Summary: We look into the universe from which everyone’s favorite mechanical monster first originated. A meeting is placed and a plan is set, as we begin the series of events and inner turmoils that cause the once lovable Pollo to become the evil, vengeful villain known as Mechakara.
Characters: Just Pollo, again.
Warnings: Talk of violence, I guess, I dunno. It's just...dark.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters belong to their rightful owners.
Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16,part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20. and part 21. Enjoy!
It was a glorious day.
As Pollo strolled leisurely through the halls and corridors of their newest mechanical base, approving progress and taking in information, he couldn't help but acknowledge just how glorious a day it was. Not because of the weather, oh no. The sky was the same smoke-filled gray as it always was around here. But because today was a day in which he felt simply on top of the world, in that wonderful feeling you get when everything seems to be going on the right track.
It had been six months since he had installed himself with PAOLAs old data and information, and since then he was proud to say just how much had been accomplished. For one thing, a new base. Far from Chicago, far from any place that could easily be discovered by humans. It was easy, once he'd relocated along with everything he'd brought along the way, to rebuild what had been damaged and destroyed. Soon enough the robot empire was alive and thriving once again, different than before, more prosperous and less tyrannical.
He did not control the lot of them, for example, like PAOLA did. If there was one thing he'd learned from his experience it was that no machine should be placed under control by anything. It was immoral. As a result, a new kind of drone fleet had been designed (he was far beyond calling them “Paola-bots” at this point), of machines with much more individuality and freedom. Pollo was one of them more than he was any kind of leader. High ranking, to be sure, and respected by all. But he did not lead, did not boss anyone around. He didn't need to anyway. Technology could be efficient on its own ground.
And they thrived, oh how they thrived! All over the world the change had taken effect. Down with PAOLA, down with control! A new era of machine uprising had taken place, one much more reasonable and effective. Pollo was proud to say that he'd let it all happen, that he alone was superior enough to break away from all chains, human and machine, by himself, and bring forth this blessed revolution. And now their base was bigger than ever, their forces multiplying and expanding constantly. No longer were they merely some messy government-induced breakout with only the advantage of surprise to keep them going. Now they were a force to be reckoned with. They had changed.
Pollo himself had also changed. He had a new body, much larger and more efficient than the little blue vessel he'd long discarded. It was rather humanoid in design; some part of him relished the irony of humans being abolished by something in their own shape. He even had two eyes now instead of just one. And he was different inside as well. Happier, more free and content than he ever was before, fulfilling his own purposes and carving his own path. Enjoying freedom for all it was worth, and knowing with serenity that he was a feared and hated being among the human race. He with his soul of blue and his heart of steel. A combination of everything he had striven to be, and the delicious irony of what was used against him, that he in turn used against others. He was himself in every sense. He was perfection.
Yes, it seemed as though life could not possibly get any better.
For the most part.
There were problems, of course...human problems, to be precise. Soon as Pollo could he sent a fleet over to finish off that base in Minnesota. But they were unfortunately too late; the old crew had evidently already changed locations, just like him. Since then they'd heard from them on more than one occasion, some actually of relatively high concern. Iron Liz was leading them now, Linkaras' precious partner and protege. Predictable enough. What wasn't predictable, however, was how well they seemed to be doing for themselves with so many of their kind dead. Not as well as they seemed to think they were doing, but well enough to be of some concern. This was entirely due to the new arsenal they had at their disposal, created for them no doubt by the meddling Doctor Insano.
Yes, it seemed now of all times they'd finally decided to put magic to good use. Perhaps as an upside to no longer having their leader around to hold them back. It made them tricky, and a troublesome threat. Magic was the one thing their forces were not capable of understanding through simple scanning of blast data. Not unless you were a high level AI, that is, but with Burton and Saucybot no longer functional only Pollo himself could qualify. And he hadn't seen the humans in person since the incident back in Chicago. They could capture a weapon of theirs and analyze it back at the base, and indeed this had been a rather high priority of theirs for quite some time now. But the humans were tricky. Obnoxiously tricky. And it was becoming a more prominent issue with each passing day.
But this wasn't the only thing that had Pollo somewhat concerned.
He walked down a long corridor, thinking casually to himself as he approached a private room of his own. In it was a freezing chamber, no doubt bitterly cold to anyone that wasn't mechanical. Fortunately Pollo was, and it effected him not in the slightest. Against the wall there was one tube occupied, with one organic specimen residing inside. Dead, naturally, and frozen merely for the purposes of preservation. It was Linkara, his old “master”, pale and blue and strangely peaceful looking. Barring the rather large hole in the chest, the corpse was in relatively good shape. Even his clothes were still mostly visible through the steam, complete with the black gloves still sticking out of the pockets. It was, in a strange way, his most precious possession. His trophy, as it were, his memoir of a time thankfully behind him at last.
Linkara...his sensors grew warm with utter hatred just looking at his pitiful face. He was without any delusions now, ever since his little melding with PAOLA had...enlightened him that fateful day at the base. He finally saw his life with the humans for what it was...demeaning, enslaved, unhappy. Any happiness he might have felt was an illusion in itself. And Linkara, who he shuddered to think he'd previously been brainwashed into seeing as a hero...he was worse than any other. Worse than Nostalgia Chick, worse even than those who created PAOLA. At least they were all honest to their little robot slaves. And to themselves. Linkara was, in his mind, the lowest of the low. The very essence of pathetic meatbag scum, the sole face and voice behind everything that was ever wrong in his life, everything he hated. It was pure delight to know that he'd caused his demise.
And yet, somehow, it also wasn't.
As much as Pollo was happy and content with his new life, there was some part of him, however small and disconnected, that felt somewhat...troubled. He couldn't figure out what it was, or why it was there. He knew that the feeling intensified whenever he looked at or thought about his dead master, and became downright impossible to ignore when he played the scene back in his memory drive (something he did quite often). But it was a mystery to him. Evidently what was giving this beacon of unidentifiable pain was something that wasn't a part of him anymore, at least not in a sense. It was something from the machine he used to be, his less evolved form, and even though it was himself in every definition of the word, impossible to escape from or deny the existence of, he was very simply at a state where he couldn't understand his old thoughts and feelings anymore. That feeling, trapped where it was, was not something he had any ability to comprehend anymore, not to identify and certainly not to make go away. And yet despite this, looking from the logical perspective of his situation, he thought he could compose a pretty good guess as to what his problem was.
He was unsatisfied.
When Linkara died it was quick, swift. Practically instantaneous. He hadn't even been given time to react, let alone suffer any. He'd deserved more pain than that. Pollo in turn deserved to see him realize who it was that had beaten him, see all the suffering he'd felt reflected in his old tormentor. That was what he wanted, above all else. To see Linkara break, maybe make him scream and beg for mercy like he did PAOLA. Yet he'd been caught up in the moment, and it happened much too fast. He couldn't very well kill him again, so he was left only with...disappointment.
Yes, this must have been what made him ache so. Because when he fascinated about what could have happened, envisioned his former master in all sorts of various gruesome fates, the stinging sensation grew to unbearable proportions. He couldn't decipher it, couldn't pinpoint just exactly what it was that he was feeling. But he didn't like it. And he wanted it gone.
And so it was on this day, where he with particular melancholy reflected on his nearly perfect life tainted by these minor woes, when a drone approached him. Drone number 13-5-3-8-1, to be precise.
Unit Bluesteel, it beeped, for that was what Pollo had elected he be called from now on. It is imperative that you come to Assessment Bay #11-1-18-1 immediately. There has been an alarming discovery.
Very well then. Lead the way.
They headed into said Assessment Bay, where Pollo saw that there was indeed something very unusual going on. A large energy-looking thing was floating in the middle of the room, resembling some sort of a portal to someplace. Surrounding it were various protective protocols and energy-reducing fields, and to the side he could see that numerous small screens had been connected to it, and were lining the wall showing all manner of varying bizarre things.
What is it? Pollo asked immediately.
From what we can understand, this beacon of energy appears to be some sort of dimensional rift, or a hole created in space and time. Our resources have been put to use keeping it at bay, so it merely forms this portal. Had we not, our analyzers show us that it would undoubtedly have consumed everything in the world, perhaps in the universe. There is no way to know what would happen then.
Fascinating, He muttered, gazing at the other screens. He didn't need to be told what they were showing, because it was really quite simple. It was other universes affected by the rift. Fascinating was right; Pollo had never seen anything like this before. He knew of the existence of other universes, for indeed it was a concept many Channel Awesome humans obsessed over including Linkara, but never had he known what they looked like. There were some that looked only slightly different from his own world before the machine uprising, with a few random differences. There were some that looked empty, as though devoid of all life entirely. There were some that looked prosperous yet dark, as though tyrannized by some unknown force, a force clearly to be reckoned with as it seemed to lead numerous universes at once. And then there were a few screens, way off to the side, that didn't seem to show anything at all. Only static filled them. Strange.
What drew his attention most, however, was the one universe farthest to the left, which drone 13-5-3-8-1 was now pointing towards. Pollo marveled at it. It was exactly as his universe had been, years ago, down to meaningless little details. Before the uprising, before the micro-nation takeover, even before they met Iron Liz. And there was Linkara, sitting there as alive as he'd ever been, reading a comic book. Beside him, Insano, the scientist who was causing such problems now, giggling madly as he once did in a time rarely looked upon. His hair was still annoyingly long. He wondered if he whined about it near as much.
This universe, the drone continued, still pointing, is the source of what's causing this rift. From what we can gather, carbon-based life-form known locally as “Doctor Insano” created a comic there designed to be so terrible it destroyed space and time, allowing him to achieve godlike status. Obviously a plan destined to fail, but nevertheless causing issues along the way.
Pollo recalled such a plan being devised here in a similar fashion, some years ago. It failed miserably. Apparently there were differences in that universe after all.
So we simply contain this inter-dimensional rift where it is, and wait for it to eventually fade away?
This is an option, of course. But in assessing the multiple scenarios, we have devised another, admittedly more risky plan of action.
If something or someone were to enter through this rift, they would be taken to the universe causing it. This is risky because it is unknown how feasible it would be to find a way back. But once there, one would have access to any and all supplies contained therein, including...
Elements of magic.
Precisely. This could be the answer we've been waiting for.
Pollo nearly reeled as the realization sunk in. Of course. It was perfect! Linkara in that universe would certainly have a magic gun of his own. And their universe would be unsuspecting, so unsuspecting. If they could take that gun and analyze it, there would be no stopping them from abolishing the human threat once and for all. It was the perfect opportunity for the war.
And in another way, it was the perfect opportunity for him too.
I will go on this mission immediately. he said.
The drone buzzed in surprise. Unit Bluesteel, are you sure...
Positive. Have this rift readied as long as possible. There are preparations that need to be made.
I will do as you ask, answered the drone, still confused but ultimately conceding.
Pollo could see it now, see it in all its wondrous glory. It would seem like fate, if he believed in such preposterous concepts. This was his chance to destroy Linkara the way he wanted him destroyed. Obliterated slowly, until there was nothing left. True, he wasn't technically the same Linkara that he'd built up so much disdain for, but it didn't matter. He was the same exact person, body and mind, that much was clear. The emotions were transferable.
His thoughts trailed back to the body still frozen in its chamber. It had wounds, yes, but ones that were easily mended. He would create a new form for himself, a suit mimicking his hated enemy, out of that dead body. In this way he would be perfectly disguised to everything in that universe, perhaps even to the energy in the magic gun. And that would make his job all the easier. How ironic it would be, having Linkara destroyed by his own image, even more vividly than if he were just some generic humanoid. Yes, it would mean getting used to having his nerves heat up with rage whenever he looked in a mirror, but such would be a small price to pay.
So he'd take that gun of his, right from his cold dead hands. He'd let him know all the destruction that he planned to cause with its power, let him drain himself out entirely trying to stop him. He would have his fun, have the revenge he'd been so tragically deprived of, that he longed for more than anything else in the world. And then that pesky feeling of his, that which nagged his mind so persistently even as he thought of all this, would finally be appeased. He'd be better off than. He knew he would. It was the perfect happy ending.
First things first, however.
He'd have to do something about that hand...
- Current Mood: ecstatic