Warnings: Morally Ambiguous! Reader, Confinement, Alcohol Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use (not by either Nefarious), Mentions of Body Modification, Authoritarian Behaviour, Violence, Implied Death, Emotional Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.
Word Count: 4195
At a time when most organic beings surrendered to their weariness, robotic citizens powered by batteries and self-sustaining engines wandered the streets like wayward souls awaiting Charon's ferry. Even the downtrodden and most obscure areas of the city, the type of places one would travel to find a fight or vanish, were dripping with neon signs and enormous television screens that sang the praises of their emperor. His angular face stared back at every passerby, and the absence of darkness inflicted a sense of surveillance no matter how far from the tower you walked.
Rivet descended from the rooftop of a mechanic shop like a superhero from the comic books of old. The black surface of her helmet displayed a blue smiley face, which ceased as she removed it to expose white fur and large, pointed ears that were not unlike those of a fennec fox. "I had to blow off Le Fer to make it, so you better not double-cross me," she teased with a lighthearted chuckle that implied the situation was more of a fun trick to her than the potentially fatal risk it was to you.
The rebel dropped a handful of silver balls that were the perfect size for a game of ping pong onto your palm, her fingers lingering on yours as if ensuring that you kept them. A symbol of the revolution -- a 'V' that mimicked the shape of Lombax heads -- was imprinted on the side of each one. You were not certain whether it was a deliberate insult or a grievous oversight, yet Rivet patted your hand as if thinking it a gift.
Seekerpedes, the aerial guard dogs of Nefarious City that had all the grace of a whale swimming in the ocean until you noticed the extra legs and mandibles that threatened to bite like a saltwater crocodile, glided overhead as a reminder of your entrapment.
A melody that paramours danced to in the secluded night echoed in the alleyway, a mere whisper to your ears but a flourishing attraction for the cabaret down the street.
"Electric shock grenades." Rivet offered a wink, seemingly unaware of the malevolent thoughts that poured into your mind without restraint. "In case you need to deactivate a few bots." This explanation merely encouraged your hateful fantasies to grow, but allowing yourself to believe that a collection of pocket tools could dethrone him was a celebration of naivete that reality would jump to disprove.
You had begun to pull your hand away when Rivet tightened her grip. The Lombax flashed a smile that she expressed with great hesitancy -- both for fear of a poor reaction and given the hordes of Troopers patrolling the city -- that was equal only to her determination for you to see it, but her next words were an even bolder declaration. "You'll always have a seat on my ship."
* * *
When you snuck into the throne room to behold a slouching robot with an oblong head prancing to the desk, there was a brief thought that the emperor had undergone some sort of physical tragedy in his conquest and decided to postpone it. The voice that revelled in the splendid acoustics, however, was raspy and sitting on the cusp of giddy. A quick examination of the gold statue upon which you idled behind furthered your skepticism about announcing yourself, but the intruder spotted you with an ecstatic gasp.
He looked with the euphoric relief of someone who had reached the end of a maze after hours of stumbling, overwhelmed by familiarity and a sense that the trials that delivered him to the other side had all been worthwhile. The texture of his metal was much darker and more compact than that of the emperor, and the dim light provided by the giant monitors behind him cast a thick shadow across his body.
Bewilderment and fright seized your being when he hopped the desk like a rabbit and began sprinting in your direction. The clanks of his metal feet echoed in the expansive chamber, and the handful of sentries that blocked his path scattered with as much fearful urgency as their rudimentary programming could muster.
You thought he was going to tackle you, but the robot paused at the opposite end of the statue. His steps forward, despite the look of pure joy on his face, were slow and meticulous. He raised his arms to his chest like a child eager to see what their parents had gifted them for their birthday.
Doctor Nefarious extended a hand towards you as if wishing to confirm that you were not a hologram or some intangible figment of his psyche, and his serrate fingers that resembled the elongated claws of a honey badger stretched nearer. Despite the meagre space between the two of you, he continued to draw closer until you recoiled slightly. "Who are you?" A flash of surprise caused his hand to lower a bit, then a sliver of disappointment weakened his smile before he seemed to find a silver lining.
Bursts of laughter -- a premature celebration of dubious victory -- rattled his neck joints as he grasped the leg of the statue with one arm and began spinning around it. Lifting his leg into the air, he angled his head at the ceiling and embraced a bout of hysterical cackling. You turned to the security bots in expectant confusion about why he was allowed in the tower, but they stood at attention as if facing the emperor himself.
Seeing you was like watching a corpse sprout from the earth when its burial had been attended by many. "I knew someone like you once," was the extent of his answer, one given with an audible degree of hesitancy and a twinge of sorrow as if he were digging up a fresh grave on a rainy day.
* * *
The first time you saw him should have been the last. A bot sworn to the limits of its coding would have ejected him from the headquarters at the tiniest discrepancy, yet it was your liking of his more timid approach to controlling you that persuaded the guards to await a direct command from the emperor. When the skeletal robot returned with this lookalike intruder by his side, their combined persistence eradicated most opportunities to slip into the city for a night to yourself.
Unlike the insistence on your joining his subjugation of the cosmos and watching him annihilate rebels, the doctor was focused on simply keeping you inside the base. "What?! You want to bump elbows with squishies?" cried Doctor Nefarious. The prospect seemed to slap him across the face, but his taller counterpart found amusement instead of surprise.
"Don't be too shocked. Our-" the phrase arrived after a disgruntled pause as if the emperor were hoping for new information that would have saved him from speaking it "-mutual friend used to be quite the ally of squishies." Emperor Nefarious emerged from the shadows cloaking the base of a statue with gradual, deliberate strides, the glow of his orange eyes betraying his presence before the warm colours of the monitor peeled the darkness off his white metal.
With each door guarded by an ever-vigilant pair of droids who feared a journey to the depths of universes where eternal torment was given like fruit baskets to new neighbours, charisma was not a viable method of escape. "Your firewater, Emperor," chirped the white and pink Assistant, who flew to his desk with a trio of goblets. The glasses clinked as they were lowered and appeared dwarfish next to the clear bottle in his hand worth more than most citizens would earn in their extended lifetimes.
A pop reverberated through the chamber as the cork bounced into the waiting hands of the Assistant, and the bubbly texture of fizz proceeded to spill from the top of the bottle like a volcanic eruption. "I thought we might celebrate my return." The emperor fell onto his leather throne with his legs crossed and one arm elevated behind his head and held his share of the champagne as if he were in a portrait and the drink was merely a prop.
Doctor Nefarious dragged his chair to the front of the desk in anticipation of what he thought to be a bonding experience, lightly bouncing in his seat and fingers tapping the edge of the table.
The champagne was the colour of bubblegum and lemonade, tasting a delicate hybrid of citrus and cherry. A floral aroma wafted into your nose as grapes plucked from the most vibrant and fruitful gardens in the universe. It was a beverage that many an impoverished citizen would consider a glimpse into Shangri-La or Elysium, yet nothing but a mild sip was all you managed.
Eyes flickering between the goblet and you, Emperor Nefarious observed your reluctance to indulge with vexed impatience. "Pondering an upgrade?" The mordant edge that had infected his voice like a spark of fire sharpened as he raised his glass to his face. "It's not like you drink much, anyway." A light swirl of the champagne drew a look of indifference from the skeletal robot, and his gaze floated in your direction.
"Or eat, for that matter."
Silence pervaded the throne room as if it were a pestilence sprinkling its wickedness from one village to another. Doctor Nefarious leaned forward to press his goblet to the tip of his metal mouth, watching the interaction like someone uncertain about their role in it while he attempted to imitate your action. The liquid splashed against his jaw and plopped on the floor in strings of droplets, and the doctor scanned the nearby security bots with defensive suspicion. Every droid in the vicinity, except the Assistant who continued to hover beside the emperor, turned away.
When Doctor Nefarious returned his attention to you, his expression became one of a kid opening a present. "Oh! I have all sorts of parts in my dimension!" The interjection earned a look of distaste from the skeletal robot. He considered it a trite and desperate attempt to win the conversation, and his trek to a few paces beside the desk was marked by a sardonic refusal to face either of you.
"Perhaps I have been a bit-" he tossed the next word with audible humour "-overzealous as of late." When Emperor Nefarious turned to display his wry scheme, a part of you said goodbye to the tower. "It's best not to forget the little things, after all." The emperor sauntered to the back of your chairs and leaned over, resting his arms on your and the doctor's shoulders. "What say we have a night out?"
* * *
Irritation at your interest in a drink outside his private collection prompted Emperor Nefarious to shake his head and turn away. The shelves of alcohol, some local brands and others imported from galaxies that would take a human's entire life to reach, comprising the rear of the bar were a child's birthday party compared to his extravagant array of liquor. It was a disgrace for any of it to enter your system, and watching his counterpart cling to you like a lost puppy aggravated his brooding into action.
"Don't drink that swill in front of me!" With a swipe of his hand, the section of the floor adjacent to you was drenched in a thin layer of bronze liquid. The glass had miraculously not shattered into jagged bits that embedded themselves in your skin and instead rolled across the table like a sideways coin. A soft fabric began to pat different areas of your face, and you realized that Doctor Nefarious had stolen a handkerchief from the neighbouring table and was cleansing you of various liquor droplets.
A Trooper, the ovoid enforcers whose shape emulated the emperor's head, glided to the booth. In an automated voice that was as deep as many envisioned a demon to sound, it asserted, "Emperor, the rebel Lombax has been spotted near this establishment."
The doctor pulled back -- a fact you were grateful for because a hint of a smile crept onto your face -- and comprehended the news as if his veil of reality had failed for just a moment and appalled him with what it revealed. Annoyance had been his initial response to the interruption, but the potential to be caught without his full arsenal prompted Emperor Nefarious to stand up and follow the droid into the throng.
As the thought of disappearing out a back door drifted into your boredom, you slowly turned to peek at the smaller robot. Doctor Nefarious was fiddling with a chip of loose paint but was excited to receive an inkling of your attention, finding his courage in the absence of his counterpart. "What would you say to visiting-" the uncertainty with which he pronounced the word indicated an ulterior motive "-another dimension?"
Within a minute of the emperor's departure, a rawboned alien hobbled to the table. "The bartender wants to offer replacement drink. Much higher quality," they stammered in a broken and awkward fashion. You managed to swallow a third of the glass before it was snatched by an infuriated robot. Tolerance depleted and knowing the doctor would not impede like the emperor would, you exited the booth and headed to the restroom.
The table rattled as Doctor Nefarious slammed his palms onto it and rose from his seat like darkness ascending, meeting the alien with the glare of an animal preparing to strike.
White powder swirled in the core of the liquid, touching the bottom of the glass before assimilating the clear texture of the firewater. Anger, blazing hot enough to prompt the servos in his transparent skull to whirr, thrust every circuit into overdrive and installed a growing tremor in his mechanical limbs. The rigid claws on the ends of his hands peeled strips off the table as they were dragged to the edge.
It imitated the discordant sound of rusty breaks squealing, but it was overtaken by the enraged screech that spilled from the doctor like every computer in the world crashing at once. "Oh, Janice," groaned a masculine voice layered with static as the cantankerous robot froze in a contorted position. Sparks and a green mist erupted from the crevices in his oblong head, enhancing the audio recording of a soap opera from the time of black and white television.
"How could I ever betray you? You were my one true love, and I squashed your trust like the fly that was always landing on my egg salad." The voice brimmed with such exaggerated distress that it seemed on the verge of tears after each word. Just as a dedicated actor invested in their role, the ludicrous nature of its dialogue was never acknowledged.
The background music was filled with violins and epitomized the concept of weeping. It attracted many a curious stare, for the strident rhythms of the electro tunes were muffled to those who stood close to the table. "I loved that fly! Just like I loved you, Janice! If only I had the strength to say it when you were around to hear."
Stumbling out of the restroom with your hand groping for support, you trudged in the direction of what your foggy mind believed to be your table. The inner workings of your stomach had mangled themselves into painful knots and threatened to eject what little contents lay inside onto the floor. It was not until a familiar, feminine voice crept into your ears beneath the flash of strobe lights and booms of synthesized melodies that your path changed, and the words reached you as indistinct hums.
"I survived the fall, Lance. But I have to tell you something." As the crowd parted against the hazy swirls of colour to reveal Doctor Nefarious stuck at the beginning of an attack stance, the rush of alarm was sobering enough for you to thump the side of his head. "You're not my one-" the confession was interrupted by the robot lunging over the table. His feet caught the edges, and the stench of alcohol scorched your nostrils like a ray of sunlight pouring into your eyes after a long period of darkness.
The brief shattering of glass coincided with a scream from the onlookers.
Doctor Nefarious had tackled the rawboned alien and was smacking them with his metal hands, cuts erupting on their face from his pointed fingers. "You should consider yourself lucky to even have the opportunity!" he shrieked, and the soft skin of the creature was like tissue paper to his jagged claws. A range of emotions powered his strikes -- envy at your perceived choice for strangers over him, unresolved anger at Qwark that was happy to explode on an easy target, and a sense of betrayal in a world where he was supposed to be the eternal victor.
Before he could shred the culprit beyond repair, a taut force lifted him into the air. "Any particular reason you're assaulting one of my followers?" Emperor Nefarious watched his counterpart levitate with a sliver of genuine curiosity.
The doctor's rage surged back to life in a fury of finger-pointing and erratic hand gestures, his legs kicking at the downed civilian. "That squishie spiked their drink!"
It was a gradual process hampered by a flicker of disbelief, but one look at your dishevelled form, hunched over the table as it slowly rolled like a wheel, told him to suspend any doubt. Replaced with cold wrath, the tired amusement that had laced his voice vanished from Emperor Nefarious. "Is that so?" The question was rhetorical and aired more so to menace the alleged culprit than to obtain any clarity.
His elbow hooked around your neck, the smooth yet tough plates of his forearm pressing against your throat. Slight pressure was applied that was just enough to draw a wary glance at the emperor, but he had devoted his malevolence to the quivering citizen realizing their doom at the table before you. Whether the hold was a threat for leaving the base without his permission or an unfortunate consequence of his metallic self, your mind began to lament the outing like a banshee wailing.
The emperor inspected the civilian like a god perceived an ant, delighting in the myriad imperfections of a lesser being and finding solace in his apparent lack of them. "To think that such impurity was happening right under my nose! At my favourite nightspot no less!" Shoulders bobbing in haughty laughter, he pulled you behind him and with a light push that was careful not to agitate your nauseous state, entrusted you to his smaller counterpart.
As soon as you were free of the skeletal robot's grip, cold metal seized your arm as if you were a package trading hands at a celebration.
Outstretching his arms as if he were a general calling for volunteers, Emperor Nefarious surveyed the immediate clusters of patrons in the nightclub and inquired with booming authority, "Is anyone going to defend their beloved emperor?" A silence crippled by dread engulfed the lounge like a flood sweeping across the lands of old. Doctor Nefarious turned left and right to peer at the mum throngs with smug malice, their gazes scattered across random areas of the building.
Like an auctioneer wishing to top the highest bid, the emperor offered a final chance. "No?" A handful of citizens exchanged looks of fear, curious to know if their neighbours would stand where they had cowered, but not a hint of noise dared to escape where the emperor might hear. At this mass shortcoming of will, a combination of pride and satisfaction returned his attention to the unlucky civilian.
Faster than the scream could pass their lips, claws squeezed their neck like knives and raised them halfway to the ceiling as if they were as weightless as a pillow. Their feet walked up imaginary stairs, and their eyes, constrained by the pressure building in their throat like a balloon waiting to pop, could not so much as pretend to see the ground. The bringer of this slow death watched his victim's twitches as if it were an uninspired film, a flicker of humour entering his gaze at the recent scars.
"He's done quite a number on you, hasn't he?" mused the emperor with a strange fondness. His gangly fingers continued to press against the alien's cheeks and maneuver their head until they clenched their teeth and squeezed their eyes shut in hopes that the torment would end, allowing him to examine the plethora of gashes and bruises that disfigured their skin like paint splotches on a blank canvas. The tremor that invaded their body drew a look of odious contentment from the skeletal robot, and he dropped them with an abrupt retraction of his arm.
"Hold them outside, and fetch my Dimensionator." The civilian kicked and squirmed as a pair of Troopers latched onto their shoulders with metal clamps, every beg for mercy dripping with terror and regret. Emperor Nefarious turned to his counterpart and revelled in the similarly vindictive ire that caused his eyes to flare. "I know the perfect pit of reality."
When the alien was carried past the three of you, they attempted to meet the unavailable gaze of their emperor. The doctor greeted them with an explosive cackle and a wave goodbye, his fingers rising and falling one after the other like spectators cheering in a stadium. After testing your consciousness by swaying his hand in front of your face and detecting no reaction, Emperor Nefarious began marching to the bar.
The dishtowel in the bartender's hand dropped as their limb began to quiver. "If I had known, Emperor, I never would have-" it was a story that countless citizens begging for their lives had spun, and the skeletal robot found his patience to listen waning.
"Ah, yes. Ignorance makes fools of us all."
Trails of honey-coloured liquor cascaded down the bar as thin shards of glass decorated its metallic surface, blending into the smooth texture and betraying themselves only in the reflection of the emperor's glowing eyes. An incomplete shriek -- rushed and desperate to make any sound at all -- had burst from the alien when the side of their head was slammed into the bar top, but they closed their mouth a moment later for fear that the loud noise would agitate the already enraged robot. The glass punctured their skin like an army of upturned needles.
Thick claws hugged their skull that strengthened in force with each impassive word from their owner. "I trust this failure to accommodate will be corrected?"
Terror swelled in their being like taking a breath after nearly suffocating, their cheeks dripping with tears that pooled on the bar top. "My deepest apologies." Intercut by staccato breaths, the civilian fed their pleas to apathetic ears that had not known sympathy in decades.
"Perhaps a stay at Viceron will make you more forthcoming?" The emperor twisted his hand back and forth as if he were mashing pizza dough, each word summoning another dose of pressure.
Among the slew of bodily proportions that made several patrons resemble the outcome of someone closing their eyes and forcing puzzle pieces from different boxes together, a black helmet slinking past the entrance gave you a dangerous idea. The doctor's preoccupation with living vicariously through the emperor's verbal decimation of the bartender was proven by a glance over your shoulder. Sliding a hand into your pocket yielded a rush of adrenaline, and the sickness faded into a mild headache.
It had dwindled to nothing more than an annoyance when Emperor Nefarious sentenced the alien to death. There was no need for either of the robots to be as aware of your health, however. A singular Trooper patrolled the translucent door, half its friends having left to imprison one civilian and the second half lingering near the bar.
When the emperor shoved the bartender to the ground to admit his satisfaction, the ensuing clamour as they knocked several drinks down with them propelled you into the crowd. The jovial laugh of Doctor Nefarious turned to a bewildered 'what', and his subsequent yells -- some indignant and others more desperate as if a coveted opportunity were escaping despite his best efforts -- alerted his taller counterpart.
The Trooper brandished its laser cannon to thwart your advances but upon identifying you, it hesitated. Scrambling for a way to apprehend you without using force and incurring the wrath of its emperor, the soldier attempted to block the doorway and released a series of beeps while you leapt onto its windshield. Cracks splintered the orange glass with the addition of three electric shock grenades.
Strings of buzzing light enveloped the Trooper before it collapsed, and your dive over its top was just swift enough to evade the swing of a robotic arm. The sterile air of the city, medicinal and stale like the inside of a hospital, drew a thankful gasp. Before you could determine the length of your headstart, a gloved hand clutched your own and pulled you towards a familiar alleyway.