Toy Dispenser/Another Night, Another Job

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

((Formatting stuff again, I'll get to it later. Just Toy Dispenser fluff this is, if you want to know about his murder of this random guy I made up, go ahead.))

Another Night, Another Job

The big man slid into the unoccupied side of the booth table, heedless of food stains, both old and new, that stained his expensive suit. His hand reached up and tilted his wide sunglasses down slightly to look at the other occupant of the booth without interference. A short, skeletal robot looked back at the man with what seemed like interest in its five, glowing red eyes. One of its three fingered, clawed hands started rapping against the table rhythmically, as though it was waiting for the man to get on with something.

“I have a job for you,” the man said as he slid his sunglasses back up his nose. “High pay, low risk.”

“I’m always game for those sorts of jobs,” the robot replied in a bland voice, the kind that was easily forgotten. “What’s the catch?”

“It’s an assassination,” the man replied and took a thin wafer-like object from an inside pocket in his jacket. “All the details are in here, should you choose to accept this contract.”

“Is collateral damage or casualties an issue?”

“No. My employer cares nothing for the target’s guards or estate. All we want is his death.”

“Alright. Pass me the disk and we’ll see.”

The man wordlessly handed the disk over to the robot, which took it and slid it into a carefully hidden slot in its chest.

Several seconds passed before the disk popped back out and the robot’s eyes seemed to glow brighter.

“I think we have ourselves a deal, my good man,” the robot said. “Expect him to be gone by tomorrow.”

“My employer will be quite pleased,” the man said as he moved to get up and leave.

“Hire the best and get the best results,” the robot said as the man walked out of the smoky bar and out onto the equally foggy streets.

After a few minutes, the robot hopped out of the booth itself, revealing it’s spindly lower half, reverse jointed legs, and metallic hooves, and trotted out of the bar. It paused at the door and turned to look at the bartender, who nodded and went to grab the ‘Closed’ sign from where he kept it behind the bar. There would be no more waiting for jobs tonight, which was the bar’s entire purpose of being, so it was better that it close early.

Nodding to itself, the robot let go of the door and dashed down the street, reaching the nearest corner and vanishing in a flash of light by the time the door slammed shut.

An hour later and it was a typically quiet night for the guards in the employ of Alfred Cook, industrial tycoon and noted philanthropist. But this didn’t mean that the guards were lazy or unobservant, no, they were the best that money could buy and money could buy some very skilled men. Although not skilled enough, it seems, to detect an intruder that was cloaked against electromagnetic, infrared, and normal vision sensors. Thus did one of the guards patrolling around the outside of the main gate leading into the estate get dragged into a patch of shadows that hadn’t been there a moment ago by a slim, metallic hand. There was a moments worth of struggle before the patch of shadows stilled and the same guard, now sporting a thick pair of sunglasses, stepped back out and resumed his patrol. In a minute, he came across another guard, exchanged customary greetings and call signs, and then stabbed the man through the throat with a blade that popped out of his wrist. The quick spurt of blood disrupted the holographic systems of the intruder, revealing its true visage as it caught the guard and slowly lowered the corpse to the ground. The android, which looked amazingly like a deadly C-3PO, hurried toward the gatehouse, now unoccupied, and hurriedly hacked the system.

With a barely audible whoosh, the gates slid open, paving the way for the next stage of the assault. Seven figures, three of them short, three of them tall, and one of them gigantic, slipped through the now open door and proceeded up the main driveway between flanking rows of trees and bushes that provided amazing cover. The first guard they came across was killed as a slash of blue cut through the air from one of the shorter shapes and severed his spine at the neck. The guard thudded to the ground, unable to speak or breathe as he slowly suffocated to death.

“Explain to me again why we haven’t just blown this place to kingdom come?” asked the largest of the robots as its red sensor strip looked over at the mansion lit by external spotlights.

The leader of the group, a human-shaped android standing about seven feet tall and painted in garish colors, shook its head and gestured toward the dead body of the guard, indicating that there could be others lurking around. The assault bot, for that is what the big one was, settled down with a huff and resumed sneaking along with the rest of the group.

They had all just neared the side of the massive garage, their chosen entry point, when someone shouted out and an alarm started blaring.

“Told you we weren’t made for sneaking,” the assault bot said with a smug tone. “Now move over so I can finally blast something.”

“Fine, fine,” the leader muttered. “Give away our last bit of secrecy. Just stop complaining for the rest of the job, alright?”

“Deal,” the big robot said as it aimed itself at the wall and spread its legs apart to stabilize itself. Flaps on the dual missile pods mounted on its shoulders flipped up and an ominous whine sounded from the two holes on either side of its chest.

“Wrecking crew, here!” the robot shouted as fully twenty missiles lanced out and exploded against the wall along with two blue beams of pure plasma.

The wall exploded inward in a shower of molten concrete and metal supports, peppering the cars inside and heavily damaging them.

“Go go go!” the leader shouted as he dashed in first, his red and blue cape flowing out behind him. “Mini Bot, Small Toy! You have point!”

Two of the smallest robots, one of them red and the second pale grey, dashed forward and charged through the garage with the rest of the group trailing along behind them. Once they reached the door leading into the mansion proper, the two robots flung themselves at it, knocking it off its hinges. The two other tall robots, protector bots, jumped over the prone drones and into the hallway. There, they faced a trio of shocked guards who had probably been running to their positions. All five people, humans and robots, raised their weapons at the same time and opened fire. Yellow tracer rounds sparked off blue colored armor as red laser bolts dug into protective Kevlar.

One guard dropped immediately, his helmet and face turned into a smoking wreck. The other two started backpedaling as they that their guns were having almost no effect on the attackers.

“My turn!” shouted an absurdly cheerful voice from behind the two guards.

Spinning around, the confronted the red drone that had somehow worked its way around their flank. Their surprise didn’t last long as the little robot quickly tore out both their throats with the flexible tentacles attached to its back.

“Good one, Mini Bot!” the leader said as he pushed his way through the ruined door and into the hallway. “Now let’s move, people! We haven’t got much time until Cook’s security gets him out of here!”

“Good thing the boss made me red,” Mini Bot remarked as the group of robots charged down the hall, leaving torn carpets and smashed side tables in their wake. “This means I don’t have to get washed!”

“Oh shut your yapping and pay attention to the mission,” Large Toy snapped at Mini Bot, the larger protector bot kicking a fallen bust of some famous person or another out of his way.

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Mini Bot whined quietly as the group entered a large room, the next step on their way to Cook.

Looking at the room from the proper main entrance, one would see the perfect symmetry of the twin staircases that wound up to the third floor, flanked by elegantly carved wooden railings filigreed with no small amount of gold. Overhead was a massive chandelier, wrought of actual silver and made in such a way as to spread the light that it shed in very interesting and delightful patterns. Portraits of members of the Cook lineage lined the walls and expensive suede leather couches sat underneath them so the comfort of whatever guests that might use this room. Everything about the room spoke of elegance, comfort, and money.

However, at this point in time, it was merely a roadblock to fortify and use to slow the advance of the murderous team of assassins come after Mr. Cook.

“Open fire!” was the first thing that the leader of the mercenaries heard as he shoved open a door, coming into the room from the rear.

Reacting quickly, the android threw his hands up as though to block the bullets surely racing through the air at him even knowing that it was futile. But from the way the bullets sparked and skidded off of some invisible wall stretching in front of the android, he had some tricks still up his green colored sleeve.

“Shatter their formation!” the leader shouted as he dove to one side, clearing the way for his bots to charge in and lay down suppressive fire.

The loose wall of ten or so guards in the center of the room started to scatter as their initial barrage had no effect. One of them stumbled as bright red laser bolts cut into his ankle and severed his foot. He screamed for a minute before passing out from shock; everyone else had more pressing matters to attend to than finishing off a wounded guard.

“I love this part,” Combat Toy rumbled, bullets sparking off its pitch black hide. “Choo fuckin’ choo!”

With this battle cry, the assault bot literally threw itself forward at the largest concentration of guards, completely ignoring their fire until it had bowled them all over. Once on the ground and disoriented from the sudden impact of a ton and a half of metal charging them at thirty miles an hour, they were easy prey for Combat Toy’s massive fists as it pummeled and beat on them until they stopped moving.

The remaining guards decided enough was enough, threw down their weapons, and ran like hell. One of them even leaped through a nearby window, so great was his urge to just get the hell outta there. Toy Bot, never the one to leave living combatants alive, fleeing or not, made to chase after them but stopped at a silent signal from its leader.

“Leave them be,” the leader said as he jumped onto the right staircase and started hurrying up it. “No time to chase them, come on.”

“Affirmative, boss,” Toy Bot said as it spun around on its four, spider-like legs and scurried up the opposite staircase, the light from the chandelier reflecting brightly off of its neon green armor.

“Shouldn’t be much more resistance after that bunch,” the leader said conversationally as he kicked open the two large oak doors at the top balcony and strode forward. “I think those guys were wearing the emblems of Cook’s elite guard.”

“So much for elite, sir,” Large Toy snorted derisively. “Even without Combat Toy we would have pasted them.”

“I think they would have pulled out some sort of trick had we let them fight longer,” Block Bot said in a depressed tone of voice, the second protector bot of the bunch trailing along behind the rest as they forged through hallways and the occasional room in their search for Cook. “Probably an EMP grenade or land mines. Or maybe they even would have had some metahuman back-up.”

“Nonsense,” Toy Bot said, twisting its torso around so that it was looking back at Block Bot while still walking forward. “Reports clearly indicate that Alfred Cook’s only super powered bodyguard is away attending his niece’s funeral in San Francisco, California. To believe that we would encounter such a threat would be-“

Toy Bot was cut off as a massive bolt of electricity shot down from an intersecting hallway and slammed into it. The drone staggered and slumped heavily to the side, its two gun arms twitching uncontrollably. But it managed to right itself before it toppled over and spun around to fire a pair of energy bolts at its attacker.

“Good thing Mr. Cook is quite a bit smarter than you ruffians would think!” shouted a very masculine, very loud, very confidant voice from where the lightning bolt had come. “For he has asked none other than the best to guard himself from the depredations of evildoers! He has asked for help from the most reliable of sources, the mighty Enervated Electron!”

The seven robots stared in apparent disbelief as a man dressed in bright blue and yellow spandex swooped through the air over their heads and landed in front of their leader. Oddly enough, the leader of the mercenaries, with his garishly and almost eye-soringly painted armor could probably have fit in with whatever crowd the Enervated Electron mixed with.

“I’m not that impressed,” the leader said as his bots formed up on either side of him, taking advantage of the unusual width of the corridor to make a firing line.

“Why not?” the Electron asked, his raised eyebrow visible through the clear visor that covered his eyes. “Surely you can see that I’m about to defeat you and your vile automatons and save the day.”

“Well…” the leader said, drawing out the word. “You’ve made some mistakes. First of all, while you did attack by surprise, you didn’t take advantage of said surprise; instead using the opportunity to spout off a speech about how heroic you are.” The leader raised one finger in the air to symbolize that point and then started ticking off the rest.

“Second, you went for one of the grunt bots. Not the leader. Obviously the leader is me because I’m the only human looking one among the bunch. Third, when you swooped over us, again taking us by surprise, you should have opened fire. And finally, fourth, you’ve stood there listening too me long enough for my bots to target your every weak point.”

By the end of that little explanation, Electron’s eyebrows were fully raised. He started to open his mouth to issue some retort, apparently thought better of it, and tried to dive to the side while throwing an energy blast from his hands. Before his muscles could do any more than tense up in preparation for jumping, his head and chest had been bathed in both laser fire and literal fire, as Combat Toy utilized the flamethrower built into its left arm to hose him down. There was a brief flash as the government medipatch issued to all registered heroes activated and pulled him away to safety. It was likely that the Enervated Electron would survive, although his face would be horribly scarred for the rest of his life.

“Well that was kind of sad,” the leader muttered as he motioned for his bots to follow and walked the short distance down the hall to a pair of ornately carved black oak doors. “Five gets you one that our man is in here.”

“Yes I am!” came a quavering, but still strong voice from behind the door. “I’m not one to run from my troubles! Now what is it you want? Money? Treasure? Name your price and I’ll give it, just please leave me and my family alone!”

The leader tilted his head toward the door and stepped back, allowing Combat Toy to practice his favored door busting technique; that of simply just walking through the door and pulling it off its hinges as Combat Toy went. Brushing the door off and ignoring the several terrified screams from the occupants, Combat Toy stepped to one side to let his boss in.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, old man,” the leader said as he walked in with his arms loosely hanging at his sides and his cape just barely brushing the ground. “But what I’m after is you.”

Standing in front of the bed was an old man, perhaps in his early eighties or late seventies, clutching an antique semi-automatic rifle and shielding a small huddle of people cowering on the pavilion bed behind him. They looked to be a woman about the same age as the man, undoubtedly his wife, and several children that couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Considering that all of Alfred Cook’s real children were considerably older, than those were probably the orphans he had adopted from some third-world African country.

“If you take me, will you leave Lucy and the children alone?” Cook asked, clutching the rifle steadily with sweaty hands.

“On my word as a low down despicable mercenary scum bag,” the leader said with a fancy bow.

Cook was silent for a moment, glaring at the top of the leader’s head as he held his bow. Finally, he let out the breath he had been holding and let the rifle drop until its barrel pointed at the ground.

“You’re Toy Dispenser, aren’t you?” he asked, suddenly sounding every day of his eighty or so years. “The mercenary from that island chain ruled by that dictator?”

“The very same,” Toy Dispenser said, sweeping back up and looking at Cook, his blank white face plate as unrevealing as the face of death.

“Fine,” Cook said, throwing the rifle to the ground. “Just don’t hurt my children.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Toy Dispenser said quietly as he reached forward and grabbed Cook by the shoulder.

Taking but a few steps, the multi-colored android and the old man still in his white pajamas vanished behind a wall of black metal and malevolently glaring eyes. After a few moments, Combat Toy stepped backward through the shattered doorway and turned its back on the bedroom.

Silence lingered for several minutes, prompting one of the orphans to tentatively slide down off the bed and make his way toward the door to see where the bad robots had taken his daddy. The sudden crack of a laser rifle sounding off startled the young boy badly and he dashed back onto the bed and huddled there until the police and several investigating superheroes arrived and found them. Mr. Cook was found sitting in one of the couches of the ruined entry hall with a neat hole burned through his skull and a small business card depicting a whimsical looking toy robot lying in his lap.