Junkers Season Two

by Benjamin Wallace

  “Two.” The second slap hit the mat and Glitch raised his arm for the final count.

  By the time it was falling, Jake was airborne. Clorso kicked and sent him into the air. There he hovered for a long moment before crashing against the turnbuckles. Jake groaned and sank to the ground against the corner post.

  Clorso the Destroyer rose on wobbly knees and tried to balance itself as it staggered around the ring.

  Glitch grabbed the machine’s ankle with both hands and regretted it instantly.

  The Champ picked up the cyborg from the mat with a single arm and hurled him over the top rope. Glitch crashed through the announcer’s table and onto the floor while Clorso strutted. The trademarked step took it around the ring and boomed with each stomp. Then the Champ stopped, pointed to Jake in the corner and charged.

  Winded and wiped out, all Jake could do was collapse to the ground and roll out of the way. It was a pathetically slow maneuver, but it played well on TV.

  The machine continued on and collided shoulder-first with the corner post. It bounced off and wobbled to the center of the ring where it shook the hit off and focused once more on its opponent.

  “Jake!” Hailey shoved her disruptor into his hand.

  The Champ ran back to the corner and climbed to the top turnbuckle. It raised a fist into the air and stripped the elbow pad from its arm to reveal a gleaming spike at the joint. It bent at the knees to leap.

  Jake rolled onto his back, aimed and pulled the trigger.

  The blast arced from the end of the disruptor and spread across Clorso’s entire body.

  Arms twitching, its legs buckled and the Champ collapsed back from the top rope and crashed to the stadium floor outside of the ring.

  Jake slid the disruptor back to Hailey and stumbled to his feet. He draped himself across the top rope and looked at the immobilized machine in the twisted wreckage of the table. Jake hung his head and grunted. “I’m glad that’s done.”

  The camera drone dropped in front of him and the tiny speaker blared. “Dammit. Cut!”

  Jake stared into the black camera lens as the drone continued to shout at him.

  “Who’s the Champ now?” The drone’s tiny speaker couldn’t handle the audio levels the person on the other end was putting out. It popped and crackled and made it difficult to understand.

  “What?” Jake asked.

  “Who’s the Champ now?” It repeated.

  Jake pointed to the wreck. “He is. Still. I think. I don’t really know wrestling.”

  “No, dammit, Jake,” the drone squawked. “That’s your line. ‘Who’s the Champ now?’ That’s your line.”

  “I don’t have lines, Lucas.” Jake walked to the middle of the ring and picked up the championship belt.

  The drone followed him and crackled, “Jake. We talked about this. We agreed that the show needs snappier dialogue.”

  Jake could picture Lucas rubbing his face in frustration on the other end of the controls.

  “I said it couldn’t hurt, but I wouldn’t call that snappy dialogue. I’d call it trite and expected.”

  The drone whirred in closer. “Say the line, Jake.”

  “No, Lucas.”

  “We need a better sign off than, ‘I’m glad that’s done.’”

  “Get bent.” Jake swung the belt and swatted the drone from the air.

  It crashed into the mat and sparked into silence.

  The team stared at Jake.

  He said nothing. He dropped the belt to the canvas, rolled under the ropes and made his way out of the arena.

  “Actually, I like that,” Savant said over the comm. He lowered his voice to that of an announcer. “Tonight on Scrappers. Get bent.”

  2

  The room smelled of fresh-cut wood, construction adhesive and cat urine.

  It had cost Jake a fortune to have the place restored to its former lack of glory. Craftsmen had worked from poor reference photos and even poorer descriptions to make an exact replica of his old apartment. They had tracked down the same crappy linoleum, outdated Formica and poorly constructed carpet, and positioned it all as best they could. The cat, however, had found him.

  It wasn’t his cat. Never had been. But it settled right back into its old home and continued making Jake’s life miserable, if not comfortably familiar, right away.

  The Scrappers TV show had been a financial windfall for him and the rest of the team from Ashley’s Robot Reclamation of Green Hill. It was more money than any of them had ever known and they all spent it in their own way. Glitch spent his money upgrading his cybernetic augmentations because he believed they made him a better person, while Mason focused on classic cars and debauchery because he didn’t believe in being a good person at all. Not surprisingly, fame had gone to Savant’s head and he grew obsessed with “the business.” The last time Jake had bothered listening to him, Savant had formed his own production company.

  No one knew what Kat was doing with her share. The team’s mechanic was as quiet as ever. If she was enjoying the money or the attention, she made no show of it. Hailey wisely, sensibly and boringly invested almost every dollar and constantly reminded Jake that he should wisely, sensibly and boringly invest his portion as well. So he did invest it. In time travel.

  The apartment took him back to two years ago. It took him home. Before Project Cupcake had run amok through the streets. Before the fame. Before everything got different and weird.

  The show had changed everything. It was supposed to be no big deal. Scrappers was supposed to be reality TV at its most basic. A couple of cameras would follow the employees of Ashley’s Robot Reclamation of Green Hill as they answered calls from customers concerned their machines had malfunctioned in the most murderous ways.

  Doing what they did every day with a camera drone hovering over their shoulder would have been fine if not a little odd. But that’s not how it worked. There were production meetings. There were suggestions from the network. And now there were lines to read. Jake wasn’t an actor. He wasn’t even a halfway decent liar.

  He stepped through the door of his time capsule apartment and tossed his keys on the counter. Then he watched them slide across the countertop and fall to the floor. He frowned. Even his painstakingly reproduced, crappy old countertop wasn’t quite the same. It looked right, but the friction was off. It would take years of spills, neglect and a relaxed attitude toward cleanliness to get it just right. Until then the keys would continue to slide too far too fast, and he would have to pick them up in the morning.

  He left the keys on the floor and pulled a short glass and a tall bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cabinet. A couple of ice cubes bounced around the bottom of the glass to complete the recipe and he moved to the couch with every intent of sinking deep into the cushions for a good, long and therapeutic sit.

  But the couch was a replica too and did not have the sink he had spent countless nights perfecting. He sat but it didn’t sit right. He was just a little too high. A little too balanced. The couch was supposed to have a slight lean toward the right arm. He had been specific about that lean with the contractor but the contractor had apparently ignored him.

  Jake wiggled and forced the lean but it felt unnatural. He was just about to say, “Everything has changed,” when the cat appeared from out of nowhere and sprang into his lap with all 437 of its claws extended.

  The attack was brief but vicious and before Jake could even swat at the beast, the cat was gone again, vanished somewhere into the nether regions from which it was spawned. A decent amount of blood covered his arm but there was a fair amount of comfort to that. It was familiar at least. “Thank you, Hell cat,” Jake said and raised his glass to drink.

  The knock at the door didn’t stop him. He took a swig and savored the taste. The knocking persisted and evolved into a pounding. Jake set the drink down and answered the door to a face that was always smiling. “Hey, pal.”

  “What do you want, Lucas?”

  The producer’s smile ne
ver faded. It was most likely drawn on and only varied in degrees of falsity. “Got a few minutes?”

  Jake had nothing planned for the rest of the evening but sitting and drinking. This visit was sure to ruin that. He left the door open and returned to the couch.

  Lucas followed him inside and whistled as he looked around. “Wow. You finally got the place finished. Is it as shitty as you’d hoped?”

  “Homey, Lucas. I said homey.”

  Lucas ran his hand across the Formica counter top and then rubbed his fingers together to wipe off any cheapness he may have contracted. “I really admire you, Jake. I can’t say I know anyone else with your level of success that would want to live in a place like this.”

  “It’s a one of a kind.”

  “And I think that’s great!”

  Jake rolled his eyes and returned to his drink.

  “I do. Really.” Lucas walked into the living area and examined a chair for a long moment before committing to a sit. Even then he more or less squatted on the edge. “You know what makes great entertainment, Jake?”

  Jake raised his glass toward the producer. “Shitty dialogue.”

  Lucas smiled. “Character, Jake. The greatest shows have always been about character. And your insistence on living in the past is a part of great character.”

  “But.”

  “But, nothing. That’s what attracted me to your group in the first place. It wasn’t just the national attention you were getting. It was Glitch and Mason and Kat and Hailey.”

  “And Savant.”

  “Yeah, sure. Why not?” Lucas leaned forward. “Look—”

  The cat fell from the ceiling, or so it seemed, and landed claws-out in the producer’s lap. Some swearing, some hissing, and an awful lot of screaming followed and then the cat was gone.

  Lucas shot up and spun around, trying to determine what exactly had just happened. “What the hell was that?”

  “A cat.”

  Lucas brushed at the cat fur and new holes on his slacks. “He’s delightful.”

  “I figured you’d like him,” Jake refilled his glass. “He’s got character.”

  Lucas forced a laugh that wasn’t intended to fool anyone. “Jake, we need to talk about the show.”

  “There’s a production meeting tomorrow morning. There’s a production meeting every morning.”

  Lucas waved his hand back and forth between them. “We need to talk about the show.”

  “If this is about that line—”

  “Forget the line. You were right. It was a terrible line. A stupid line.” The phony smile faded. “The truth is there are bigger problems with the show. Or smaller, I guess would be the right way to put it.” Lucas pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the projection display. A line graph filled the space between the two men. The trend on the graph was clearly a negative one.

  “Your popularity rating?”

  Lucas forced a second laugh. “Our ratings, Jake. They’re shit. And getting shittier.”

  Jake nodded slightly and went back to his drink.

  “Look at this. Do you know why we’re failing?”

  “Because robot reclamation is boring. I told you that on day one.”

  "If this continues, they're going to cancel Scrappers."

  "Okay."

  "Okay!? How can you—? Jake, if they take away the show, you’ll lose all of this." Lucas gestured wildly around the room and quickly realized it wasn’t helping his argument.

  Jake followed Lucas’s argument around the room.

  Lucas changed his tactic from threats to shame. “You're being selfish, Jake. It may not be for you. The money. The fame. But what about Hailey? What about Kat? Mason? Glitch? Your entire team is depending on the show."

  “Savant?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

  Jake had to give the man credit. His new strategy worked. Jake couldn’t care less about the show or the fame. The money was nice, but it wasn’t everything. Scrappers had been a headache since day one. More for him than anyone else. But the rest of the team should have a say as well. It was their livelihood now, too.

  Jake set his drink down and nodded. “Fine.”

  Lucas smiled and started to get all worked up. "Don't worry, I've already got an idea for the show."

  "I’m sure you do. Is it a good idea this time?”

  The producer coughed and drew a hand to his chest. "I’m hurt. All of my ideas are good."

  “Really? Even the time that you suggested we do a crossover with Quilt Warriors?”

  “That tested through the roof.”

  “Or when you suggested we fire Savant and replace him with a, and I quote, ‘Scrappy street urchin from the slums of London.’”

  “People love a scrappy orphan,” Lucas said.

  “Or how about the time you had the former President join our crew for a very ‘special episode.’”

  “That,” Lucas began to protest but he quickly stopped. “Okay, that could have gone better.”

  “I’d say so. Every time we tried to stop the bot’s rampage he said we were killing his friends.”

  “Admittedly, I should have seen that coming. He was fond of drones. He used them all the time when he was in office.”

  “How about when—”

  “I get it, okay,” Lucas said. “But it's different this time. There’s a lot more riding on it. And this idea is different. It's killer."

  Jake stood. "I can’t wait to hear it.”

  "Okay, I—”

  Jake continued. “Tomorrow morning at the meeting.” He waved Lucas to the door.

  “Wait. You’ve got to hear this. It’s brilliant!”

  “And I’m sure the entire team will be excited to hear it. Like you said, they’re as much a part of this as I am and it’s really not fair if I get to make all the insults.”

  Lucas genuinely laughed at this. Jake had never heard a genuine laugh from the man. It was unsettling and seemed to startle both of them.

  Lucas shook it off and turned his faux smile back on. “You sure you want to wait?”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Jake said and stepped toward the door. “I’m tired of making all the calls. It should be up to all of us.”

  “Fair enough,” Lucas said with a grin as he stepped into the hallway. “You’re going to love it, Jake. It’s killer.”

  “Yep, you said that.” Jake closed the door and returned to his drink and his not-so-comfortable couch.

  3

  The door to Ashley’s Robot Reclamation of Green Hill still squeaked. The inside of the shop still smelled. They had been told that all of the repairs that had been promised were no longer in the budget, but it was probably more of that character that Lucas loved so much.

  Jake was the last one to arrive and he did it on purpose. It had been his hope that Lucas had grown impatient, sprung whatever stupid idea he had on the team and they had in turn shot it down and everyone could get on with their day. But that wasn’t the case.

  Lucas stood there chatting with Mason and Hailey while Glitch and Kat tinkered under the hood of the truck they affectionately called The Beast. Somewhere in the back of the shop, Savant was smashing away at a keyboard, doing his best to make sure that stupid people knew they were stupid.

  “We all have our purpose,” Savant would say as he called out any user who dared try to form an opinion without his blessing.

  Hailey spotted Jake first and crossed the room.

  “Good morning.” She gave him a hug and kiss before playfully scolding him. “You’re late on purpose.”

  Jake was about to agree with her when Mason crossed the room, gave him a hug and leaned in for a kiss of his own.

  Jake pushed him away.

  “You know what, Jake?” Mason said. “I don’t think it’s right for a boss to play favorites. People might get the wrong idea that you like Hailey more than me.”

  “Mason, I like everyone more than you.”

  “Great. You’re here.” Lucas clapped his
hands and rubbed them together slowly for show. “Come on and sit down.”

  Five of the team members sat at a conference table in the middle of the shop. A few good mornings were thrown Jake’s way while Lucas set his phone in the middle of the table and turned on the projection. Rays of light spread quickly in the air, forming a title slide that read, Scrappers: Season Two.

  Lucas put on his presentation voice. The implant raised the base volume slightly and set the auto-tune to serious. “Now that everyone is here, we can get started. And am I excited to show you what I’ve—”

  “What about Savant?” Glitch asked, pointing to the one empty chair.

  “What about him?” Lucas asked.

  The metal chair squeaked as Glitch shifted his weight to face the shop. He yelled to somewhere in the back, “Savant, we’re starting the meeting!”

  “Fine,” the computer scientist responded from the back of the shop. There was some clattering, some swearing, another fit of frantic typing and then Savant stomped his way to the table and dropped into the chair with a scowl on his face.

  “Great,” Lucas said. “Now—”

  “Isn’t anyone going to ask me why I’m upset?” Savant asked.

  “No,” Kat said.

  Mason shook his head. “You’d tell us and no one wants that.”

  Savant pointed a finger to the back of the shop. “Some a-hole on the feed is telling everyone that I’m a total ass.”

  “You are a total ass,” Kat said.

  Mason nodded. “She’s right, it’s like all ass with you.”

  Glitch put a giant hand on Savant’s shoulder and rubbed it slowly. “We thought you knew.”

  Savant bucked the hand off his shoulder. “Yeah. But not for the reasons he’s saying. He’s telling everyone that I showed up to Carmichael’s drunk.”

  Despite a complete lack of response or any indication of interest, Savant continued and incorporated a violent form of air quotes into his story. “He said that I hit on his girlfriend right in front of him like some ‘has-been celebrity milking his unwarranted fame.’”

  “Well, did you?” Glitch asked slowly.

  Savant slammed his fist on the table. “He called me a ‘D-list douchebag!’”