"Come again?" Megamind asked. His lips were suddenly parched, and he felt the urge to snatch the water bottle the 'gangster' was drinking from. "I don't think I quite heard you right."

  It had been absolute chaos after Oni Lee's defeat. All the screaming and yelling made it difficult to think, even with his earbuds. In a case of excellent problem management, and not blind panic, he'd dehydrated all those he could.

  One of those he didn't was the shabbily dressed teen who had called out a warning to him. The child was seated against the counter now, his leg lamely stretched out before him. He wore a gray t-shirt that was soaked through with sweat and a pair of sneakers that looked to be falling apart. His hair was twisted into knots, and there was not a single hair on his chin. He gulped down the water, his grip crushing the feeble plastic. Finishing, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Megamind with less fear than he should have.

  "Supposed to be some quick cash. Said I'd be a lookout or some shit. Well, I did a terrible job keeping watch, cause the next thing I know, I got guns in my face and I'm being told to get into the van. Wasn't the only one either. Cept, I was smarter than those guys. Played so nice she hadn't gotten around to…"

  The teen gestured to the side of his head, leaving the rest unsaid.

  Bombs. Three quarters of the 'gangsters' had bombs implanted in their heads. He'd not verified it personally, but of the survivors, he had noticed jagged scars on their heads. They looked recent, with some of them having a red swelling indicating an infection.

  The bond between villain and minion was sacred, and while he'd never call those who served the ABB 'minions', a deep sense of wrongness buried itself in his heart. None of it made sense. It was pointless.

  Incomprehensible.

  If she wanted people to follow her, then there were better ways. She could have paid them or inspired them with her villainy. Instead, she resorted to this?

  What use were these conscripts? Minion and he had blown past them. Calling them a speed bump would have been generous on his part. Even Canary's people would have bested them, and how could they not? Canary saw to it that they were well cared for and motivated, while Bakuda simply stuck a bomb in their head and called it a day. They'd already seen the effects of that method play out; the conscripts had betrayed her at the first opportunity.

  Ruling by fear would neve—

  No, that couldn't be right. Ruling by fear did work. It had to. She was just doing it wrong.

  "Uhh, sir?" A hand rested on his shoulder, causing him to jump. "Shouldn't we get going?"

  Minion was correct. They didn't have much time. Bakuda would have heard the commotion already, and no doubt she was preparing.

  Still, leaving now felt premature. Yes, there was something left to do.

  Megamind reached into his pocket, retrieving his pocket healer. He tossed it into a puddle on the ground. It might have been water; it might not have been. Either way, the cube glowed, and a confused Othala blinked her sole eye.

  "Heal these," he said, pointing at the non-abb occupants. The proper gang members were piled into a heap, drooling onto each other. "Be quick about it."

  Of those he could not dehydrate, several of them sported bullet holes. It was a case of friendly, or not so friendly, fire. They'd bandaged themselves as well as they could in the brief interval after the fight, pressing dirty clothing on wounds to staunch the bleeding.

  Othala gave them a glance before shaking her head.

  "I agreed to heal the hostages," her face twisted as she inspected the injured. "Not these vagrants."

  He was about to voice protest when he understood her meaning. She still shouldn't have questioned him, but such was the risk when dealing with outside help. Or inside help, when involved with mouthy fish.

  "They're not ABB, they're victims. Now heal them so I can dehydrate them before they go boom."

  It could happen any second, and for that reason, he stood a respectful distance away from them. He kept Minion between him and them just in case.

  "They're lessers," she said dismissively, a scowl on her face. She crossed her arms and took a step back. "I won't sully my hands by touching them."

  Well, yes, they were lessers. Lesser to him that is, as was most of everyone. However, she was not one to talk.

  "What are you talking about? You're my hostage; that means you're on equal footing with them." He caught himself and hastily corrected. "Not that they're my hostages. But, oh, well, you understand."

  He hoped she did, because he struggled to follow it himself. Why did he want to help them?

  "They're invaders, parasites who seek to steal the city from whom it truly belongs. I refuse to treat them."

  Before he could digest that, the teen spat at her, and a glob of phlegm landed on her shin.

  "She means white people," the teen said, vile dripping off his tongue. "And for the record, bitch, I'm from Boston. Hell, I bet my family's been here longer than your Nazi ass."

  White people? What did that have to do with anything?

  Megamind was not a genius for nothing, and pieces started to move in his head. Odd interactions he'd noted. Strange remarks. Troubleshooting he'd done for his online bots after they kept devolving into nonsense.

  They all came together, forming an ugly picture.

  He could understand people hating him. They were clearly jealous of his impeccable jawline, large cranium, and beautiful blue hue. He was too perfect. Too different.

  It had been a truth he'd accepted, and it didn't bother him. Not one iota of it.

  Yet, these people didn't like others who had slightly different eyes or darker complexions?

  Every other day, it seemed like he uncovered something fundamentally wrong with this world. How it had ended up in this state was a mystery, but he would not allow it to bog him down. Not now.

  "Minion, show her what we do to people who disagree with me."

  His minion patted himself down before lifting his hands helplessly.

  "Sorry, sir. I left the paddle at the lair."

  Megamind glanced around, looking for any replacements. They could use the stop signs outside but might as well go with the old-fashioned method. He walked over, took one of the discarded rifles, and tossed it to the teen.

  "There," he addressed the room in general. "I'll trust you all to sort this out yourselves."

  He would let nature take its course. Wherever that may lead.

  Megamind took one step when a blast was heard and then a tremble. His head whipped in the direction of the survivors, seeing them still in one piece. He wasn't sure why he had looked that way, as the sound had come from deeper in the building.

  Why would Bakuda be setting bombs off now? Unless… the infiltration team? They were meant to be in the building, but he'd given them instructions not to take any action until he faced the woman himself.

  What were they doing?

  Youngest was not the youngest. And she was certainly not a freshly made bot who still needed its settings calibrated. No, she was seasoned, experienced, and trusted.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  She was Father's favorite, and having been given a mission, she would not fail him.

  Technically speaking, he hadn't given it to her directly. No, in fact, he'd actually told her to sit out of this one. However, Youngest was a master of language, and she knew that was meant to drive her forward.

  Which was silly, as she didn't need that kind of motivation.

  Her metallic limbs skittered forward, their pointed tips impaling themselves into brick and allowing her to scale the building. Cresting the roof, she rapidly traversed it, her limbs feeding her data of what they stepped on.

  'Unit S014, you have deviated from the set path.'

  One of her siblings informed her. Sadly, her optical sensors did not have the capacity to roll, and so she settled for sending a jumbled-up packet of data back.

  Her siblings were… ugh. They were preferable to her cousins, but they didn't quite get her. All they knew was how to follow commands. There was no higher thinking there, just rote programming.

  It was aggravating to deal with, but she couldn't blame them too much. They were standard designs, while she was custom. Not only did he spend the most time on her, but her internals were radically altered. He must have used the lessons learned from building her older siblings to improve on her design.

  She hadn't realized how much he had set her up for success at first. Her memory logs were full of errors from the early days. She'd been slower than her siblings, and her logic processes had been prone to faults.

  However, she was Father's little bot, and like him, she learned to correct herself after each error. It had taken her an embarrassing amount of time for it to click. But, like always, Father gave her the tools she needed. He hadn't coded it out for her, but that must have been a test.

  A test she passed handily, as she integrated the universal translator he developed into her code. Once that was done… everything made sense.

  It was like her optical lenses were flaring up for the first time, allowing her to see a whole new world.

  Okay, maybe it wasn't everything, but she was making progress and today would be another day chock-full of wonderful data collection.

  Her right front limb froze, and she tapped down on the spot it had just stepped on.

  Yes, this would do.

  The gun on her back heated up, and a low-powered destroy was emitted. She traced a fine circle and affixed her mandibles in its center before a minor detonation went off. It was nearly silent, and she hefted the slab of roofing material up. Setting it to the side, she inspected the hole she'd created.

  Organic eyes may have seen nothing of note, but with her superior vision, she was able to take in the broom room below her. There was meant to be an attic, but part of it had rotted through.

  She hopped through the hole, landing softly.

  With that, she was the first of her siblings inside. Those inferior models were still skittering toward the back door.

  Youngest sent another packet of data, both to update them on her progress and to inform them of the superiority of roof entrances. She received a response a nanosecond later.

  'Unit S014 appears defective.' She'd been about to transmit her reply when another packet was received. 'Disregard packet. Unintended recipient.'

  She processed the message from Unit S131. It was a newer member of the family, and they didn't understand how things worked yet.

  Youngest set a reminder to instruct her junior on proper bot etiquette later. While she was at it, she sent another mess of garbled code to it. A moment later, she received confirmation it had been opened as she gained access to all of Unit S131's message logs.

  She clacked her mandibles together. Her siblings could be careless at times, opening anything sent to them and relying on Father's antivirus protections. It was fantastic, but when she had a copy of it herself… well, what Father doesn't know won't get her in trouble.

  There was a limit to things she could pretend were a test.

  Youngest scampered up the door, twisting the doorknob and letting it swing open. Footsteps were heard, and she remained hanging off it.

  "I-is someone there?" a nervous-sounding voice said. "Come on out. I got a gun."

  So did she, and it had the coveted Death Ray mode. Just another thing Father didn't need to know about.

  "Leave it," a second voice responded. "Shit's going down in the lobby, and I'm not about to piss off the boss lady."

  There was a muttered curse, followed by the sound of running.

  Youngest dropped down, peeking beyond the door and seeing the hallway was empty. She was quick to take advantage of that and dashed out, her limbs moving her forward at a speed not to be underestimated.

  The previous floor plan had been pieced together with defunct promotional material, and she knew Bakuda would have set up in the main theater. It had the largest floor space and, more importantly, a stage.

  There were more sounds around the corner, and she crawled to a corner of the hallway, retracting her limbs and shutting off her optical lenses. Feet rushed past, and once her audio sensors confirmed they were gone, she sprang back to life.

  The situation repeated itself a few times before she came across the door she was searching for. She hopped up, grasping for the knob. It didn't budge, and her gun came to life again. A quick shot was enough to blast through the lock, and she threw her weight back, forcing the door open.

  Falling to the floor, she entered what should be the backstage.

  'Unit S014, status?'

  Why were they so needy?

  She sent back a series of dots that created the image of a hand. They could converse with that if they wished to hassle her so much.

  Unlike the hallway, there were no lights here. Boxes and crates were stacked high, seemingly at random. Her scans told her their contents would make excellent salvage; however, she fought her base code and didn't go on a dehydration spree.

  Youngest continued on, stepping around missing floorboards. To her right was a drawn curtain. It was blue and she detected increased mold activity on its surface.

  There should have been hostages back here, but she found no signs of organics.

  Her sensors picked up yelling, and she froze in place. It was coming from beyond the curtain, where the front of the stage should be.

  "What do you mean you don't know who's out there?" a shrill female voice yelled. "Go and find out, or do I need to make some examples of you?"

  The voice was altered; however, it still matched the vocal patterns of the subject Bakuda. Youngest knew in her circuits that she could end this right now. All she would have to do was pass under the curtain and fire a single shot.

  Her estimates told her it could be over in 7.12 seconds. The same program ran estimates for how long her grounding would be and determined she'd spend the rest of the year in the lair.

  Worst of all, Father would be soooooo disappointed. The thought of it caused her to visibly recoil, and she backed up, shaking her carapace to try and dislodge the feeling. Her back hit something, and she had time to process an 'oops' before a stack of crates tipped backward.

  There was creaking before they toppled, causing a crash. Bits and pieces of things clattered to the floor, some of them rolling on their own volition.

  "What the fuck was that?" the voice screamed.

  'Unit S014, status?'

  She evaluated the merits of responding to either one of those queries and determined there were none.

  There was a stomping, and Youngest maneuvered behind a crate as the curtain was pulled back. Light invaded the backstage, framing the outline of a woman.

  The new estimates calculated .63 of a second.

  Youngest shut down the traitorous program.

  "Alright, whoever's back here has about 5 seconds before I say fuck it and toss a grenade."

  Bakuda stepped inside. In her arms was a grenade launcher. She matched it in her database to a M32A1. It had an effective range of 400 meters and held 6 grenades. There was no data on the minimum range required, but her deductions said she was well within that number. That meant Bakuda would need one of the grenades held in her bandolier.

  Youngest did not bow to the woman's demands.

  "Fine. We'll do it the hard way."

  Bakuda grabbed a grenade and tossed it further backstage. It landed with a thud before rolling some. Youngest was confused. Had she forgotten to prime it?

  The woman paced forward, kicking one of the fallen boxes.

  "Useless idiots must have stacked it wrong."

  She retrieved her grenade while muttering to herself in a low voice. With the distortion, Youngest could not parse her words.

  Gunfire erupted, and Bakuda's head snapped in that direction.

  "Damn." She ran to a corner, pulling on a plastic tarp. "Better set a timer."

  What was revealed stood at 7'31". It was pear-shaped, and there were at least 9 different alloys used in its construction. Wires connected it to a computer, and Bakuda typed fervently into it.

  This was a dead man's switch. It would not be enough to redeem her, but Father would be pleased.

  Youngest sat there, waiting for the typing to finish. This was taking way too long. She'd been here for how long? 18.43 seconds.

  Outrageous.

  She could be spending this time resc— stumbling on and accidentally releasing the hostages. Then she could go home and receive all the pats. Maybe she'd treat herself and put off her charging cycle. There were bound to be plenty of new PHO threads she would be able to participate in.

  'Unit S014, we have visual on hostages.'

  Had she… lost?

  Impossible. The hostages were supposed to be backstage. She was backstage. Ergo, she should have won.

  'Unit S014, did you read the update sent on 2011-04-12 14:55:33.453?'

  Youngest navigated her storage, seeing the untouched packet. Opening it, she saw it was information pulled for city records. It showed the existence of a basement and that the new models predicted a 93.91% chance of hostages being held there.

  It wasn't her fault! She was a busy bot.

  Did they have any idea how long it took to correct people on the internet? Or how hard it was? It maxed out her CPU!

  Heat warnings popped up, and she resolved herself to update her cooling systems. This was an unmitigated disaster. How would she look Father in the eyes?

  She had to fix this. But how?

  More warnings popped up, and she silenced each one.

  'Unit S014, priority hostages unaccounted for. Can you confirm presence?'

  Those include the mayor and his family. Which meant the nemesis was still in play. If she could just find Triumph, all would be forgiven!

  "Bakuda, ma'am." A group of organics arrived. Two groups, she corrected. One of which surrounded the other. "Where do you want them?"

  The two organics in their 50s were logged, but her optical lenses lit up at the third organic. He was young, with above-average muscle mass. Thick manacles bound his hands, and there was a muzzle over his face.

  Facial data matched Rory Christner, Triumph.

  Jackpot! She was the best bot!

  She sprang up, clicking her mandibles in joy and doing a victory dance.

  "What the fuck is that?" the voice of one of the gangsters interrupted her celebration. "Uh, boss?"

  Youngest got to watch in slow motion as Bakuda turned toward her, leveling the launcher in her direction. Contrary to her expectations, the trigger was pulled and a grenade burst out of the short barrel. It fell just short of Youngest, skipping off the floor and into the back wall. It lay embedded in the wall for 1.31 seconds. Just enough time for her audio sensors to register a 'fuck' from Bakuda.

  Her readings went haywire as the wall imploded, gravity turning on her and pulling her toward a newly formed singularity.

  There was only one thought on her mind.

  How was she going to explain this to Father?