Its the 90s, do a lot of pot and whine about Bush Sr.

What do you do when everything you know is wrong?

This was the question that pounded in Zephyrus' head as he stalked through the streets of Zoofights City.  The world around him was cold and silent, the only noises being the hustle and bustle of distant, uncaring traffic.  The city's streetlights flickered, occasionally shrouding the robot with darkness.  They were very poorly maintained: after all, who gave a damn about this place once the Major and his men packed their things and cleared out?  The Zoofights were the only attraction this city really had, and once they ended for the year the men in charge turned their sites to more profitable matters on Maul Street.  The residential districts would just have to deal with it.

And when the time came to deal with it, they did so like vultures.

Zephyrus himself had fallen for a few of their ruses: he had once tried to be charitable and give a poor, down on his luck man some money.  When he returned the next day to check up on the guy he was face down on the ground, dead of an overdose.  Fumes would've been disgusted.  Another time he had tried helping a man with some packages only to be pickpocketed while his hands were still full.  The would-be thief tried to escape, but he didn't get far.  Zephyrus' hands may have been full, but that didn't stop him from activating his shoulder-mounted machine guns.

He sighed as he remembered these dismal events, but the freshest scars were given just this afternoon . . .

~~~~~

"Do you know what this means, bot?" a shady man in a dark coat asked.  He was armed with a pointer as if he was some kind of lecturer, and he motioned to a steadily decreasing red line.  "Ratings are in a freefall.  We have gone from the highest-pulling show on this damn channel to routinely being beaten by Reality Bites, that goddamn robot shark show!  What do you have to say for yourself?"

Zephyrus' arms were folded as he looked at the man with cold eyes.  "You know I'm not a damn killer, Wallcroft," he adamantly replied.

"You sure did a good enough job putting that bird down."

"That half-baked ripoff?  Please, Murducken's rolling in her grave at that travesty.  Even Thumperstruck could take that piece of crap out.  I've told you once and I'm telling you again, I'm not killing for your sick entertainment."

Mr. Wallcroft shook his head, chuckling a bit.  "You really think you were signed on for a cooking show, weren't you?"  Zephyrus eyed the man curiously as he looked the robot dead in the eye.  "Have you even watched this show before?  We don't get views because the people want to see food, we get views because the people want to see kitchen-based brutalizing!  You think Os was some kind of master chef?  No, she existed for two reasons: profit, and bloodshed.  And you've let our expectations on that front down so much."

Zephyrus' curiosity was piqued now.  He glared daggers at Wallcroft, who cleared his throat as he continued.  "Your intimidating design . . . your massive storages of weaponry . . . your claw, perfect for reminding people of OUR champion."  The smug git wouldn't let his backing of Hardcore Prawn down, would he?  "All it took was a little rigging and we got our perfect new commodity!  You even came from that King of Beasts place.  People loved seeing you freaks on the news acting like a bunch of heroes-"

Before Wallcroft could continue, probably ranting about celebrity endorsements from the "Svilzerian freaks" or something like that, Zephyrus slammed his fist on the desk hard enough to cause a small crack.

That did a great job of getting his attention.  "What did you call us, may I ask?" the robot commented, his voice turning hostile.  It had been ages since his design had caused him any trouble, and now all those times his design and powers pushed people away came flowing back into his memory.  The mention of rigging the competition also stung quite a bit.  Zephyrus took a lot of pride in his cooking, as silly as it was for a robot to cook, and the two statements combined just set him off.

Wallcroft opened his mouth to speak, but by then Zephyrus had already risen.  He lifted the man by his collar and hurled him right into the wall, causing some cracks to form from sheer force of impact.  "Consider this my resignation notice.  So sorry," he dryly hissed as he turned to walk away.

"Grrg . . . you've made a powerful enemy, bot," Wallcroft spat.  "Why the hell can't you pull that shit off when we're airing, anyway?"

Not even looking back, Zephyrus responded "I only hurt monsters.  Now get out of my sight."  The man shouted in protest, threatening to call in killbots, the mob, or even the Killbot Mob, but Zephyrus merely flipped him off and continued to walk away.

~~~~

When everything you know is wrong, do you desperately cling to it anyway?

Zephyrus quickly pushed these thoughts out of his head as cheap neon lighting alerted him to the presence of his destination.  He was lost and confused in this new reality, and he needed some semblance of stability.  He wrote and called his friends quite often, even if he hadn't had many chances to actually visit, but that wasn't enough.  He needed something else . . . he needed something to do . . .

He needed a bar.  And the Ned Killey Alehouse was just the place.

The robot flung the doors open, the bar filled with stereotypical tough guys of various shapes and sizes.  It was a far less colorful ensemble than the King of Beasts, that was for sure.  The robot had to admit, this place was boring.  The lighting was tacky, everybody was depressingly normal, and whenever a fight broke out it made him just wish Jumpropeman would warp in to show these losers how a real Fite is run.  But it gave him something to do that vaguely sparked feelings of better times, so it was better than nothing.

Today, however, things seemed different.  The grainy, faded-color television was displaying an ad for the local Fite Club.  He remembered Amanda writing about going there on the Neuronet, Sintendo's new pride and joy, and he had even popped in once or twice to watch her fight.  But she wasn't being discussed today.  Instead word around the NKA was all about this unstoppable guy named Ali.  Some kind of minotaur who has never been beaten, huh?  These tough guys seemed to uphold him as a god.

Little did they know, all gods fall eventually.

The robot let out a spin of his fan, some dust puffing out as he approximated the sound of clearing his throat.  "Jones could take him," he declared, the other bargoers turning toward him.  He never interacted with them much, and they never interacted with him.  But they did not look pleased.

"What did you say?" the biggest and toughest of them asked.  He turned on his barstool to look at Zephyrus, and even sitting down he was tall enough to see eye-to-eye with the robot.  "Jones?  You think SHE'S a real fighter?  She's just some celebrity whoring herself out for the damn media.  Its all a publicity stunt, bot.  Name one reason why she could take Ali."

The robot merely looked at the would-be tough guy, and if he could smirk he would.  "She's got more balls than you do."

The man deathglared Zephyrus, shades still firmly on as he rose to his full height.  He must have been a giant or something, because he was almost the size of Erebus.  "Wanna say that to my face, bot?" the man asked, focusing his gaze down on the robot.  The bar had gone deathly silent, and it seemed everyone was watching the two.

Unlike his adversary, who seemed to boil with rage, Zephyrus was almost disturbingly calm and cool as he gave his response.  "I'm sorry, should I repeat what I said slower so you can understand? Or maybe I can translate into ignoramus for you?"  Something inside him told him this was a bad idea.  Picking fights really wasn't his usual idea of a good time.  But he had recently been told by his own boss that his job was just a farce, him jumping around the monkey cage for entertainment.  He was furious, and when one is furious they don't usually think straight.

The bar seemed quiet before, but now it was dead silent.  Hushed whispers were exchanged as the man stared Zephyrus down, removing his night sunglasses to get a better look at the bot.  One of his eyes was bulging and of a different color from the other, looking like a cheap back alley transplant.  Whispers were heard among the crowd: "He just called out Freak-Eye!" "Well, scrap pile walking right there." "Shouldn't take too long for Freak-Eye to junk this bitch."

Zephyrus looked at Freak-Eye, the mountain of a man quivering with rage.  There was no movement for what felt like hours, just machine and man staring each other down with pure hatred.  "Go ahead," Zephyrus dared.  "Make my day."

That was all the signalling Freak-Eye needed.  Roaring like a proud animal he charged Zephyrus, lifting a barstool and smashing it right over the bot's head.  His strength was immense, and soon Zephyrus was floored in a single hit.  The other bargoers cheered and hollered with appreciation, but as Freak-Eye turned to walk away he heard a voice.

"Okay, my turn."

Before Freak-Eye knew what was happening, Zephyrus had risen to his feet and charged the man.  Freak-Eye wheeled around and drew back a fist to knock the robot out, but when he got charging he moved like a bullet train.  A single punch to the gut, enhanced by robotic servos and metallic hardness, was all that it took to knock the wind out of Freak-Eye.  He fell, face turning blue, as Zephyrus turned to walk away.

"Forget this place," he grumbled, walking off despite threats and shouts.  He was not in a good mood today, and this was the final straw.  "I'm out of here."

~~~~

When everything you know is wrong, how long does it take to move on?

As the robot stomped away from the Ned Killey Alehouse he heard the sounds of raindrops falling on the pavement.  "Perfect," he muttered to himself, his already-bad mood further spurred on by this rainstorm.  "Just freaking perfect."  He quickly dashed into an alleyway, hoping the overhangs of buildings would keep him sheltered from the rain on his way home.  As he began to walk, though, he noticed something shiny on the ground.

Zephyrus investigated, discovering this object to be a mirror.  It was quite long and had a few cracks in it, but it was still perfectly usable.  The robot looked at himself in this cracked, near-broken mirror, unable to hide a wistful sigh.

The cracks distorted the image a bit, but Zephyrus' visage was plain to see.  His armor appeared to be bulkier, new layers of armor hastily scrapped on in a self-made job with parts from the junkyard.  It was very much a patched-up job, and many cracks or uneven patches could be seen as the results of the occasional would-be mugger or street brawl.  His claw hand seemed to grow longer and sharper, which combined with small spikes hastily added to his knees and elbows made him look pointier overall.  It was easy to tell that Zephyrus had been having a rough time.

He briefly searched through his memory banks and projected an image of himself, or at least what used to be himself, onto the mirror.  The contrast was subtle in most ways: the occasional uneven patch or added bulk here or there.  The old Zephyrus looked more rounded and slender, almost "child safe" in a way.  But the biggest way the two differed was in their expression, one of weariness on Zephyrus and one of innocence on his old portrait.

The modern Zephyrus glared with almost anger at his old, innocent self.  Why the hell didn't he ever realize when he was being taken advantage of?  Why did he just keep enduring, never speaking up when he needed help?  Why did he refuse to even comprehend the possibility of bad things going on?

Why was he happy, and why is he finding it so much harder now?

Zephyrus' musings were interrupted by the sound of a familiar ringing, one that he hadn't heard since December.  For a brief second he was filled with happiness, before his happiness slowly turned into an explosion of other emotions.  Slowly, he drew the Sifter from his storage and looked it over.

He had barely used the technological wonder in months, and whenever he did it was just a futile attempt to try and contact a friend who had apparently forgotten him.  No matter what, though, it always ended with him receiving a busy signal.  In January he didn't mind this.  Obviously his dear friend had something more important on her plate, and would surely get back to him in a few days!  In February he started to grow a little suspicious, but he continued to hope that his friend would see it in her heart to just respond.  By March, however, he was getting fed up.  How does one who can jump through time and space not even take the time to visit the friend who had repeatedly put himself in harm's way just to protect her?

Sine X. Cosine was calling.  And Zephyrus was not sure if he would answer.

Thoughts raced through his head as he tried to figure out what was going on and what he would do.  He had barely known companionship besides his own brothers until he met Sine and the rest of the bargoers.  She always seemed to be there for him, helping him with his problems and generally making him feel accepted.  She was his best friend, and now she was gone without a trace.

What did Sine think of this?

Sometimes Zephyrus went to others for help, often by writing to avoid startling them with the changes to his appearance.  Celestia seemed understanding and worried, as she always was.  Jonesy had a strange mixture of trying to comfort him and asserting an "I told you so" position about Sine's intentions.  And Antoinette . . . the way she reacted was almost frightening.  Seeing such a kindly person pushed to rage by abandonment issues that made Zephyrus' own anger pale in comparison was never enjoyable.

Did Sine even know?

Even then, Zephyrus faced the biggest conflict in himself.  One part of him was completely done with Sine.  The special part of his heart that she had was ripped out and replaced only with fire.  He had seen many types of relationships in his time away from the bar: romantic, familial, just plain platonic.  The way Sine acted, though, often fell into another category: abusive.  Even this call could just be her making Zephyrus do some errand for her.  Did she even see him as anything but an errand boy?

Another part of him, a more innocent and hopeful part, told him to keep waiting.  Sine always came through for him, why wouldn't she come through now?  Obviously she had finally gotten one of his missed Sifter calls and was remembering the bargoers.  Everything would be back to normal!  This side of Zephyrus held the strongest sway at first, but as time went on it started to run out of ammo.  Now it was just a voice in the back of Zephyrus' head, constantly pleading with him to not lose hope.

Did Sine even care?

Zephyrus was at a crossroads, though, and knew he had to make a decision soon.  But one x-factor started to tip the edge of his decision-making process.  Sine attracted trouble, and right now he was in the kind of mood where punching some trouble right in the face might do him some good.  Slowly, he answered the Sifter.

"Sine? Is that you?"