Chapter 6: Determined Drive

Jester waited patiently in line as he watched JamesG chat with a group of customers gathered around the counter.

He kept one hand on the package as he stared around the store. The difference between Kylee’s warehouse and Weapons+5, was staggering. JamesG kept a tight shop. He’d designed the entire place to be reminiscent of old fantasy games. It succeeded, though the modern weapons on the walls hindered the illusion.

They hung in groups, swords on one side and plasma guns on the other. JamesG displayed the full suits of armor on stands in neat rows. Dented copper sat closer to the door, with the more expensive nanotech flanking the counter. Jester couldn’t help but think they looked like additional protection for JamesG himself.

They even might be. It wouldn’t be the first store to employ NPC golem guards.

Unlike Kylee, who sold a little of everything, weapons and armor were JamesG’s specialty. One he excelled at. Not because his prices were unfair, or because he refused to design anything practical. These were all reasons he often sold to streamers. No. The reason was JamesG himself.

The man, in Jester’s opinion, was an asshole.

Jester missed exactly what JamesG said, but one man ahead of him pushed past with an angry huff. His friends looked uncomfortable, but with mentions of discounts, they returned to the goods on the counter.

It took effort to suppress the sigh that tried to escape his lips. He remembered Kylee gloating about gaining customers this way. She was laughing about his social failings, even as she made a fool of herself at the lounge.

Not that she saw JamesG as her enemy. No, far from it. They’d worked on multiple combination projects by high paying clients over the years. Plus, this wasn’t the first delivery she’d asked him to make.

He assumed the package under his arm contained another one of those. Though it may also simply be an attempt to embarrass the man. Or him. Maybe both? Then again, having Jester take Happy Hour into the store on full display would achieve that goal.

Several other customers side-eye’d him as they shopped. None approached, and he was thankful for that small mercy. On his way over, he’d received another message from Kylee. One that asked him to imply the shoes were a JamesG creation, and to ham up his appreciation of their craftsmanship.

Happy Hour stood at his shoulder, tapping a heel against the ground. Each tap released the hidden blade within its new shoe with a quiet shink. Another tap retracted the metallic protrusion. She continued to repeat the process until Whiskers got involved.

The robopet leaped to the ground, attacking the blade every time it appeared.

“Having fun?” Jester asked, as much to break the silence than out of curiosity.

“Oh yes! Ever so much,” Happy Hour replied, its face contorting into a simpering smile. “It’s a delight being here and not back at the Dollhouse getting our proper work done.”

Jester snorted and attempted to cover it up with a cough.

“Well, we won’t be long. Then we’ll give Ol’ Mac a run for his money. You’re confident you can win this time?”

Happy Hour stayed silent for a moment, a finger to their lips.

“Yes. I feel stronger with this.” Happy Hour released the blade again. “Though will it work against metal?”

“Don’t see why not?” Jester shrugged, moving towards the counter as the remaining men left in a huffy silence. “From what I could tell, the thing didn’t have any armor. You almost tipped it over with one kick. Any power boost should solve your problem. If you’re worried, though, aim for the head. That will be where it keeps its core. Shouldn’t have much difficulty ripping through the bag.”

“Aim for the head. Got it.”

The smile Happy Hour aimed his way was genuine, and he could see the excitement.

“Jester! My good friend. If I knew you were waiting, I’d have sent the riffraff away sooner,” called a voice.

He sounded so much like a stereotypical cartoon car salesman that Jester instinctively clutched his Credit Satchel.

“JamesG,” Jester said.

They stood behind the counter, appearing as they always did. Their long black ponytail sat draped over the shoulder of a modern lime green suit. A skull hair clip attached near the end. His smile and friendly posture, however? That was new.

While they’d never displayed open hostility, Jester didn’t see the usual look of dismissal in those green eyes. JamesG was firm with his own rule: No Scrappers in his store. He tolerated Jester’s presence because Kylee made it a condition for their partnership. Plus, Jester knew to come after closing.

“Hahaha! You sound so cold, old chum. Is that a package for me? Kylee isn’t treating a celebrity like you as an errand boy, is she?” JamesG said, his smile wide.

Words failed Jester until he replayed the man’s statement. Celebrity. Oh. The stream went live already.

“And any publicity is good publicity,” Jester muttered, slapping the package onto the counter. From the corner of his eye, he caught a woman wearing barbarian furs inspecting a collection of rocket launchers, sneaking peeks his way.

“I don’t know what you mean,” JamesG said.

“Oh, I just meant I wanted to thank you for the lovely gift. As well as mention how happy I am with the quality of your work,” Jester said, beaming insincerely. He made eye contact with various shoppers as he spoke. It wasn’t difficult; most of them were already watching them intently.

“My work? I’m glad you like it. I do only make the best,” JamesG said, posing slightly.

“True, and I was able to equip my Doll so quickly. Quite a marvel.” Jester nudged Happy Hour, who, without additional prompting, lifted the hem of her skirt to show off the pink ballet shoes.

He hoped this display would satisfy the requirements, and he thought JamesG would kick him out for his antics. Instead, the shop owner simply laughed. Confusion filled Jester as the man slapped him on the back, clearly unfazed by the statement.

“Well, it’s a good thing you returned so quickly. If you liked that, I have another present for you.”

Jester tore his gaze from the other customers as they edged towards the exit

“Thank you?”

“Oh, think nothing of it.”

JamesG bent down and grabbed something beneath the counter. Before he reappeared with a smile and a nod. “Think of this as a thank you for your long-standing patronage.”

A heavy thump followed the box being placed onto the counter. With slow, careful movements, JamesG lifted the lid. What sat inside took Jester’s breath away. An old western revolver rested on a velvet pillow. Its metal shined, and miniature decorations depicting bulls and star-shaped badges covered the mahogany handle.

Jester only realized his face was betraying his emotions when he heard JamesG chuckle.

“You like it? It’s called Old Reliable. Useable by any robot with hands. Though it does better with ones that have ballistic combat upgrades. Turns any low powered robot into a real killer. Go on, have a feel.”

Jester reached out towards the gun before JamesG even finished speaking. He barely heard the sales pitch as his hand grasped the smooth wood grip. He was almost disappointed when the pop-up appeared to block his view.

{Old Reliable
Creator: JamesG
Damage: High - Firearm
Fire rate: Fast
Shots: 6
Reload Time: 1 minute
Malfunction chance: High
Equipment Slot: Carried (Hand)
Estimated cost: 2500 credits}

Even seeing the credit estimate couldn’t diminish his excitement. Not that he’d have to pay it if JamesG was honest in his mention of a gift.

“Old Reliable, huh? Well thank you,” Jester said. “You wouldn’t have an accompanying holster, would you?”

“For my best customer? Of course.” JamesG slapped it onto the table, grinning.

Jester smiled back as Happy Hour equipped the holster and put away the gun.

“Now, I do have business to attend to. Anything else I can help you with?” JamesG asked, as he turned to sort the ammo boxes on the shelves behind him.

“Guns loaded, yeah?”

“Of course. However, if you want more bullets, that will cost extra.”

Jester sighed. That figured.

“Of course,” He said, tipping his top hat and moving towards the door.

“Good luck Jester! Don’t be a stranger.”

Cheerful laughter followed him onto the street.

***

This time, Happy Hour took the lead. Jester tried not to stare as he watched The Doll move through the crowded road. Her shoulders were back, steps assured. It was similar to her maid pose, but more authoritative? He would have struggled to keep up if it wasn’t for the grip she kept on his wrist.

Even Whiskers seemed affected, eyes narrowed and head pushed forward. Its nose twitched, as though tracking a scent. A small hunter after a certain prey.

People continued to whispers and point, but Jester couldn’t pay it much mind. The upcoming fight weighing heavily on his mind. Would the shoes be enough? The gun might be overkill, and if he needed to fight soon afterward, it may not be worth wasting the bullets.

As DollmakerMC didn’t decide to equip Happy with a ballistic program, her missing a shot against a stationary target wasn’t impossible. It wouldn’t be worth risking, especially if they forced him to pay for the door.

Tiffany hopped up and met them at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrow raised as she did. Jester waved, and she returned the gesture before shrugging one of her broad shoulders.

“You came back? Kylee said you would, but I can’t say I didn’t hope you’d give it up.” she tilted her chin up and laughed as her eyes fell on the shoes. “I see she went through with making your gift.”

When her gaze drifted upwards, and she spotted the new sidearm. The laughter died.

“Dude. No. Dude, come on. You got her a gun?”

“We’re not using it on Ol’ Mac if that’s your issue,” Jester said.

He meant it too; it was too big of a risk. Plus, Happy Hour was already taking it off before he’d started speaking. Was she hoping for an honorable fight? Maybe the Doll wanted to beat Ol’ Mac with its bare hands, or new shoes anyway.

“My issue? No, that’s not my issue. My issue is that she has no ballistic program. None. None at all. Someone, or something, will get hit if she fires that inside. Probably not the thing she’s aiming at. And trust me? Debrah will get you to pay for replacements. How much do you have again? One credit?”

“Four,” Jester admitted, before shaking his head. “But it’ll be fine.”

“Your funeral,” Tiffany sighed.

Jester took the gun from Happy Hour, who started stretching. Whiskers jumped onto his shoulder, a tinny purr sounding into his ear. He watched Happy Hour move, somewhat unnerved by the way its gaze never left Ol’ Mac.

The authoritativeness gone, replaced by a glare one would shoot at a stubborn stain. Maybe the bowing issue wouldn’t resurface? Someone he doubted it.

However, he figured it might be worth asking an expert.

“Hey Tiffany, serious question,” Jester asked.

“This about if we do payment plans? Because no, no, we do not.”

He ignored the flippant response.

“No. Look at Happy Hour. Does it appear, I don’t know, more focused this time?”

Tiffany nodded. “Yeah. That is weird. Usually she gets like this when fighting Heather.”

“Heather?”

“Maid#34, we nicknamed her Heather. You’ll see why.” Tiffany gestured at Ol’ Mac, who started boxing against the air.

“I’m ready if you are,” Jester said.

“Sure, let’s do this,” Tiffany responded.

As if it had been waiting on the cue, Happy Hour’s back straightened, its arm rising above its head as it crossed its legs. With a small hop, it landed on its toes. Red-eyes fixated on Ol’ Mac, who delivered two more punches towards the air before settling into a resting position.

The stars on Happy Hour’s skirt swirled as if excited by the idea of a fight. Jester amused himself by watching them spin until the pop-up appeared.

{3.
2.
1.
FIGHT!}

They started the fight identically to the last.

Happy Hour uncrossed its legs, gracefully springing forward. With the new shoes, each step was quieter, each jump ending with less dust. Balance appeared easier, with none of the previous small wobbling.

Jester reminded himself to send Kylee a message about her work, color clashing aside.

Ol’ Mac shifted on its pole, arms held in a classic guard position to protect its face. It would be a solid strategy against the old Happy Hour, now the Doll simply changed tactics. Instead of delivering a powerful kick, Happy Hour paused and clicked a heel against the ground. Blade released, it swung a foot into the air. They attacked so fast it wasn’t until the shoe touched the ground again that Jester noticed the outcome.

A tearing sound filled the air as one glove split. Through the newly formed gap, a grey metal ball was visible, Ol’ Mac’s artificial hand. Happy Hour didn’t wait for a counter-attack, instead raising a leg and spinning, slashing the other glove to shreds as well.

Tink, tink, tink, the area filled with the sound of metal on metal as Ol’ Mac shifted its hands to block each attack. No matter how fast Happy Hour rose or lowered its foot, the bouncer's robot refused to drop its guard and allow access to its faceless head.

In time, Happy Hour slowed down, understanding the attack wasn’t working. Before the rotation fully stopped, Ol’ Mac made its move. It caught the outstretched leg in an elbow joint and tossed the Doll to the side.

Jester winced, watching as Happy Hour slid along the street. The stars on the outfit raced, piling onto the shoulders as though the tiny stitched dots could stop the momentum. Whiskers meowed in concern, and Jester barely grabbed the cat before it could leap to Happy Hour’s aid.

An angry hiss emanated from the robopet, as it scratched the air towards Ol’ Mac.

“I get it, buddy,” Jester whispered. “But they’ve got this.”

He hoped it was true, though he’d seen Happy Hour tossed before.

Happy Hour rose to its feet, a hand reaching up to check if the bun was still intact. A few strands were loose, falling to frame the stern expression the Doll now wore. Stars moved, showing the biggest clumps of dirt that Happy Hour brushed away while it hummed.

The tune started soft and slow, before rising in volume and tempo. Jester tapped his foot to the beat, and as Happy Hour leapt and slid towards Ol’ Mac, it joined in, swaying from side to side.

Tiffany whistled from beside him, head bobbing as she did. Even Whiskers calmed, moving each of its front paws as though playing a tiny piano.

In front of its opponent, Happy Hour danced. The street, a stage, and the three spectators, the single audience the Doll required. The fabric of Happy Hour’s new outfit rippled with starlight, more of the tiny dots appearing with each move.

Jester felt entranced, and he couldn’t even bring himself to despair as a spin brought the Doll in range of Ol’ Mac’s punches. The robot, still dancing, took advantage and struck out. Happy Hour shifted to the side, leaning backwards over the outstretched arm as it got inside Ol’ Mac’s reach.

Still folded over the arm, Happy Hour lifted her other leg. Ol’ Mac’s arm screeched as it tried to force itself into a position where it could get a blow in. But it was impossible. With a smile and a quick tap against the ground, the shoe blade released.

As the tempo rose to a fever pitch, so did the blade. The knife smacking directly into the faceless bag that rested at the top of the pole.

Tink.

Jester stared at the display, open-mouthed, as instead of a brightly glowing core, he saw another mental ball. His gaze shifted to Tiffany, who tipped an imaginary hat to him.

“Impressive, but not enough,” she said.

“Not yet, anyway,” Jester responded.

Happy Hour moved off the arm that it lounged on, leaping away from the punch that followed. He could see it on the Doll’s face. Annoyance. An emotion he shared. If not the head, where was it? Would they have to break through the metal ball at the top? Could they?

His eyes focused on Ol’ Mac. If they couldn’t find the core, Happy Hour should be able to take it out by dropping its HP to zero. If Ol’ Mac didn’t manage the deal first. No, better to destroy the weak point. A protracted battle wouldn’t be good for them.

As Ol’ Mac spun and shook, getting rid of the tattered bags, Happy Hour retracted both their blades. Three metallic orbs now sat visible at the end of the poles, moving through the air at a rapid pace.

Its humming continued, even as the Doll darted back towards the door guard. One punch dodged, then another, and then Happy Hour turned sideways, bending over and kicking out. Ol’ Mac rocked back, and this time Jester was looking for it. Brightly colored cables snaked from a small hole into the base of the robot.

“Oh,” he said, the realization dawning on him.

“Oh, indeed. Good luck.” Tiffany laughed again, slapping him on the back. “Got closer than most. I’ll give you that. But did you really believe new shoes would be enough?”

“I can’t say I didn’t hope it would be,” Jester said with a frown.

Happy Hour straightened before dealing another devastating kick to the pole. Ol’ Mac rocked back, but this time the Doll was ready. Before the base returned to the ground, Happy Hour slipped the toe of its shoe into the gap. Its other foot resting slightly behind it for balance.

“Oh, you have to be kidding,” Tiffany said, laughter dying.

Ol’ Mac’s blow was powerful, smashing directly into Happy Hour’s face. The Doll rocked similarly to its opponent, the heel of one shoe hitting the side of the other.

Buzz, zap, boom.

Electrical sounds played all around, as the boxing robot simply shut down.

“Well. I’m going to need to buy stronger cables. Or bolts,” Tiffany said.

Happy Hour, extracting itself from the depowered robot, turned to Jester, and bowed low, hands outstretched. The exact pose as last time. Did the robot learn? Or was the grand standing set to a random trigger? He wasn’t sure, and a pop-up interrupted his musings.

{WINNER
JESTER
REWARD: ENTRY ALLOWED}

Tiffany jogged off to check on her robot, mouth pressed into a thin line. Jester moved to Happy Hour, who hugged him without warning. Its metal limbs were warmer than he expected, though he still didn’t return the hug. Someone who saw might make assumptions, bad enough he was loitering outside the Dollhouse.

“Did you see that?” Happy Hour released him, skipping away a few paces. “I won! And it wasn’t even a fluke!” The skip turned into an excited spin. Whiskers meowed, hopping down and bouncing from paw to paw.

“I did. How did you know to do that?” Jester asked, head turning to monitor the empty street.

“I saw the cable, Jester,” Happy Hour said, laughing as they picked up and cuddled Whiskers, who purred in delight. “Then I slashed it. Figured it must be important, and I was right!”

Jester shook his head, leaving the two robots to their celebrations as he made his way to Tiffany. The muscular bouncer finished righting Ol’ Mac, whose arms hung limply by its sides.

“Sorry about your robot,” Jester said.

Tiffany shrugged. “Always a risk. Anyway, you beat me, dude, ready to head in?”

Jester nodded, turning to gesture for Happy Hour to come to him. Tiffany smiled at the sight.

“For what it’s worth? I hope you beat this.” Tiffany nodded to Happy Hour. “Never seen her excited like this before.”

“You keep calling it her. Why?” Jester asked.

Tiffany laughed, shaking her head.

“Go ask around inside. If you find Dam13n, spelled with a thirteen, they’ll talk your ear off about it. Also, a word of advice? Everyone will know what you’re doing. Don’t take anyone’s shit.”

“Thanks,” Jester said. “Hey, Happy Hour, Whiskers, we’re going in!”

“I will be right there, Jester!” Happy Hour called back.

He watched the two robots approach, and Tiffany let them in with a nod.

“Good luck. I’ll try to catch your fight.”

“Thanks, I hope to see you there,” Jester said.

With the sound of Happy Hour whispering excitedly to Whiskers, he stepped inside.

***

The inside of Debrah’s Dollhouse was everything he assumed the brothel would be.

After following a short hallway, he emerged into a large room dominated by a wide, ornate glass staircase. Lights hung from the pewter banisters, and guards patrolled the base, stopping the mass of revelers from heading up.

When he finally tore his gaze away from the glittering stairway, he noticed the oddities with the crowd. Not everyone was human. That in itself wasn’t odd, but the difficulty in discerning the robots from the cosplayers certainly counted.

Androids of all shapes and sizes filtered about, staying next to owners or moving on their own. Men, Women, Beastkin, fantasy, sci-fi and everything else roamed the hall. He shrank away from a seven-foot tall lion man who appeared to be escorting a frail, elderly woman.

This move almost caused him to bump into a samurai, whose gold-plated skin peeked out beneath flowing robes. Next to the warrior was a woman made entirely of neon tubes, each glowing a different color and making his eyes hurt.

A pixie flew overhead, leaving behind a trail of particle effects in the shape of stars. His eyes widened in shock, as from the crowd a dozen different cat girls jumped for the flying Android. The one that caught it performed a small dance before releasing it once more.

His head hurt.

Noise pounded him from all sides, conversation, music, rattling of metallic parts. It was all too much. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get used to the sound. To make it all make sense.

He could feel the surrounding crowd closing in on him. They pushed in, and he couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go. No one he knew.

When a hand grabbed his shoulder, he almost screamed.

Happy Hour gazed at him, concerned, before she pulled him to a corner where an empty table sat.

“Jester. Jester, are you ok? Are you hurt?”

He needed to strain to hear Happy Hour’s voice, but when he finally parsed the words, he nodded.

“You do not look well,” Happy Hour said.

“More noise and people than I expected. You seriously worked here?” Jester said, hoping having a conversation to focus on would help.

“Yes, as I said. Multiple times. Would a drink help? Water?” Happy Hour pushed Whiskers across the wooden table.

The cat rubbed its head on Jester’s hand, and he patted its back. He couldn’t deny the cool metal wasn’t nice to the touch. The air here seemed overly hot.

“Yes, please. Thank you,” Jester said.

As soon as Happy Hour left, he wished she hadn’t. Without a recognizable touch stone, fear gnawed at him. The crowd of people blurred together, becoming a sea of color. Whiskers rubbed against his hand, letting out a soft purr. He cuddled the cat, trying not to shiver.

He jumped again after an unfamiliar voice called out.

“You ok, man?” A younger man slid into the chair opposite.

Jester blinked, trying his best to focus in case he’d seen this man before. His short spiked brown hair, casual t-shirt and jeans combo, and large nose stud didn’t ring any bells.

“Hey, hey man, serious you feeling off, lagging or what?”

His visitor appeared concerned, leaning forward and waving a hand in front of his face. “Your rig can handle high traffic zones, yeah? Tiff should have asked before you came in. If you crash and somehow take the zone down, man, people are going to throw a fit.”

Jester struggled to keep up with the conversation. The words sluggish in reaching his brain, but they got there eventually.

“What? No. No, my set-up is good enough for this. It’s,” Jester shook his head. “A lot of people, you know?”

“Ahh, first timer? Christ, yeah, I remember my first time. Man. I almost puked my digital guts out. Thank the devs for a lack of realism. You got an Android with you?”

“Getting drinks. It’ll be back soon.”

The man winced and gave a nervous laughed. “Oof, man. Yeah. No. Don’t do that. Unless it’s properly un-gendered? People get weird about it. Really want to play into the fantasy, you know?”

Jester nodded, which was a good enough sign to continue for his new companion.

“Yeah, the Androids, they’re real people. At least to the groupies here. You call them things or its, and the real obsessives will get to you. Larper’s and shit. Great guys and gals, but intense. Or can be? Depends. Anyway. Which type do you got? Guessing from the tone, something standard. Steampunk beauty? Humanoid for sure, you don’t look like the furry type. You ain’t cosplaying some jungle warrior.”

Jester gave a slow thumbs up, feeling as though he was getting used to the environment. Enough to follow the rambling pace of the man’s speech.

“Yeah, humanoid. Happy Hour. Used to work here?”

“Ha! No shit? Man, that’s awesome. Never, like, met her. Heard the stories. Old timers talk about her on the reg. Aww, man, I’m sorry. I never introduced myself, did I? Dam13n, spelled with a thirteen.”

“Jester. Tiffany said I should talk to you about the gender thing?”

“Well, looks like I beat you to it,” Dam13n smiled at him, wide and innocent.

At that point, Happy Hour returned carrying a wooden mug, which it placed in front of him. Which she placed in front of him, he mentally corrected. His gaze wandering to the people milling about. If Dam13n was right, upsetting people may be a bad idea.

Besides, as he watched her move, it felt right? Better anyway. Her mannerisms and speech were far closer to an avatar than, say, Rippertooth.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting his mug and taking a sip.

As the cool water slipped down his throat, he felt refreshed. More awake. The pressure in his head lessened as the pounding in his ears subsided.

“Wow, so this is her, huh?” Dam13n asked, leaning back in his chair and nodding towards Happy Hour. “Man, love the outfit. That’s new, yeah?”

Happy Hour curtsied. “It is indeed, sir, thank you. May I ask your name?”

“Dam13n, spelled with a thirteen,” Dam13n said. “Man, digging the style. Oh man, oh man!”

Jester leaned further into his chair as Dam13n shifted forward, excitement shining in his eyes.

“You’re here for the fight, yeah? Or are you here to scope out the competition? I can help. I can’t wait to see it. Old timers talk about it like it’s an Olympic event. I’ve been offline for the past couple and didn’t get invited to the others. Come on, man, you need someone ring side with you? Can carry the towels or whatever?” Dam13n asked, voice cracking.

“Ahh, yeah, both?” Jester answered, side eyeing Happy Hour, who busied herself patting Whiskers.

“Awesome, man. Awesome. Who you fighting?” Dam13n bounced in his seat as he talked, head darting around as though expecting Happy Hour’s opponent to show up at the table. The way Jester’s last couple of days went, he almost expected it himself.

“Maid#34. Tiffany called her Heather?”

“The blonde? Ooh, this will be a proper cat fight,” Dam13n laughed, and made scratching motions in front of himself.

Happy Hour stuck her nose in the air. “Hardly.”

Before the two could start arguing, Jester intervened. He tapped the table, getting Dam13n’s attention back to him.

“Who would we talk to if we wanted to meet them?”

“Talk to? Nah, man. You order some shots! You’ll see why.”

Jester didn’t like the way Dam13n smiled. He watched as the younger man tapped a brief sequence against the table. A beam of light shot up, a rainbow of colors that dispersed itself against the ceiling.

“That’ll get their attention. Drinks are on me, man. This is going to be fun!”

A sinking feeling filled Jester’s stomach as he watched Happy Hour’s back straighten. Whoever was coming, he hoped they would give him a minute before starting trouble. While he wanted this quest finished, he still felt off.

But, upon seeing the smile on the blonde’s face turn to a sneer, he knew he wouldn’t be so lucky.