Naturally, I own nothing in this story nor do I profit from it. Everything belongs to its original creators and writers, which I had nothing to do with.
After the failure that had been the previous model, there are several expectations of this one. It's a bit hard to say why things turned out the way they had, but he had a decent feeling on this model. All they can do is learn from their mistakes. It helps, he begrudgingly admits, that they received blueprints quite specifically from Nanamagari, the source of the BP Project.
He heads into the docking bay, peering up at the berth where the model is waiting to be activated. Standing at the ready is one of the head engineers, Marshall Starr.
"Mr. Fields, sir." Marshall turns to salute him. "Gunmax is ready to be powered up; his reformatting's been completed."
Fields blinks once, turning to face the mechanic. "Gunmax," he repeats, with a hint of confusion and surprise.
"Ah, yes. Sir. I noticed no one had properly given him a name yet. Even during the BP-500 line, they were given names to follow some distinction, so I had this installed." The engineer looks a bit sheepish. "I figured based on his schematics and all, Gunmax was a good name."
"I see." Fields strokes his thick, white beard. "Very well. Let's go ahead and power him up."
Marshall beams with a bit of pride. "You got it, sir."
After some work at the main console, a pair of orange optics flash on from the robot. Slowly, Gunmax sits up, glancing down curiously at the men before him.
"Identify yourself," Fields commands.
Gunmax squints his optics and tilts his head in return, as if not sure what to make of the demand made of him.
"Maybe more like this, sir?" Marshall clears his throat. "Why don't you introduce yourself to Mr. Fields, okay?"
"Roger." Standing up from the berth and with a bit more energy, Gunmax salutes the two humans. "BP-601. My databanks say my name is Gunmax. I think I recognize you both in that same data."
"Right. Mr. Fields has been helping oversee the BP project from American shores." Marshall grins faintly. "Granted, we haven't started a Brave Police group there yet, but all of your materials are American, and so were the engineers that helped put you together. My name is Marshall; I didn't plan your schematics, but I helped make sure you were put together correctly, Gunmax."
The newly activated robot offers a smile of his own. "Then I guess I should be thanking you both for my existence."
"Don't forget to thank the man behind your schematics, too." Marshall lets out a laugh. "You'll probably meet him sometime after you make it to Japan. His name is-"
"That's enough," Fields cuts in sternly. "Gunmax, do you know where you are right now?"
Gunmax lowers his hand finally from the salute, rubbing his chin. "Hm. Well, my databanks say this is a ship called the S.S. Washington. Am I right?"
"Bingo!" Marshall cheers him on. "Got it in one."
"...Bingo?" Gunmax looks a bit surprised at the language.
Fields continues on, "We began your construction as soon as we left shore with high expectations that you would be a success. Tell me more about yourself."
Looking a bit uncertain about the more professional attitude from Fields, Gunmax looks at Marshall; the engineer smiles broadly and motions with his hands, as if to say go on.
"Right, uh." Gunmax nods. "In comparison to most models, I think I'm more designed to be light, even in comparison to BP-600. This is primarily so I can ride Gunbike without crushing it under my weight. In combat, I'm able to combine with Gunbike so I can hold my own and even have flight capability. There's something else about a Max Cannon in my files, but it seems vague."
"Those details will be uploaded to your processor when you're ready," Fields confirms. "But all that seems accurate. When we hit bay, we're prepared to release you into the Highway Patrol in Nanamagari for a test run to see your effectiveness in the field. Be prepared for the responsibility, Gunmax."
"Yes sir." Looking a bit unsure of how else to respond to Fields, Gunmax salutes.
"Excellent." Fields turns to face Marshall. "I'm returning to deck. I suggest you do the same."
Marshall glances to Gunmax, then back to Fields. "Sir, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll stay here. I want to make sure that Gunmax is functioning appropriately."
A brief pause hangs in the air before Fields shrugs. "Very well. As you were."
Turning and taking his exit of the bay, both Marshall and Gunmax take a sigh of relief in unison. The pair, startled by their unified action, both end up chuckling - Marshall's coming out a tad more nervously.
"He's really not all that bad, just kind of a workaholic. A real by the book kind of guy." Marshall rubs the back of his neck. "So, don't let him intimidate you."
"He seems kind of stuffy," Gunmax admits. "So, you think I'm not functioning everything the way I should, Marshall?"
The engineer returns to one of his consoles, flipping through some screens. "Nah, I'm sure everything's fine. I triple-checked you before I decided you were ready to finally be born, so to speak. I just figured you might use the company."
"You think so? I'm not a baby," Gunmax states rather bluntly.
"Well, aren't you straightforward! The Japanese are going to love that." Marshall chuckles. "No, it's not I think you're some kid that needs to be coddled, but it never hurts to have someone around if you need them or if you have any questions."
"I guess I have one question. When should we expect to be in Japan?"
Marshall nods. "Fair enough. In about two or three days. We could have sent you over by plane or something, but it was decided that it was a little, uh. Expensive, all things considered."
"Expensive...?" Gunmax tilts his head, antenna flicking curiously.
"Eh, don't worry about it." Marshall motions for Gunmax to follow him as he heads down a little further in the bay. "Instead, I want you to worry about the Highway Patrol and when you join it. So I'm going to get you prepared."
Gunmax snorts a bit. "I have criminal data, I know how to ride the motorcycle, I can shoot the weapons I have, and I have all of the law data for both America and Japan. I don't think I'm going to get more prepared than that."
"Consider this extra data." Marshall wears a sly grin as he turns on a television.
Since he'd been turned on, everything has been sort of a vibrant, curious experience. Gunmax already knows the basics; walking and talking aren't hard at all, and he's learning things such as ... likes and dislikes fairly quickly. For example, he's pretty sure he already isn't much into Mr. Fields's strict attitude and he's bored when the television isn't on. But he feels a pleasant spark when Marshall walks into the docking bay, holding up a DVD of CSI Miami. Granted, Gunmax doesn't know much English and he's quietly glad that Marshall is thoughtful enough to leave the subtitles on, he knows some phrases here and there and he's growing a deep admiration for Horatio.
It hasn't been an entire day yet, but on his breaks, Marshall comes to see him and Gunmax decides he likes it. And it makes him happier when Marshall promises to sleep in the docking bay to keep an eye on him. Somehow the idea of being alone on his first day of existence is uncomfortable, as much as Gunmax would not care to admit that out loud.
"You should power down and conserve your energy," Marshall suggests. "I mean, we have fuel, but it's going to be weird having someone else in the room awake when I'm trying to rest."
Gunmax nods; probably not a bad idea.
Crawling onto the berth, Gunmax pauses and looks down at Marshall as the engineer prepares his sleeping bag. "Hey, Marshall..."
"What's up?" Marshall peers at the robot.
"I know that humans dream. But if I power down, do I dream?"
A beat of silence fills the air as Marshall flattens out the sleeping bag. He plops down on top of it, scratching his head. "That's a tough question," he admits. "And I don't know if anyone's ever asked the other BP models. I never really had a chance to meet BP-600, even when we had him on shore. But I think it's possible. You have a mind of your own."
"What do you think I'll dream about?" Gunmax looks down at him curiously, orange optics wide.
Marshall shrugs. "I don't know. It could be anything. Humans dream anything from swimming in a vat of ice cream to nightmares about ghosts. I'm not sure what a robot would dream about, but I guess it wouldn't be too different from a human."
"...not too different from a human, huh." Gunmax's optics dim a little, as if he's in thought.
"Don't let it weigh on your mind much." Marshall grins. "Just get to sleep, Gunmax. When you wake up, you can tell me all about what you dream."
"If it includes ice cream, I've got to get my priorities in order," Gunmax mutters to himself, laying down on the berth before shutting off his power.
Marshall shakes his head, noting the robot's spunk.
The room is dark, even despite his optics being on. Too dark in this windowless place, it's like a void. It's small, and the doors are locked. It's small too small, he can hardly move it feels like everything is getting smaller this is awful why would anyone do this? How long has he been in here? Why is he here? Why won't anyone let him out?
He smashes his fists against them, shouting, but the words are garbled. Nothing that he recognizes. But people are outside, listening! He knows!
The doors dent from his hands, but do not fall. He is trapped.
Optics power on, and Gunmax is staring at the ceiling. To his relief, the lights are on, just dimmed, and it's not a confined room. It's a nice, wide docking bay. Still not as freeing as he'd like, but it does okay, and on the floor, Marshall is still snoozing away.
Gunmax exhales through his vents. Is that what dreaming is like? Sheesh, he would have taken the ice cream suggestion instead; that was distinctly unpleasant.
He decides, ultimately, that it's better to stay awake until Marshall is up.
"So what did you dream?"
"Uh... Ice cream. Big vat of ice cream."
A laugh. "I guess if I didn't mention it to you, you would have had something more interesting, Gunmax! Sorry about that. Go ahead and fuel up, I need to go report to Mr. Fields."
The day is much longer, but it also means more time spent apart from Marshall. Understandably, Gunmax knows that he has jobs to do and can't spend all of his time with him, but some strange feelings arise. There's the sense of loneliness that seems oddly familiar and easy enough to define, but there's also the feeling of confinement. Ultimately, he determines that he'd like very much to leave the docking bay.
And go where? Gunmax snorts to himself. They're in the middle of the ocean. He can't really go anywhere.
There's also not much to do in the bay on his own. Marshall's been thoughtful enough to leave his DVDs behind, but Gunmax feels like it's more fulfilling to watch it with the engineer rather than by himself, as much as he's eager to watch Horatio. Otherwise, there's nothing else for him to do other than wait around.
When the bay doors open, Gunmax's optics brighten and he looks up, smiling broadly when he sees Marshall walk through.
"Hey, Gunmax!" The mechanic pauses, raising his brow. "You don't look like you were up to much. You all right?"
"I guess. I mean- just bored. I feel a little cooped up in here," Gunmax admits.
"Mm, well." Taking out a rag and wiping off some oil from his face, Marshall takes the time to consider Gunmax's words. "I guess that's not too surprising. You were constructed to be out in the open road. Which means, being stuck in a room all day is pretty counterproductive for you; you probably want somewhere else to go. Feeling kind of antsy?"
Gunmax shrugs. "I guess so."
"I think I would be too if I were stuck in here all day long." Marshall motions for Gunmax to follow him. "Let's get you some sun, all right?"
The data in Gunmax comes with some videos. He knows what a sun looks like already, and the sun looks pretty inviting in the show he watches with Marshall. But he'll admit that he doesn't think he's ever seen one. No, his memories only recall being in this dimly lit room and the very, very dark dream he had.
So, all too gladly and with intense curiosity, he follows Marshall outside to the deck.
Somehow, it is alarming, but very... very good. The sky is bright and blue and speckled with so few clouds. The sun is nice, warming his plating right up as he stands in its rays. There's the sound of the sea as they travel, the workers talking on the deck, and the faint sound of music coming from a small stereo down the way. It's American, as he recognizes some English words and it doesn't really have anything like a British accent to imply England. His data has him remembering Japanese as his main language, but various English words trickle in.
"Everybody!" Marshall calls out to the crew in English. "Come meet our guest!"
Most of the crew pause what they were doing, turning to face the robot and Marshall alike. Gunmax looks at the group a bit warily before he looks at Marshall for help, who just smiles and gestures back to the group.
Gunmax salutes. "BP-601; I was named Gunmax. I'm going to be stationed in Nanamagari."
There's a small pause before an eruption of laughter from the group before him. Gunmax lowers his hand and jerks a little, feeling a bit flustered. Did he do that wrong or something?
"No need to be so formal!" one of the crew members shout with a broad grin. "Relax a little, Gunmax."
"Yeah, it's not like you're on duty yet!" another teases. "Settle down a bit!"
The reception is a bit warmer than he expects. This isn't quite like being out in an open road like Marshall mentioned, but it's nicer than being in the docking bay for the rest of the trip. He finds himself smiling widely, all too glad to socialize.
A lot of the chatter is in English, but some of the crew are more than happy to translate for him. It's interesting to listen to them, talk about their excitement for this project. There's a bit of pride, he thinks, that rushes through his Super A.I. chip. He feels that it's necessary to live up to those expectations, that he has more reason to do his absolute best on the Highway Patrol.
He's needed and he doesn't want to let them down.
Eventually, after the initial excitement, Marshall leads Gunmax to the edge of the vessel. It seems like a good idea to sit down, so he does. Gunmax looks down at the engineer, then offers his hand out to him. Without thinking much of it, Marshall hops on. It feels almost natural to do it this way, to bring up someone to sit on his shoulder.
"Feel better?" Marshall asks, his grin not retracting. Gunmax can't think of a time yet where the engineer hasn't looked happy.
Gunmax nods in return. "A lot better. I'm really looking forward to getting to Nanamagari and getting started. Though I guess you won't be around for that, will you, Marshall?"
"Not so much," Marshall responds. "I'll be in America again, working on other projects. But tell you what; I know where you'll end up working and I know the guy that designed you will be looking out for you, too. I'll write letters, if you want."
"Jeez, I didn't think you'd be so sentimental," Gunmax remarks with a smirk.
Marshall shrugs, laughing. "You're the one that implied you'd miss me. But if you don't want letters, I'll do better. Besides taking your motorcycle out for a spin, what do you think you might want more than anything else? C'mon, I'm an engineer; I'll try to make it come true."
"Hmm, I don't know. Anything?" Gunmax leans back on his hands.
"Anything reasonable," Marshall amends.
"Well, darn. There goes my request for a bit pool of ice cream," Gunmax comments sarcastically; it earns another laugh from Marshall. "I think... this is gonna sound stupid."
"Go for it."
Gunmax peers out to the setting sun. "I think I'd like to have sunglasses like Horatio. I want to be as cool as him. But I guess it might be weird to make a set of giant shades for a robot."
"Hey, if I have to help make giant magnums and revolvers for robots, I think I could get away with making a pair of giant sunglasses, too." Marshall smirks. "Besides, you're a motorcyclist, you should have a pair anyway. Makes sense, right?"
"You'll really make me a pair?" Gunmax looks at him with wide, hopeful optics.
Something pleasant almost seems to spark and burst inside of him. Without thinking, Gunmax picks up Marshall from his shoulder; he stands and he practically twirls. "That's amazing! It's going to be perfect - I'll be arresting those criminals and I'll look slick while I do it, to boot!"
"All right, all right-" Marshall chuckles. "You can put me down so I can get to work on it, okay?"
"You got it!" Gently, Gunmax sets him down. The engineer gives him a wave before he heads back into the docking bay.
"Hey, Gunmax!" one of the crewman shout to the robot. "One of the guys said you don't know any English?"
"Well, just a few words here and here," Gunmax admits. "Why? It's not like I'm gonna need it in Japan."
"C'mon, you're American! You need to know a few things, especially to go with those sunglasses. I'll teach you some more words and phrases, all right?"
There's a lot he's learned and experienced. The crew are good to him, making suggestions on what to do when he gets to Japan. Teaching him words and phrases from America. One crewman goes on to ramble about L.A., which Gunmax thinks is great because he's really only seen Miami in a TV show and L.A. sounds like a great place to be, too. The other interesting aspect is that they try to teach him how to dance of all things; it's not in his databanks to perform and the other crew members look terrible when they try to dance, but they assure him it's not about skill - it's just about enjoying it.
He sort of does, but he knows he looks as terrible as they do, so he has to stop out of the sheer embarrassment.
It gets into the night and the music grows louder. He finds himself laughing, enjoying the socialization.
Finally leaving the docking bay, Marshall lets out a breath and calls out, "Hey, Gunmax! I'm all-"
"What is going on here?"
Although not all the words make sense to him, Gunmax knows who the voice belongs to. The way all of the crew snap to attention and salute gives off a clear indication as well; Gunmax turns his head, seeing Mr. Fields at the top of the staircase that belongs to the main cabin. Before, Gunmax knew him to be stern.
He looks lot more than stern right now.
"Turn off that music," Fields states firmly; some of that made sense to Gunmax, and he internally winces when someone shuts off the stereo. In clear Japanese, Fields continues on, "I will only ask you all once. Which of the major rules of this ship are we breaking right now?"
The crew, dumbfounded, look to each other.
Wincing, perhaps because he knows, Marshall reluctantly states, "...No client equipment out of the docking bay, if that is where it is stored."
Equipment? Gunmax didn't take anything with him.
Fields turns to peer at the robot specifically. "And what is this doing out from the bay?"
Oh. There's a sinking, fluttering sensation down his processor and Gunmax quickly realizes the implications.
But that doesn't stop him from speaking up, which causes Marshall to flinch when he does.
"Mr. Fields." Gunmax gives him a sharp salute. "Sir. I'm not just equipment. I don't think I'm any different from the rest of the crew. I can-"
"Tell me, BP-601." Fields stares at him intensely, in a way that somehow makes the the fact that he's nearly three times the human's height irrelevant. "Do you have any kind of citizenship?"
"Do you have any rights?"
The words cut into him and Gunmax feels even smaller. "I-"
"You are a robot. You were constructed by us. You are to be delivered to help uphold the law. It is very careless to already be breaking a law on my ship." Fields narrows his eyes. "You are a robot. You are equipment. Your personality allows you to better cooperate with the rest of the Highway Patrol, but you are still just a machine. So where do you belong?"
"The..." Gunmax cringes internally. "The docking bay, sir."
"Then I think you can deliver yourself there."
Suddenly, his legs feel heavier than usual. Gunmax cycles his vents, heading back towards the docking bay. He hears Marshall finally speak.
"Sir, to be fair, considering what happened to BP-600-" Marshall begins.
"These are different circumstances," Fields cuts him off sharply. "Are you arguing with me?"
"I think you should be listening to the people that helped construct him," Marshall responds a little coldly before following Gunmax. "Now if you'll excuse me, sir, I have to do some maintenance on the client's equipment."
Slowly, Gunmax is sitting down on the berth, staring at the floor. He doesn't like to admit it, but it hurt to listen to Fields. Worst of it, he isn't necessarily sure that he's wrong, either.
He glances down towards his ankle, where Marshall is patting him. To his relief, the bay doors are shut.
"Look, don't... don't worry about Mr. Fields. I'm sure he's just under a lot of stress." Marshall sighs.
Gunmax frowns faintly. "Marshall... what happened to BP-600?"
The engineer's jaw abruptly goes tight and Marshall turns around, heading elsewhere in the bay. "Look, don't worry about it. Like I said, I want you to worry about the Highway Patrol when we get into Japan. And I have just the thing to help you out."
There's a soft dragging noise as Gunmax sees Marshall pull over a box. With a gesture, Marshall indicates to it, his smile tired but keeping its same shine as before. "Go ahead and open it."
Although Gunmax is curious about what happened to his predecessor and he notes Marshall's reluctance to delve into it, he takes the mechanic's advice and opens the box. He peers inside.
A pair of giant shades, fitted for him.
"I just asked for this a few hours ago, and you already finished?" Gunmax looks alarmed.
"Am I good, or am I good?" Marshall grins. "Put it on, I want to see how you look."
It takes a moment for Gunmax to figure out how they're fitted, but eventually, he's able to place them on effectively. The nice thing is that his optical sensors aren't much dimmed, and his other sensors function just fine. He stands, turning to face his reflection off of one of the metal panes.
"That's... that's amazing, Marshall!" Gunmax whirls around to face mechanic, his cheer just about renewed. "So nice!"
The engineer snorts behind his hand, his nose wrinkling. "Who taught you that, Alphonse? Practice your English a little more. But I appreciate the sentiment. You're looking pretty cool there."
Surprise is marked on both of their faces when the bay doors open. Standing with his arms behind his back is Fields, peering down the hallway. Eventually, Fields raises his hand to motion for Marshall to come outside.
"I can see you're hard at work with that maintenance. We need to speak," Fields orders firmly.
Gunmax glances down to the engineer. "Marshall...?"
"It's fine, Gunmax. Why don't you go recharge for awhile?" The physical behavior in Marshall seems to indicate otherwise as the lanky man heads out to exit the bay; he's hunched, muscles tight, and Gunmax feels an uncomfortable sense of concern for him.
It's not like Fields would hurt him, Gunmax doesn't think, but he can't help but worry anyway.
"Right," he eventually agrees quietly, watching the doors close.
With reluctance, he crawls onto the berth and turns off his optics as he powers down.
Tonight is the night. This, he's decided. He's had enough of this place. Alone, stuffed into a shipping container, and no one will answer him - no one!
He braces his hands onto the walls, exhaling through his vents before he begins to kick.
BANG! He's sick of this dark room.
BANG! He's sick of how little it is.
BANG! And he's absolutely sick of being ignored for so damn long!
With enough kicking, the door finally gives way. His plating is dented, but that doesn't matter.
It ends now.
He begins to stumble down the pavement, closer to the sounds of water. He pauses, turning his head, seeing a figure laying.
Optics power on. Somehow, the sensation of the dreams give him an uncomfortable feeling, like something is off. If anything, he really wishes he could have something simple, like a dream about clouds or maybe something less dismal.
Gunmax turns his head, noticing that the bay doors are slightly open. There are voices outside, and the sun's light is trickling in like some terrible temptation, although he knows he isn't allowed out.
Still, gets to his feet and tries to approach as lightly as possible. His antenna adjusts in order to clear out his hearing.
Outside the door, he hears Marshall clearly:
"BP-601 is just a machine and nothing else."
What? Gunmax's has learned enough English to know what that means. Why would Marshall ever...?
He backs up enough to get back to the berth, sitting down heavily. No, that can't be right. What did Fields do?
The door finally opens and Marshall steps inside, expression darkened by lack of sleep and something else. Maybe frustration. It's a little hard for Gunmax to tell. He tilts his head, looking at the engineer with concern.
"Marshall?" he calls out hesitantly.
"How are you operating?" Marshall asks the robot curtly.
A bit taken aback by the tone, Gunmax goes on to answer, "Um. Fine."
The engineer is silent as he focuses on the console, going over the readings on Gunmax. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Marshall eventually announces, "Everything looks normal. I checked on Gunbike earlier, and she's ready to go. At dawn, we should be in Japan."
"Okay." Gunmax frowns and peers down at Marshall. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." Marshall closes the console's screens. "I need to head back to work elsewhere on the ship. You have your gasoline to refuel on. Do you need anything else?"
"No." Gunmax hops off of the berth. "Are you stopping by on your breaks? You weren't here last night."
The mechanic shakes his head. "I'll be in the break room, like everyone else. Besides, you don't need me around to recharge."
"But..." Gunmax feels at a loss. He doesn't know how to say but who's going to watch this show with me without sounding utterly pathetic. It doesn't click either; Marshall's previous behavior for the last couple of days was so energetic. Something's gone wrong. Why?
"Marshall, what did Fields do to you?" the robot finally asks.
Marshall peers up at Gunmax, then shakes his head. "Gunmax, just concern yourself with the Highway Patrol-"
"You're always saying that!" Gunmax snaps in frustration. "Whenever I want to know something you don't want me to know, you dodge the question-"
"Then it's none of your damn business!" Marshall yells back. "Quit clinging to me and grow up; you're a robot, not some kid!"
That causes Gunmax to jerk back faintly, as if the human had found a way suddenly to physically strike him in a harmful way. Without another word, Marshall shuffles out of the bay. The doors shut behind him.
Gunmax sits back down on the berth. He takes the visor that was made for him, sincerely tempted to crush it in his hands.
The material creaks as he squeezes his fingers.
Ultimately, he can't. Gunmax looks down at his hands, letting air out from his vents.
"Right. Not some kid," he mutters to himself. "Hm."
For the rest of the day and for most of the night, Gunmax was left alone. Someone else briefly checked on his status to make sure he was running optimally. He was addressed as BP-601 and hardly much of a glance. With Marshall and most of the crew out on the deck, Gunmax felt normal. Like a person. Why did that have to change suddenly?
He didn't feel like refueling or recharging. It wasn't until he was specifically ordered to by Fields himself that he took a gas container, glaring at the man. If there was one thing he could deal with, it'd be to never see Fields again.
Finally, the ship stopped.
It's then that there's finally some sense of relief. After spending an entire day alone with nothing to do, it's almost enough to make him go crazy.
The doors open eventually with Fields waiting for him, always giving him that stern look.
"You want something, sir?" Gunmax adds the last word with a snort.
"Mind that attitude of yours." Fields motions for him. "Board your motorcycle and head down the path. Waiting for you is the Commissioner of the Brave Police. He'll be escorting you to the Highway Patrol."
Gunmax shrugs. "Eh, more orders. Color me excited. Let's get this over with."
Fields scowls at him and Gunmax takes utter delight in his discomfort. Making no attempts to hide his smirk, Gunmax finally boards Gunbike for the first time. It feels... oddly natural to finally ride it. Like it was made for him or-
Well. Duh. He supposes that's the only truth of it.
The engine revs beautifully, and he understands a bit what Marshall had meant before about his construction and why being in a room bothered him so much with nothing to do and no where to go. It just feels natural to rush out by Fields, giving a cocky smile as he heads down the railing to meet with this Saejima guy.
On his way down, Gunmax glances at the deck of the ship. He doesn't see Marshall anywhere. Somehow, it gives him a sinking feeling throughout his body, his Super A.I. sparking in discomfort.
Fine then. He's moving on to another life now, anyway. It's not like he'd ever see Marshall again anyway; what the hell was he expecting?
Gunmax comes to a stop as an older Japanese man in a gray suit waits for him. Standing beside him is another older man in plainer clothing with various oil stains, suggesting yet another engineer.
"BP-601, Gunmax?" the first man asks.
"Gunmax? No no, you must be mistaken. I'm Santa Claus." Gunmax leans over his motorcycle and grins. "Which one of you is supposed to be Commissioner Saejima?"
The same man nods once. "That's me. Toudou and I will be making sure you get to the Highway Patrol."
"Fine, fine. C'mon, let's get this going." Gunmax waits for the pair to get into their respective vehicle.
When Saejima shuts the door to the car, he gives a big grin to Toudou. "Isn't he cool?"
"I think you need to seriously re-evaluate your definition of cool, Guv," Toudou states flatly.