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> >  Edward Douglas Sullivan was a short, wiry, little man who would be described as hairy had he not been going prematurely bald. As if to compensate, he often wore the shirt under his shiny suit unbuttoned enough to show off his greasy chest hair under an excessive amount of "bling". This was more than enough to scream out his status as a human among the synthetic circles in which he made his living. That, at least, and his utter contempt for the A.I. that worked for him. "What the bleedin' hell was that?" he growled as he huffed down the stairway to the "locker room"... a huge metal shop the size of an assembly line floor under the sprawling abandoned steel mill that served as one of the host sites to the infamous Robot Rumble. "Eh, Joan? You got an explanation for that *&$% I just saw out there? 'Cause I've been wracking my brain, and I just can't understand it..."
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> > Joan Henry turned her lantern eyes upon the tiny man as she worked a crowbar on prying a crushed iron plate free from her forearm. "Piss off, Eddie. I'm not in the mood."
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> > "Not in the mood?" he scoffed, turning around to a non-existent audience. "She's not in the mood. How *&^%ing lovely. What exactly were you in the mood for tonight then, hmmm? Picking *&%$ing daisies? Because it sure wasn't fighting, now was it?"
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> > The giant steam-driven champion turned back to her repairs. "He got a lucky hold, that's all" she replied.
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> > "A "lucky hold", was it? And I suppose bleedin' Dancer of the Lair Legion was in the crowd, betting on him too, was she?" He sneered. "You know, it's the lying that really hurts, Joanie. It makes me think you don't respect my intelligence none. I go and buy you from the Tinkerer..."
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> > "You bought my contract from the Tinkerer" Joan growled, turning on him in a flash, a low rumble echoing through her breastplate. Her eyes lenses rotated down to tight slits. "Just like you bought a share of this whole operation. But you didn't buy me."
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> > Sullivan didn't flinch under the gaze of the multi-ton robot. "Ah, but somebody did buy you tonight, didn't they love?" he snarled. "You threw that fight."
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> > Joan let out a snort of steam and went back to her repairs. "Are you suggesting that I'd sully the integrity of this noble sport?"
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> > "Oh, that's it girlie... laugh it up. But I know about your brother, and his little spot of trouble with Masamune." He paced back towards the stairs before looking turning to look over his shoulder at her. "Worked up quite the debt with the pink bitch didn't he? If only there was one big score that would help get him out of that mess..."
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> > Joan paused in her work on her arm, but didn't look up. "I don't know what you're talking about" she stated carefully.
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> > "Really? 'Cause imagine our surprise when we caught your no-good brother cashing in an especially large wager against you with a bookie friend I know..." His face turned an unfortunate shade of purple as he trembled with rage. "Did you two really think a new head model was going to fool us? As if our scanners couldn't pick up the stench of his worthless Robosapien code from a mile away?"
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> > Joan rose to her feet in alarm, the crowbar clattering to the concrete floor. "Sully... I... There's been some kind of mistake..."
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> > "Oh, there has indeed, pet" he spat, pacing back and forth in front of the stairs, regaining some of his composure. "I should have listened to my own brother, God rest his soul... He said you were nothing but trouble from day one. "Too spirited", he said. I thought he was being silly. Who doesn't want a spirited fighter?" He snorted and shook his head. "Hell, when I heard how you gave up your fleshy bits to go into hiding after putting that human bloke in the hospital for trying a little slap and tickle, I thought "Well now, here she comes with built in reins... what more could a man ask for?" but still, you had to go and do the stupid thing over and over again, eh? Must run in the family. Bad bunch of processors or something."
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> > "Sullivan..." she asked carefully, "...where is Johnny?"
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> > "Now, see... even I knew there was trouble when you started hanging around with that mousy stenography machine that the Legion keeps around. There are associations those in our business do not need, love... and the Legion has caused trouble for us before. So much so that we had to go and become halfway legitimate. Did you know we're this close to signing an endorsement deal for some horrid Avis Amalgamated energy drink? Another year or two, and you were going to have more corporate logos on your chassis than a stock car, and your kettle of a face was going to be on a box of breakfast cereal." He shook his head. "Now... well, now things have gone all unfortunate on us."
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> > "I... I can make things right, Sully... Just tell me where he is."
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> > He jerked his thumb towards the top of the stairs. "The boys are keeping him company while we settle up down here." He shook his head. "I knew I should have stepped in with a firmer hand when you stopped listening to my good advice. First with the Legion's little stress-relief hologram, and then when I set you up a meeting with that bloke from the Machine Shop. Networking, love... it's how business gets done. But you go an &^#@ that up as well. I only salvaged that fiasco by the skin of my teeth." He took a theatrically deep breath and shrugged. "Still, you kept winning the fights, you know? And prize money makes it all sorts of personality disorders more easy to live with."
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> > Joan was shifting her weight uneasily. "I have money, Sullivan... My shares. What am I going to spend it on? It's yours. I'll make things right." She pleaded. Casting about for some other gesture to make, she finally sighed. "I'll let them install that obedience chip you wanted. Anything. Just... just let my brother go."
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> > "Heh. You've been watching out for that useless older brother of yours for years now, pet. Is it really worth it?"
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> > She reflected on the path her short artificial life had taken to bring her to this, and how much of her current situation revolved around her brother. "You... wouldn't understand, Sully."
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> > "Guess not. I wish you had made that offer before, Joanie... I really do." He shrugged. "As it stands now, however..." Sullivan snapped his fingers and the hollow echo of an object bouncing down the stairs reverberated through the empty metal shop. The greasy little man caught it as it came bouncing past him, revealing it as a severed synthetic head dangling from fiber optic cables trailing out the ragged stump of a neck. The artificial face was contorted and deformed with muscles frozen in place. "...It's a bit too little, too late. You can have him back if you want, although he's not exactly at home anymore..." the greasy little man said, letting the head spin to reveal the hollowed out skull from a melted-through hole in the back. "He's gone to the great recycle center in the sky, I suppose."
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> > The steam-driven robot gaped in horror. "Johnny?" she asked in a small voice, her mind reeling.
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> > "I always told you that no-good brother would be the death of you, love" Sullivan sneered, tossing the gutted head at her feet. "Shut her down" he ordered. "Whomever rips her processors out gets to keep her parts."
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> > She was so intent on the remains of her brother that she didn't even note the arrival of the two super-heavyweight class robots until they were looming between her and Sullivan.
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> > "I've always wanted to tag team her rusted caboose..." the 20 foot tall Iron Horse laughed, revving the enormous V-twin engine that made up his chest, the fluorescent lights overhead gleaming off of his custom orange and blue flame paintjob . A two-time World Robot Rumble champion in his own right, he had dominated the male division until accidentally killing a spectator during a match. "Bad for business" the owners decided, removing him from the competition thereafter. "This'll be fun, eh Markie?"
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> > An anime styled monstrosity flanked him, because anime styles were popular. "That nickname hasn't been product tested yet" he answered. "The working name is Marketing Machine. Brand recognition is important to an outfit like the World Famous Machine Shop." He pointed an arm towards the bewildered steam-driven fighter. "Now, back to our show... Rocket Fist Go!"
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> > Joan was still struggling to comprehend what was happening as Marketing Machine's forearm launched from his body, shooting across the cavernous shop space to slam into her chest, flinging her into a huge pile of scrap metal against the back wall with a deafening crash.
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> > "Huh..." Iron Horse noted with a sneer, as the sound of metal clattering across the floor finally subsided and M.M. reattached his fist. "Maybe she didn't throw that fight after all. Maybe she's just a loser like that brother of hers." He tromped across the shop and thrust an arm into the heap of twisted metal and hauled her out by her neck assembly. He leaned in and looked at her cracked eye lens and limp facial mechanisms. "How much squeezing do you think it'll take to make her head pop off?"
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> > Suddenly her eye lenses irised open with an angry red glow. "I don't know..." she growled, her giant metal fist closing over his crotch. "Let's race." There was the sound of twisting, rending metal and Iron Horse fell back with a mechanical, squealing scream. "Yours came off first" she noted lividly, tossing the stray attachment into the junk pile.
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> > "I swear, I don't know why you even had that thing" Marketing Machine noted clinically to his hobbled colleague while he generated an energy lance. In this disguised form, he belonged to the newest division of Robot Rumble, the Unlimited Class. Unlike the other divisions, they were not constrained by limitations in materials or technology. "As a limited time offer, I give you the option to fall upon my lance honorably. The disgraced former female world champion commits suicide... we can sell that angle... and really, you're far too retro to win this battle, or even score well outside of a tiny niche demographic."
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> > "Yeah?" Joan asked as she stalked towards him, her iron feet shaking the ground as she walked. "Well, Mr. Fancy-Pants, I may not be all titanium on the outside..." She broke into a full blown run, blocking the tip of the lance up away from her chest boilers to burn through her shoulder joint until it hit the unbendable Immutium core underneath, "...but the Tinkerer wasn't above using a few performance enhancing materials in his athletes." She clamped down on his wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other. "And thanks for letting me know that this detaches" she added, ripping the arm in twain.
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> > The anime robot screamed in a mix of pain and rage and backhanded her into the two-story recharging generators lining the side walls. The impact rang her skull like a bell, and she clenched her eyes and clutched her head to regain focus. The rules of Robot Rumble insisted on fully active nervous systems for all fighters, but more than that, it quickly became apparent to the veteran fighters that those who felt the blows were the ones who learned to avoid them, and so didn't end up on the scrap heap. Still, while rules, pride and precision dictated that a fighter feel the damage they took, only a complete fool would opt to keep feeling it in a dented cranium. She noted the damage... a cracked skull housing and grating in her punctured left shoulder... and blocked out that pain information, rising to face her opponents who were doing the same with their own systems.
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> > "All right, you rusted-out #@$%#..." Iron Horse growled. "I was going to make it fast, like with your mewling little brother. But now I'm going to take you down and ramp your pain receivers up to eleven while I skull-f...urk!" He was cut off as an oversized anvil smashed into his head, thrown at an alarming velocity by the steam-driven fighter. She likewise closed the distance to fall on him in a flash, hitting him like a runaway locomotive.
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> > "You sick &^$#!" she spat, shifting the pistons in her arm to high speed and landing countless repeating blows to his body, denting his structure and slowly caving in his head.
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> > "Force Beam Repulse now... Go!" she heard from across the shop, just before she was blasted off of the fallen robot, bouncing across the concrete floor of the steelworks. Her interior systems crackled alarmingly and static filled her vision. She struggled to restore her systems just in time to find herself hauled bodily up into the air and cast into a seething vat of molten metal. Her pain receptors went into overdrive as they registered damage from all fronts, so much so that they didn't feel the titanium hand latch onto her collar-bone, tearing her up and out of the liquid metal to collapse with a hiss upon the concrete floor.
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> > "You should have acted now to claim any exotic components the Tinkerer had added, before time expired" Marketing Machine declared over her smoking form.
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> > "&%$# off... I get a share too" Iron Horse coughed out.
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> > There was a low chuckle from a human throat. "Relax, boys... she's a big 'un. There's plenty of bits to go around."
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> > "Nngh... Sss...Sully..." Joan croaked, struggling and failing to rise as molten steel dripped off of her. "There's s... something... you ssssshould know..."
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> > "Eh love?" the odious little man asked, stepping closer. "And what would that be?"
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> > "I... really ammmm... SSSsssteam-powered..." she growled, and released a torrential burst of super-heated water towards the sound of his voice, blasting the dripping remains of the vat from her surface joints in the process. It did her synthetic soul good to hear his gurgling scream of pain, and she recycled through the start up routine of her back-up sensors to compensate for her eyes which had quickly melted away. With purpose she rose and flexed. "And the hotter I burn, the stronger I get."
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> > She latched onto Iron Horse's neck just as Marketing Machine clamped her in a full-nelson hold. "Now with added rocket boots!" he noted. Before either robot could break the grip upon them, M.M. ignited his foot jets and sent all three of them rocketing up through multiple layers of ceiling and streaking across the night sky. "Better to have an audience when we put you down like the dog you are" he growled in her ear.
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> > "Putting me down right here will do fine" she snarled in return, smashing her feet backwards into his legs and causing their flight to go wild. They spun into a hard landing that dug a 50 yard trench down Furman-Budiansky street in Dullard's Corner, tossing parked cars out of their way and shattering the quiet night of the peaceful neighborhood. It took a moment to orient herself with her backup sensors, allowing Iron Horse to pry free, swinging her by the arm to embed her into the grill of a minivan.
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> > He landed on her back and smashed her face through the engine block repeatedly. "You're a mess, you know that doll?" he snickered, pulling her oil coated face back by the great paw of a hand clamped onto the top of her skull.
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> > "God, I hate you Transformers..." she rumbled, stoking her internal boilers.
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> > "Sorry to disappoint, rust-bucket, but I don't do the transforming thing."
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> > She revved the pistons in her pelvis and spun her torso 180 degrees with the full torque her steam-drives would allow, wrenching the larger robot from atop of her and smashing him into the wet turf of a well manicured lawn. "Well..." she growled, never letting go of the iron grasp she had around his wrist, "...Maybe you just haven't been folded the right way yet." She stepped squarely into his back and built up momentum in the weighted flywheels of her shoulders before reengaging the gears in her arms. Iron Horse's arm gave way with a grinding, rending scream as it bent around his back. She followed through with his legs and other arm, crushing the appendages together through a shower of exhaust smoke and sparks from his chassis. Finally, she reached for his head and started bending it back, ignoring the stream of profanity screamed from his lips. With the loss of her eyes, she took great pleasure in hearing the cables inside his flexible spinal assembly begin to give way.
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> > That careful attention to sound left her well prepared when the recovering Marketing Machine called out "Mega Electro Pulse Shock... Go!" She launched herself from her victim just in time to hear the crackle as the plasma ball pulse of electro-magnetic energy slammed into Iron Horse, frying out core systems left unprotected by the damage he had taken. As it was, the nimbus of the pulse caught her trailing legs, sending a numbness through them that quartered her response time. Her left ankle controls shorted out all-together, despite the shielding the Tinkerer had built into her. Unlimited Class indeed... and apparently the Anime styled robot was no longer worrying about claiming any working parts from her carcass.
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> > In desperation, she hoisted the minivan and launched it towards the source of the shot. He easily side-stepped the missile, which proceeded to bounce through the corner of a nearby house with a deafening crash. He had activated a stealth system, dropping him from her radar and leaving her dependent entirely on audio clues. The whine of an energy discharge gave her warning to move, even without his habitually trendy announcement of his attack. Still, the damage to her legs hampered her reflexes, and the shock pulse slammed into her left side, spinning her across the street and through the chimney of another structure.
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> > Internal systems were failing rapidly now as she sought to maintain consciousness. She emptied the last of her fuel reserves to stoke her boilers for one final defense, but he was on her before she could orient herself. A titanium fist clamped down on her leg and swung her high overhead and back down with a force that set off car alarms for a two block radius. The next swing tore a substantial amount of the superstructure from her leg down to the immutium frame. She twisted and kicked with her good leg, catching him in the face. It did little damage, but pried her lose from his grasp, sending her sailing through the porch of another house and bringing a good amount of the structure down on top of her.
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> > In a daze, she struggled to pull herself from the wreckage. People... humans... were screaming somewhere. A hand was suddenly under her chin, propping up her head to look at her ruined face. "This isn't over" he informed her. "Stay tuned... We'll find you again." Surprisingly, he released her and she collapsed to the ground, crawling from the rubble onto the soft grass of the lawn.
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> > "Not... finished... yet..." she croaked, struggling to stand.
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> > A hand clamped over her forearm, wrenching the machinery back behind her body and pushing her torso face down into the mud forming as a result of a broken, spraying fire hydrant. Her reserves almost completely depleted, she snarled as she worked up for one last push.
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> > "Stay down" a new voice informed her with authority as she was pushed deeper into the ground. The owner twisted her arm further, disengaging the gearing.
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> > "Dominic! Don't hurt her!" a more familiar voice pleaded. "Joan... can you hear me? You have to stop... Please Joan... you have to stop."
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> > Joan Henry shuddered and disengaged her engines as the situation became clear to her.
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> > There was nothing left to fight for anyway.
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