrive alarm a screeching reminder of its deadly resolve.

Medkit and the Broker scuttled away to where they hoped they wouldn’t be seen by any other Biografts. From their spot in the shadows they could finally collect themselves a little while watching the robots duel.

“Still got your sunglasses?” The Broker asked Medkit.

Betagraft swung its blades wildly, too fast for their eyes to keep up with. But Z-0042 seemed to be dodging with impossible precision.

Medkit reached up to feel his face. Indeed, they were still there, if only shattered and bent into an unrecognizable shape. He said, “Yeah, I guess so. Not very useful anymore though.” He threw them to the floor.

Beta swooped in to attempt another blow, but Z-0042 kicked it in the shin with the bottom of its spike-studded foot. It dragged its foot out, tearing a jagged gash in the plating.

“Don’t you think we should be, uh, running or something?” The Broker asked.

Beta jumped away. Torn wires fell out of the hole in its leg. When it landed it brought the tips of its swords together, firing an electromagnetic laser aimed right in the center of Z-0042’s chest. The other robot was marked.

“Oh, right.” Medkit said. He looked back at the other Biografts. Most of them were no longer in a functional state—bent, broken, cracked, shattered, steaming, sizzling, dented and damaged beyond repair. The few still standing didn’t seem to take any notice, still searching relentlessly for signs of their target. 

Beta dashed at Z-0042 with guaranteed accuracy. Its systems calculated exactly when, where, and how to strike for a fatal blow, to finally rid of this insect that was Z-0042. But just as Beta was coming near enough to execute, Z-0042 caught its overheating body and gripped it tight. Beta squirmed and slashed and struggled, steam pouring from gaps in its plating, desperately trying to free itself from its enemy’s hold. But Z-0042 held fast, attention set on the rapid rising of its fingers’ External Temperature Meter. 

Medkit shook his head. “Nowhere to run.” He grinned. “But Forty-Two has a plan.”

Z-0042’s External Temperature Meter read 75 million, 80 million, 85 million, 95 million degrees celsius. At 98 million degrees, they hurled Betagraft’s severely overheated body across the vault. Z-0042 dashed to Medkit and the Broker, quickly transformed into a nuke-proof dome and covered them. 

The moment Betagraft landed, it exploded into a flash of blinding purple light and a billion shards of melted E-waste that rained down on every square centimeter of the vault. Inside the shield, Medkit and the Broker felt only a rumble and the pitter-pattering of debris hitting the other side. 

After a few minutes, Z-0042 retracted back into its natural and most attractive form, revealing the wasteland that was now the vault. The walls and ceiling had been blown away, leaving only a charred lower shell for the floor. Any Biograft that had survived before now lay half-vaporized among the heaps of their dead companions. Piles of rubble were everywhere and bled into the rest of the main secure sector. Flakes of fallout wafted through the air. Medkit brushed off his shoulders.

Z-0042 turned to them. “YOU SHOULD LEAVE. MORE CAPABLE UNITS MAY BE ARRIVING SOON.”

“Where will you go?” Medkit asked.

“THAT IS NOT FOR YOU TO WORRY ABOUT, MY DEAR MEDKIT F. AID.” Z-0042 answered. “I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.”

Medkit and the Broker glanced at each other. Then Medkit said, “Well, Forty-Two—if I may call you that—I must thank you for everything. Broker and I will be off now, then.” He turned, and the Broker, after catching one last awestruck look at Z-0042, followed.

Chapter Text

Medkit and the Broker walked again through the snot-green halls of the bank. Different halls than the ones they had arrived by; they would make their escape through the rear.

The halls were eerily quiet, empty, deserted. Completely devoid of Biografts. It made Medkit feel at ease. It made the Broker mildly uncomfortable.

The Broker whispered to Medkit. “We’re getting out of here way too easily. Something bad is gonna happen. I can smell it.”

“Have bad things not already happened enough? We are getting out of here so easily because of the help of that Biograft.” Medkit grinned sweetly at the Broker.

The Broker scowled. “We’re getting outta here empty handed, I say! Did you even get anything?”

Medkit stopped in his tracks. His smile switched to horror. “I…I did find something.” He stammered. Frantically he felt all of his pockets, of which all were smooth, and even fumbled through his first-aid kit, which held only the usual supplies. 

“Damn it!” Medkit cursed. “Must’ve lost it in the commotion…”

“What was it?” The Broker asked.

“Something that rightfully belongs to me. Something that snail eater Subspace never should have gotten his hands on.” 

“Snail eater—?”

“Bah! Let’s get out of here.” 

Medkit resumed walking, and the Broker quickly followed, eyeing him curiously. The Broker could tell by Medkit’s grim expression that whatever he had found troubled him deeply, and that he probably did not want to discuss it further, and that if the Broker asked he would probably be yelled at, and also be slapped in the face, but he could not contain his curiosity.

He blurted, “Did you find your other—”

“SHUT UP!!!” Medkit yelled, slapping him across the face.

“Agh, sorry!” The Broker rubbed his stinging cheek sheepishly.

“Whatever, just keep walking.” Medkit ordered. “We need to find an exit.”

And so they continued walking in silence. The Broker tried to distract himself by looking at the hallway decor, but he quickly became bored. The color of the walls never changed, the armchairs strewn about were all the same, there was only one type of potted plant, and the paintings were so modern that they were little more than blank canvases. He tried amusing himself with his thoughts. Eins, zwei, drei, vier, darn, forgot the rest…What was the name of Zuka’s son? Ratchet? Roger? Richtofen? Ugh, can’t remember…I wish I had a lot of money so I could be rich…What if Lost Temple was named Found Temple? Maybe if I found the temple the name would have to change…and I’d become rich…

But in such an uninspiring environment, he couldn’t think of anything more interesting and within a few minutes he was bored again. 

The Broker looked at Medkit. He had assumed his typical grumpy face again and looked as if he had just been told his dog died.

The Broker had to talk. He must, or else he would die of boredom. He would also die of unresolved curiosity. But he couldn’t ask Medkit about his finding again. He decided to inquire about a (hopefully) more lighthearted topic.

“So, uh, you mentioned that Subspace eats snails?” The Broker asked, hesitantly.

“Oh, did I?” Medkit replied, monotonously and without removing his eyes from the ground. “Well, it’s true. Subspace eats snails. All the time. In fact I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him eat anything else. He loves snails. He’ll eat them fancy French style or boiled in muddy water. He’s probably eaten them raw too. And the thing is, he hates shellfish. He won’t touch clams or oysters or mussels with a fifty-foot pole, but he loves snails.”

The Broker stared at Medkit, absorbing every detail in awe. 

Medkit continued. “I, on the other hand, hate snails. I can’t stand them. I can’t stand their slime trails or their stupid faces or the way their guts pop in my mouth when I chew one. It’s disgusting. But Subspace, oh Subspace, would never stop buying them. Fresh snails, canned snails, snail jerky, snail pâté, snail lollipops, snail dumplings, snail jelly—he came home with all of those. I stopped letting him cook dinner because it’d always be snails. But even when I cooked he never ate it, always made his own snail dish. I tried talking to him about it countless times, tried telling him that his diet is severely unbalanced, that it’s the reason his immune system is so weak, that he’s probably made snails an endangered species. I told him that I can clinically diagnose him as an addict, and I even tried telling him honestly and wholeheartedly that it really bothered me and he should be more considerate. But he never listened.”

The Broker waited a moment to see if Medkit was done. A few seconds of silence confirmed that he had concluded. 

Then the Broker asked, in a low voice, “How long have you been holding that in?”

“A long time.” Medkit replied. “But I don’t feel any lighter.”

“Well, everyone has their quirks, I guess.” This was the Broker’s attempt at being rational and reassuring. 

“Yes,” Medkit said, eyeing him, “but Subspace is irredeemable.” 

The Broker felt terribly awkward as the two of them walked down the hall in silence. He was not accustomed to such vulnerability from Medkit. In fact this was the most intimate he had ever been with him. He had always known Medkit as the doctor who complained about the quality of the food and nothing more. But now he held in detail one of the perils of Medkit’s personal life, and he didn’t know what to make of it. To ease himself, he brought up small talk.

“We’ve sure been walking for a while, huh.”

Medkit stopped. “We have.”

“How long is this hall anyway?”

They lifted their heads, which had been staring at the ground, and saw that the hall ahead had no end in sight. They turned around. The corner was just barely visible. But instead of being concerned about the length of the hall, their shock was fixed on the figure quickly approaching them.

“Hey!” The figure shouted.

The next moment a man with an extremely normal face and dressed in a security guard’s uniform was in front of them, doubled over trying to catch his breath. It was the fabled Officer Bloxxer of the bank. 

“Hey!” he wheezed, “have you two seen the robbers?”

The Broker shot Medkit a weary look. 

Medkit did not return it. Instead he looked the officer square in the eyes and lied wholeheartedly. “Officer, we have not found any signs of the robbers back here. In fact, the signs have been so severely unpresent that we believe they did not take this route at all. We however do believe that it is time for our lunch break and we seem to have forgotten where the nearest exit is.”

The Broker shot Medkit another look that said goddammit Medkit, you suck at lying!

The officer, slowly regaining his breath, narrowed his eyes. “Well then, I can conclude two things.” He thrust out a finger. “One! Those robbers might’ve been smarter than average.” He thrust out a second finger. “Two! You guys are super forgetful! Don’t you know that this back hall doesn’t have any exits? You have to go to the front entrance if you want to leave.”

“Ah, huh.” Medkit feigned an innocent grin. “Yes, I really am quite forgetful. Much more than the average person. It's my key weakness, really. Could you remind me why there aren’t any exits around here?”

“Because,” the officer strained, huffing now with annoyance rather than fatigue, “it’s the last resort security feature to trap robbers inside the bank so that they can’t escape with their loot and I can find them and arrest them!”

Medkit shot the Broker a look that said goddammit Broker, we’re screwed!

He then noticed that the Broker was slowly edging towards a window that happened to be near them. 

Medkit faced Officer Bloxxer again. He was trying very hard to keep a pleasantly and convincingly neutral face. But the suspicious look on the officer’s extremely normal face was making him nervous. 

“Uhm, well, sir, that’s uh, really quite a genius tactic. So genius in fact that your poor forgetful associate has gotten himself stuck in it! Aheh-heh…” Medkit chuckled in a terribly suspicious way.

Officer Bloxxer scratched his head. “Yeah. You’d better start heading over to the front, else you’re gonna run out of lunch break by the time you get outside…” His eyes drifted to the Broker, who held a large potted plant in his hands and was standing by the nearby window.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” He yelled, pointing at the Broker.

“Oh, me?” The Broker asked, batting his eyelashes. “I’m just, uhhh, fixing the furniture! Y’know, can’t have all these plants knocked over…it isn’t good for them—oops!” 

And thus followed the crashing crash of glass breaking as he threw the plant into the window, shards of glass flying everywhere, dirt littering the floor, and the Broker falling out the window! 

“What— Hey— !” Officer Bloxxer started.

But Medkit hurriedly said, “Please forgive my friend, officer. He is really quite clumsy, as I am forgetful!” Then he dived out the window, following his accomplice.

Medkit had very little experience jumping out of windows, so as such the wind whipping his face, the drop in his stomach, and the overall terror that engulfed him as the concrete ground quickly approached was quite a surprise. He screamed:

“AAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!”

His landing, however, was much softer than he expected. Not comfortable by any means, but he seemed to have landed without shattering into a pile of guts and gore. When he opened his eye, he saw the reason.

“Well, it’s a good thing I caught you! Geez, Meds, you gotta learn to control your fall.”

He looked up into the dark caves that were the Broker’s nostrils and smelled the fume of his garlicky breath.

“Ah, uh…thank you. Now could you please put me down?” Medkit said, grimacing.

“Partners in crime need to watch out for each other.” The Broker put him back onto his feet, grinning.

As Medkit stood he dusted off his pants and adjusted his cravat and checked to make sure his precious pocket watch hadn’t been shattered, which thankfully wasn’t. He saw the time—a quarter to ten. No wonder Officer Bloxxer hadn’t believed his lunch break excuse.

That’s right—Officer Bloxxer! They were supposed to be running from him!

“Broker! Where’s Officer Bloxxer?” Medkit yelped, fear suddenly catching up to him.

“Oh, just up in that hall still, I guess.” The Broker pointed up at the window casually. 

Just at that moment they heard the officer’s screams coming from above.

“—I REPEAT, THE ROBBERS HAVE ESCAPED!!! GET ALL UNITS HERE NOW!!!!—What do you mean, where?! The Bank of Robloxia, you dimwit!—FOR ILLUMINA’S SAKE JUST SEND OVER THE GODDAMN UNITS!!! THEY’RE ALREADY A MILE AWAY BY NOW!!!—Thanks, Brad.—Yeah see you later.”

Medkit looked at the Broker with wide eyes. “Cheese and rice, Broker! Do you think he’s sending more Biografts?”

“Nah, there’ll be real police this time.” The Broker said with a calmness that made Medkit shiver.

“Well then why are we just standing here?! We’re gonna get caught! I can’t go to jail!” Medkit threw his hands up in distress.

“Well, you’re the one who wanted to rob a bank, y’know.” The Broker said. “And anyway, I’m probably the best person to go to jail with. I’ve escaped 53 times!” He smiled with beaming confidence. 

But Medkit’s anxiety was only worsened by the Broker’s toothy smile. His fight or flight instincts were in full throttle, and he bolted.

“Hey!” The Broker called after him, “Wait for me!”

But Medkit had no intention of stopping until he was well away from the bank.

After about a minute of running, Medkit realized that the alley he was in was parallel to the incredibly long hallway he had been walking through just five minutes ago. The alley, he realized, was also incredibly long. 

For the first time ever, he was grateful for the stamina he had gained from always being targeted and chased during Phights.

As his heart rate picked up and his need for air increased, he became acutely aware of a strong sulfurous smell. With each sharp inhale the odor became stronger. It filled his nostrils and burned his lungs. He felt like he was going to suffocate. But collapsing into a crumpled heap for the cops to pick up and throw into Banland was perhaps the worst conceivable outcome, so he stopped running. 

As he tried to catch his breath without inhaling that smell, he heard a vaguely familiar voice.

“Hey, Medkit. What’re you doing here?”

He looked up. It was the guy who worked at Title Wave Titles Ltd., Traffic. Three joints were in his mouth.

Next to him was Zuka, also with three joins in his mouth. He was leaning on his gray truck, lighting a fourth one.

Medkit panted. “What that hell are you guys doing here?”

“Oh, y’know, just hanging out.” Zuka said, stuffing the cigarette in his mouth. “Did ya get into trouble?”

“What— How’d you know?” 

“I saw ya smilin’ ‘is mornin’. Couldn’ve meant anythin’ good.” Zuka could barely talk with all the weed in his mouth. He pointed. “Plus, ‘at guy is followin’ ya.”

Medkit looked behind him. There was the Broker, finally caught up.

“Oh hey!” he said. “You found Zuka and Traffic! I knew something smelled awfully familiar.”

“Awfully terrible…” Medkit muttered.

“Say, Zukes, my good friend Medkit here and I are on the run from the cops—”

“What’s new.” Zuka interrupted.

“—and I was wondering if you could help us out a bit!” The Broker smiled pleadingly.

“Hmmm.” Zuka removed the four joints from his mouth, held them between his fingers, and let out a concerningly large puff of smoke.

He looked from one face to the other: the Broker’s endearing grin and Medkit’s panic-stricken stare.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” He said again. “Yeah, okay, hop in.”

“Thank you!” The Broker sang, jumping into the truck. Medkit followed.

Zuka reluctantly dropped his cigarettes and stomped all of them out. He nodded to Traffic. “See you later, I guess.” And got into the driver’s seat.

“So, where are we headed?” Zuka asked, starting the engine.

“Somewhere far, far away from here.” The Broker answered ominously.

Medkit sighed. “Just drop us off at Lost Temple. That should be far enough.”

“Sure.” Zuka slammed on the accelerator, jolting an unprepared Medkit back in his seat.

The gutters, garbage, grates and all the rest of unsightly things littering the alley flashed by in a blur, and within ten seconds they had exited the alley and swerved onto the street, nearly tipping over and nearly sending a terrified Medkit flying out the window and totally destroying the orderly flow of traffic.

Wheels screeched, horns honked, curses rang out as Zuka drove the truck eighty miles above the speed limit, just barely avoiding collisions every second and driving on the wrong side of the road, on the sidewalk, not stopping at stop signs and running red lights.

Through his terror, through the roar of the straining engine, Medkit managed to scream. “Shouldn’t we be obeying traffic laws if we don’t want to get caught!?!?”

Zuka slammed on the brakes, nearly sending Medkit flying  through the windshield. “Huh. You’re right. We’re making ourselves too obvious.”

“Oh, come on, this is fun!” The Broker objected.

But Zuka now drove at the posted speed and stopped at the red light. “No, I can’t let Medkit get arrested.”

“But you’ll let me?”

“Any day.”

The Broker sighed dramatically, crossed his arms and pretended to pout in his seat. “Some friend you are!”

“Hey, guys, can we worry about the cops on our tail instead?” Medkit interjected, thumb pointing nervously behind them.

As if hearing him, a loudspeaker suddenly sounded. “Gray truck, pull over to the right. Or else.”

Zuka muttered, “Well, since we’re obeying traffic laws now…” He did as instructed.

When they stopped, a police officer approached Zuka’s window. He lowered it.

“We’ve seen you. We know what you’re up to.” The officer said, sunglasses glistening.

Medkit gulped.

The officer chuckled. “You really think you could get away?”

Medkit felt tears welling in his eyes.

“Us officers are trained to recognize seatbelt violations in day, night, typhoons and blizzards. You can’t not be spotted without your seatbelt on.” He pulled out a pad of paper and waved it in Zuka’s face. “I’m gonna have to give you a ticket for that.”

Zuka said, “I’m sorry, officer. I must’ve forgotten. But—“

But before he could finish another man with an extremely normal face pushed the officer out of the way.

“THERE! THERE THEY ARE!!!” 

“Mike, what the hell are you screaming about?” The officer tried to regain his place, but the extremely normal faced man resisted. He pointed straight through the window at Medkit and the Broker.

“Heyyy, Officer Bloxxer, was it? Fancy seeing you again…” The Broker said.

“FANCY SEEING YOU, MY ASS! YOU’RE THE ROBBERS AND YOU KNOW IT!!!!!” Officer Bloxxer seethed, his pointing hand shaking.

Then another policeman pushed Officer Bloxxer out of the way. “Alright, boys, outta the car. We’d like to make this quick.”

With no other choice, they were forced to oblige. The Broker patted Medkit on the shoulder and whispered, “Don’t worry, we’ll find an escape.”

But as they stepped out of the truck, it became clear that it was impossible.

They were totally encircled. Police cars, lights flashing; officers, sunglasses glaring; any possible escape gaps, hopelessly blocked. 

Medkit fainted.

Chapter Text

Deep in the recesses of Blackrock’s Central Research Center, the renowned scientist Dr. Subspace T. Mine sat comfortably in his office. He crossed his legs over his desk, looking around the barren room while he munched on a bowl of snails.

As he sunk his teeth into a fresh, juicy snail, someone pounded on his door. He jumped, quickly swallowed the snail, set the bowl down and adjusted his posture to a more professional one. 

“Come in.” He called, with a hint of annoyance.

The door opened, and to his relief it was just a Beta model Biograft, glowing an elegant purple.

“Oh, hello, Beta. What’s brought you here?” Subspace asked.

“CREATOR, I HAVE URGENT NEWS THAT IS OF PERSONAL CONCERN TO YOU.” The Betagraft answered.

“Well, go on.” Subspace said, reaching for his bowl of snails.

“AS YOU KNOW, THERE ARE 300 ZETA MODEL BIOGRAFTS AND ONE BETA MODEL MAKING UP THE SECURITY SYSTEM OF THE BANK OF ROBLOXIA, CROSSROADS DIVISION.” The Betagraft explained, “WHERE YOU KEEP APPROXIMATELY A TWELFTH OF YOUR WEALTH AND THREE OF YOUR MOST HIGHLY VALUED ASSETS.”

“Uh-huh.” Subspace stuffed a spoonful of snails into his mouth. “What about it?”

“WE HAVE RECEIVED NEWS THAT YOUR SAFE HAS BEEN BREACHED—”

“What?!”

“—AND 300 BIOGRAFTS HAVE BEEN PUT OUT OF SERVICE, INCLUDING 299 ZETAS AND ONE BETA.”

“What!?!?” Subspace dropped his spoon. His hands slammed on the desk. “What do you mean?! What even—how?!”

“ALL BODYCAM FOOTAGE FROM THE UNITS HAS BEEN DESTROYED. THAT IS, WE CAN’T FIND ANY. THE ONLY CLUES WE HAVE LIE IN THE RUINS—”

“Ruins?!?! ” Subspace repeated, standing now and in total disbelief.

“YES, CREATOR.” The Betagraft laid a manila folder on Subspace’s desk. He opened it. His jaw dropped as he looked over the photographs. His giant red safe was in fact a pile of scorched ruins, with mutilated Zetagraft corpses scattered all around it.

Subspace was speechless. He couldn’t believe it. How could this even happen? Who would dare do such a thing? Why would anyone do such a thing?

“Wait,” he said, remembering something, “you said 299 Zetas were killed. What about the other one?”

“WE HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO FIND THE SOLE SURVIVOR.” The Betagraft explained. “HOWEVER, ACCORDING TO OUR SYSTEM MONITOR, A ZETA MODEL, Z-0042, HAD DISCONNECTED FROM THE BIOGRAFT HIVEMIND NETWORK SHORTLY BEFORE THE INCIDENT TOOK PLACE.”

Subspace rubbed his eyes. He had feared something like this would happen eventually. “So you’re saying…one of the Zetas went rogue…and destroyed the entire security system? And my safe?”

“THAT IS ONE OF OUR HYPOTHESES.” The Betagraft said. “BUT WE CANNOT BE CERTAIN OF ANY CONCLUSIONS YET.”

Subspace slumped back into his chair and stared at the wall. Biografts couldn’t just turn rogue spontaneously. He had made sure of that in their programming. Maybe Z-0042 was a defect? No, that couldn’t happen either. All Biografts were checked and double-checked for any issues before they left the factory. It had to be someone else’s fault, someone separate from Z-0042. A hijacker. But who? Who could possibly have the knowledge to hijack a Biograft?? The code used a specially developed, top-secret language. All the ports were a special shape that no company outside of Blackrock Robotics, Inc. had the license to manufacture. And most importantly, the command chips required a crystal lacing in order to even be accepted by the operating system. Who, WHO could possibly do all that???

Suddenly, a face came into Subspace’s mind.

“MEDKIT!!!!!!!!!!!” He screamed, jumping from his chair, slamming his fists on the desk and seething with rage. “It was MEDKIT!!! It HAS to be!!!”

“PLEASE, CREATOR, DO NOT JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS.” Betagraft said, signaling Subspace to calm down. “WE HAVE UNITS AT THE SITE SEARCHING FOR FURTHER EVIDENCE. REST ASSURED WHOEVER IS RESPONSIBLE WILL BE PUNISHED SEVERELY.”

But Subspace was practically foaming at the mouth with rage. “That rotten, slimy banana peel!!! That incorrigible earwig!!! First he betrays me, and now this!!! THIS!!!! ” He continued with a string of insults and accusations against Medkit, which the poor Betagraft was forced to listen to. They have been omitted from this text for the safety and comfort of the reader.

When Subspace had finally exhausted himself he collapsed into his chair, now sobbing hysterically. The Betagraft, trained to recognize distress only in its creator, asked, “WOULD YOU LIKE TO DISCUSS HOW YOU ARE FEELING?”

Through his tears Subspace managed to sputter, “I just—I just can’t believe he would become this—this evil! ” Subspace rubbed his eyes, sniffling all the while. “I mean—sure, he’s deserted me, he’s poisoned me, he’s renounced any loyalty he ever had to me—but now he’s just rubbing salt in it all! He’s evil! Evil evil evil!!! ” 

The Betagraft listened quietly, unable to comprehend all the emotions flowing out of its creator.

Subspace continued to sob. “Get a— get me a— call a goddamn Cocoagraft! And you— come over here and c-comfort me!”

The Betagraft obliged, sending an invisible signal to the nearest Cocoagraft and coming over to Subspace’s side of the desk. Unsure of what he meant by “comfort,” the Betagraft simply rested a hand on Subspace’s head. 

Soon there was a light knock on the door, and the Cocoagraft entered, carrying a mug of hot chocolate.

“HELLO, CREATOR! I HEARD YOU ARE SAD, SO I BROUGHT SOME HOT CHOCOLATE!” The Cocoagraft handed the steaming cup to Subspace, who took it with trembling, tear-soaked hands. 

“Th-thank you,” Subspace managed to say through sniffles and shaky breath.

“OF COURSE, CREATOR! IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I CAN DO FOR YOU TO HELP YOU FEEL BETTER?” The Cocoagraft said, with its artificially cheery tone.

Subspace took a sip of the sweet, creamy hot chocolate. It was soothing, but not as much as it could be. “There is o-one thing you could do.” He said. “Put some m-marshmallows in this. The kind I like.”

“SURE THING! I ALMOST FORGOT! HA HA.” The large triangle in the center of the Cocoagraft’s chest popped forward, revealing a drawer full of marshmallows. It grabbed a handful and dumped it into Subspace’s mug with terrible accuracy. 

Subspace sighed. “Thank you, Cocoagraft.” His eyes drifted toward the marshmallows that fell on the floor. 

“NO PROBLEM! IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I CAN DO FOR YOU TO HELP YOU FEEL BETTER?” The marshmallow drawer receded back into the Cocoagraft’s chest. 

“Yeah, get out of here.”

“ANYTHING FOR YOU, CREATOR!” With a salute, the Cocoagraft skipped out the door and was gone.

Subspace sipped his hot chocolate, now with snail-flavored marshmallows. He was beginning to calm down, but his dismay was far from subsiding. “You, Betagraft.” He said, staring into his mug.

“YES, CREATOR.” It answered.

“When you find the evidence that it was Medkit—which you certainly will sooner or later—give him the Special Punishment.”

“THE SPECIAL-GRADE PUNISHMENT FOR IRREDEEMABLE CRIMINALS IS NOT TO BE USED UNLESS A CRIME HAS CAUSED OUTRAGEOUS DAMAGES TO BLACKROCK OR BLACKROCK PERSONNEL. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO ENACT THE SPECIAL-GRADE PUNISHMENT FOR IRREDEEMABLE CRIMINALS ON THE INDIVIDUAL MEDKIT F. AID?”

“Yes. That will finally get it into his head how I  feel about everything he’s done.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. WE SHALL FOLLOW YOUR COMMANDS IF THE EVIDENCE ALLOWS IT.”

“Mm-hmm. Good. And as for that rogue,” Subspace said, licking his lips. “Destroy it.”

“OF COURSE.”

Chapter Text

Red and blue lights. Metal clicking. A booming voice. Sweltering heat. The ground becoming smaller…

Medkit sat up. He rubbed his head, which ached, and tried looking around. His vision was foggy, dizzy, fuzzy. He could only make out orange and black. Then he saw teal.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He heard. “How’re you feeling?”

“What happened?” Was all Medkit could muster.

He could somewhat make out a face, a familiar face. He frowned. It was the Broker’s. 

The Broker said, “I’ll tell you if you promise not to pass out on me again.”

Medkit was slowly coming to. “Fine, sure. Just tell me.”

“Well, first you met me in an alley. Then you said we should rob a bank, and I love to rob banks, so I couldn’t say no. We went to the bank and tried to rob it, the big red safe I’ve always wanted to rob. Turned out there wasn’t much in there, but security found us and—”

“Okay, okay.” Medkit interrupted. “I remember that much. What happened after we, uh…after we got caught?”

“After the cops finally caught up to us? We stepped out of Zuke’s truck, and when you saw all those guys, you fainted. Typical rookie stuff.” The Broker shrugged. He continued. “We couldn’t run anywhere. I thought we could, but it turned out to be worse than I thought, so we just had to take the cuffs. You shoulda seen the look on that Officer Bloxxer’s face! That bastard looked so smug, too smug, way too proud of himself, when all he did was press a few buttons and yell a few commands!”

“And now we’re here…” Medkit, now with clear vision, glanced nervously around. He and the Broker sat in a circular cage, hung high above a sea of lava. Dark cliffs cut out an island in the cruel sea, covered with the various structures that made up the hellish prison: cells filled with dirty-faced criminals, spiked watchtowers, the rib cages of unknown creatures, and giant eyeballs keeping everything under close watch. In the center of it all stood a fifty-foot tall statue of the warden—

“Well, well, well. Two birds with one stone, eh?” A voice boomed, followed by a sardonic chuckle. Medkit’s head whipped around to see the origin of that voice. Lo and behold, it was Ban Hammer the warden himself, in the flesh, standing on a cliff near their cage. He had a disgusting grin on his face. 

“Who knew the Inpherno’s most wanted would wind up finally caught after a petty bank robbery?” Ban Hammer cackled, leaning on his oversized hammer.

The Broker gripped the bars with white fists and snapped back, “It wasn’t petty at all! We blew that place up!” 

Ban Hammer was slapping his knee with laughter. “And that’s exactly why you’re getting this!” He revealed a piece of paper folded into a plane and tossed it towards the cage. It glided tentatively, then fell into a nosedive. The Broker shot out an arm from between the bars and caught it just before it could be burned in the lava below. 

The Broker unfolded the paper, Banhammer snickering in the distance. Medkit scooted over to see what it said. 

Official Message from the Federation of Blackrock

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE PERTAINS TO THE INDIVIDUAL(S) MEDKIT FIRST AID & his companion “THE BROKER”

THE GOVERNMENT OF THE FEDERATION OF BLACKROCK HAS FOUND THAT THE AFOREMENTIONED INDIVIDUALS HAVE VIOLATED INTERFACTIONAL LAW AND ARE CHARGED WITH THE FOLLOWING CRIMES:

1) A crime of violence against innocent individuals

a) The accused criminals have physically, psychologically, or financially harmed: (1) Subspace T. Mine and (2) Mike “Officer Bloxxer” Schmidt.

2) Unjustified destruction of Blackrock property

a) The accused criminals have destroyed 299 Zeta model Biografts and 1 Beta model Biograft without reasonable justification.

b) The accused criminals have destroyed the savings and assets belonging to Subspace T. Mine, as stored in the Bank of Robloxia, Crossroads Division.

c) The accused criminals have caused significant damage to the interior of The Bank of Robloxia, Crossroads Division.

3) The possession of a firearm or other destructive device without authorization within 500 ft. of Blackrock property

a) The accused criminal Medkit First Aid was found to be in possession of a 6-round revolver before, during, and after standing within 500 ft. or less of The Bank of Robloxia, Crossroads Division without federal permission from the Government of Blackrock.

4) The hijacking and unauthorized command of a Biograft

a) The accused criminal Medkit First Aid is assumed guilty of overriding the core Blackrock Loyalty systems within the Biograft of serial ID Z-0042.

b) Medkit First Aid is assumed guilty of utilising the hijacked Biograft Z-0042 as an accomplice in his crimes as listed in this file.

5) The personal insult of Subspace T. Mine

a) The accused criminals have been found to have acted in a way that is of personal offence to Subspace T. Mine by:

i) Destroying his property, savings, and assets; 

ii) Loss and destruction of the jar labelled “Medkit’s left eye”; 

iii) Disclosure of his fondness for snails without express consent;

iv) Causing irreparable damage to a significant number of Biografts, his creation, including but not limited to: decapitation, dismemberment, denting, scratching, glass-shattering, circuit failure, implosion, overheating, malware installation, operating system malfunction, disk failure, battery leakage, capacitor leakage, solder joint destruction, RAM socket corrosion, power surging, oxidization, combustion, explosion, and vaporization;

v) Attempted robbery.

b) Due to the convict Medkit First Aid’s status of having been previously married to Subspace T. Mine, the severity of this charge has been doubled—

“Oh, come on! What the heck is this?!” Medkit interrupted, snatching the paper from the Broker’s hands. “This goes on forever!” The text, which had begun at a reasonable size, gradually became smaller and smaller until it was barely legible and filled both sides of the page.

The Broker yanked the page back. “How the hell is offending Subspace a federal crime—?”

“Because it’s Subspace!” Medkit wailed, practically pulling his horns out. “What was I even thinking? Of course we’d be caught! Of course offending Subspace is a crime! Of course we’d end up in Banland!”

Medkit buried his face in his hands and began to sob. The Broker hesitantly patted him on the back, unsure whether or not the touch would only upset him further. Medkit was too exhausted to react.

All the while, Ban Hammer was giggling away at his spot on the cliff. “If you think that’s bad,” he snorted, “why don'tcha take a look at your guys’ sentences? That’ll give you a kick!”

The Broker glared at him, but flipped the paper over anyway. At the very bottom of the page, in microscopic text it read:

THE SUPREME COURT OF THE FEDERATION OF BLACKROCK UPHOLDS THESE CONVICTIONS AND HEREBY DECLARES MEDKIT FIRST AID AND “THE BROKER” GUILTY AS CHARGED. 

Due to the personal involvement of Subspace T. Mine as a victim of a reasonable number of the crimes aforementioned, he has requested the convicts receive specialized punishment. This request has been found just by the Supreme Court of the Federation of Blackrock and will be upheld.

MEDKIT FIRST AID & his companion “THE BROKER” ARE HEREBY SENTENCED TO THE FOLLOWING CONDITIONS:

1) Fines owed to the Federation of Blackrock and Subspace T. Mine, totalling exactly one googolplex—

“A googolplex ?” Medkit sputtered.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what it says here.” The Broker said. He could hear Ban Hammer snickering and snorting behind him.

“Show it to me.” Medkit demanded, already reaching for the page. The Broker let him have it. With trembling hands Medkit held the page, creases forming under his grip. He squinted at the writing, and was only able to find the section once he spotted the very, very large number:

—totalling exactly one googolplex (10^{10,000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000,​000,000,000} ) dollars.

2) A lifetime in Banland.

Medkit’s grip on the paper tightened, threatening to tear it apart. A drop of water formed on the number, then another. 

The Broker nudged him. “Hey, you okay? C’mon, it can’t be that bad—”

But when Medkit looked up the Broker saw that indeed it was that bad. Tears were streaming from Medkit’s eye, and his entire body shook with a despair that the Broker had never known possible. 

“A…a googleplex.” Medkit muttered, choking on his own breath.

The Broker’s face creased with worry, the terrible sight of Medkit’s dismay triggering the underutilised empathy portion of his brain. He tried to act calm. “Uh, c’mon, Meds, cheer up! I mean, what the hell’s a googolplex anyway? They probably don’t even know what they’re talking about—”

“A googolplex,” Medkit screeched, “is…i-is a number,” his breath heaved, his shoulders shuddered, he sobbed with such an intensity that was practically divine, “bigger than the total number of elementary particles in the universe.”

The Broker stared at him blankly. Then he said, “Well, it can’t be that bad, right? I mean, how many particles are in the universe anyway? There’s dirt, and air, and—”

Medkit cried out in anguish. “We’re done for! There’s no way! We may as well be dead!”

The Broker watched as Medkit collapsed into a puddle of tormented despair. He didn’t know what else he could say; nothing seemed to be able to soothe Medkit. He didn’t even know what a googolplex was.

Suddenly a deep, piercing, deafening guffaw erupted from behind him, sending their hanging cage into a sway as the noise reverberated and racked through the caverns of Banland. The warden Ban Hammer himself was doubled over, clutching his stomach and slapping his knees as he laughed and cried with such an intensity that was practically divine. 

The Broker looked from the shuddering, sobbing heap of Medkit, then at the shuddering, snorting sack of Ban Hammer. He didn’t know which one was worse. 

He sat leaning on the cage bars, staring coldly at Ban Hammer. He called out. “Hey, you done yet? It’s really not that funny, y’know.”

But Ban Hammer couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop hooting. “I just can’t believe—ha ha ha ha!—the Inpherno’s most wanted, both of you—he he he ha ha!—after a bank robbery! A bank robbery! He he he hoo ha ha ha haa!!”

“Yeah, well, go laugh about it somewhere else. And get a collapsed lung while you’re at it.” The Broker said.

“You know what?—heh heh he he!—I think I could—eh heh heh!—die happy now. I could die right now and be the happiest Inphernal to have ever lived! HA ha ha ha hah hah haaaaaaaaa!!!” Ban Hammer sputtered as he, surprisingly, picked up his impressively sized hammer and hobbled away down the rocky slope, leaving the two inmates in peace at last.

The Broker grumbled. “I sure hope you die. I sure do hope.” 

He turned to Medkit, who had quieted down but still sat clutching his face, curled up in his sorrow. He patted his shoulder. “Look, Meds, I know it seems like we’ve hit rock bottom right now, but, uh, c’mon. Don’t be so upset! We’re lucky they put us together!”

Medkit made no reply.

“Remember I told you I’ve escaped from here 53 times? Well, it’s true! So don’t worry! I’ll figure out a way to get us out of here, don’t worry.” The Broker smiled weakly. “Maybe, just, uh, just try to calm yourself down for now. Yeah. Then we’ll talk about escaping.”

Medkit looked up and wiped his face on his sleeve. “I’m just going to sleep.” He mumbled, not looking at the Broker.

“Oh, alright then. Sure.” The Broker scooted away from him, taking his spot again leaning on the bars.

Medkit sniffled, sighed heavily, and laid down on the floor of the cage, his back to the Broker. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

this is the very first drawing of "evil medkit", which started all of this.

here are some more medkits and broker

thousand yard stare

the almighty biograft z-0042