Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kalinka Cossack sat cross-legged on the polished floor of the Citadel’s grand hall, her small hands clutching the sleek emergency communicator her father had given her. The sprawling robotic fortress felt unusually quiet without the usual hum of the Cossack Numbers moving about. Her papa was away on a business trip to Mega City, and her brothers were all downtown on their own missions. For once, the towering halls and flashing consoles felt less like home and more like a labyrinth.

“Papa?” Kalinka whispered into the receiver, her voice trembling slightly. “Are you still at the conference?”

The soft crackle of Dr. Cossack’s calm voice flooded her earpiece. “Yes, my little spark. Everything is going smoothly here. Remember to stay safe. If anything happens, call me immediately.”

Kalinka nodded, biting her lip as she looked around the dimly lit chamber. The walls — lined with blueprints, relics from her father’s past, and holstered tools — suddenly felt like silent witnesses to some unseen danger. The thought made her grip the communicator tighter.

A sudden clatter echoed from the far corridor.

Kalinka’s eyes snapped toward the sound.

“Who’s there?” she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

Only silence answered.

Her heart pounded louder than the quiet footsteps she thought she heard moments ago.

She wasn’t alone.

Kalinka crouched low behind a stack of crates, heart thudding in her chest. The faint clatter she’d heard earlier had grown into heavy footsteps and hushed voices — and now, two Emerald Spears operatives were just on the other side of the wall, their outlines visible through a crack in the steel vent grille.

She held her breath and leaned closer, straining to listen.

“You’re sure this is the place?” one of them asked. His voice was low, gravelly, and impatient.

“Positive,” the other replied, tapping something on a handheld scanner. “Cossack’s workshop. The old man’s one of the last heavyweights in robotics. Destroying this place… it’d set synthetic evolution back decades. Maybe wipe it out completely.”

The first scoffed. “I thought Light was the big fish.”

“He is,” the second said, “but he’s protected. The moment you breathe wrong in Light Labs, the Blue Bomber’s in your face. Cossack, though? He’s isolated. Rural. Unsecured. Hell, the defense systems are mostly analog.”

The first grunt chuckled. “And his little girl?”

“Collateral.”

A pause.

“She’s not a robot.”

“Doesn’t matter. She lives in this house, she’s part of the machine. Just like the rest of them.”

Kalinka’s stomach turned.

Collateral.

They were talking about her. Like she didn’t matter. Like she wasn’t real.

She backed away from the vent, her fingers clenched into fists. Her knees felt weak, but something hard and cold settled in her chest — a resolve she didn’t know she had.

They weren’t just here to break in.

They were here to erase her father’s life’s work.

Her family.

Her home.

“No,” she whispered, barely audible, but fierce. “Not while I’m still breathing.”

Kalinka’s fingers trembled as she set the communicator down on a nearby console. Her eyes darted to the rows of robotic parts and gadgets that filled the room. If she was going to protect the Citadel, she’d have to get creative. After all, she wasn’t a Robot Master — just a little girl with a big heart and her papa’s quick thinking.

Her gaze landed on a stack of old toolboxes, half-forgotten relics of her father’s experiments. An idea sparked.

Tiptoeing over, Kalinka grabbed a coil of thin, shiny wire — the kind used for sensor triggers — and strung it across the entrance to the main hallway. A tiny bell hung from the wire, ready to jingle at the faintest touch.

Satisfied, she hurried to the workshop and grabbed a handful of paint cans. “This’ll work,” she murmured, balancing the cans above the doorway leading into the dining hall.

Next came the classic tripwire — a length of bright red rope tied between two sturdy chairs, set low enough to catch a stumbling foot.

She paused, biting her lip as she recalled the times she had watched Home Alone with her brothers, imagining how Kevin had outsmarted those burglars. “If they think they can waltz in here,” she whispered fiercely, “they’ve got another thing coming.”

From a dusty shelf, she grabbed a handful of marbles — shiny spheres that sparkled in the dim light. Carefully, she scattered them just beyond the tripwire.

“Okay, Kalinka,” she said, drawing herself up, “you’re ready.”

Suddenly, a faint rustling sound came from the hallway. She froze.

The doorknob rattled. The bell above her wire jingled faintly.

A shadow slipped past the threshold.

Kalinka’s breath caught in her throat.

The figure stepped forward — a bulky Emerald Spears goon, clad in dark armor and scanning the room with a cold glare.

And then, with a sudden clink, the goon’s foot caught the tripwire.

He stumbled, arms flailing.

His other foot hit the marbles.

Slap!

He fell backward, crashing into the dangling paint cans.

A spray of bright red paint burst over his helmet.

Kalinka couldn’t help it — she let out a small, triumphant giggle.

“Gotcha!” she whispered.

But the goon was not done yet.

He peeled the paint from his visor and growled. “You’re going to pay for this, kid.”

Kalinka’s heart pounded as she ran to the next room, her boots skidding slightly on the Citadel’s polished floors. She slammed the control panel beside the door, sealing it shut behind her with a hiss of steam and clunk of reinforced bolts. For a moment, she leaned against the wall, breath ragged, hands trembling.

That was too close...

But there was no time to rest. The sound of pounding fists echoed from the other side of the door. Then came the unmistakable whirr of a laser cutter.

They’re going to burn through.

Kalinka dashed into the lab storage wing — one of her papa’s most cluttered spaces, overflowing with scrap parts, busted prototypes, and backup components for the Cossack Numbers.

And buried within it — forgotten, dusty, perfect — sat an old maintenance drone the size of a small dog.

“Hello there, little guy,” Kalinka whispered, brushing the dust off its dome-shaped chassis. Its optics flickered once, then twice.

Power cell still works!

She pulled the access panel open and quickly rewired its behavioral loop. The bot beeped, now reacting to sound — specifically, the clapping of her hands.

One clap: start moving. Two claps: stop. Easy enough.

She turned it toward the hallway and rigged a small canister of Tundra Man’s leftover cryo-fluid to the drone’s chassis, attaching it to a jerry-rigged nozzle. She grinned.

Cold floor’s just as bad as marbles.

She patted the drone’s head. “Alright, Snowball. Time to skate.”

Just as the goon burst through the door — visor cracked, armor scratched, and fury burning in his eyes — Kalinka clapped once and dove out of sight.

The drone whirred to life, zipped into the hallway, and unleashed a jet of supercooled mist onto the metal floor.

The goon stepped forward—
His foot hit the frozen steel—
And down he went with a heavy THUD, arms flailing, sliding straight into a stack of old Drill Man casings.

The entire pile came down like a scrapyard avalanche.

Kalinka peered around the corner, eyes wide.

The goon groaned from beneath the pile, barely moving.

“Yup,” she whispered with a nervous smile, “definitely not OSHA compliant.”

Kalinka darted into the old ventilation control hub — a narrow corridor above the boiler room, crammed with rusted piping, spare coolant tanks, and one beautiful, horrible idea.

They’re coming through the maintenance stairwell, she thought, checking a nearby camera feed. Two Emerald Spears goons — one still soaked in red paint, the other sporting a face full of frost — were limping up the stairs, one cursing under his breath, the other holding a stun baton like he meant to use it.

They’re adapting. Time to remind them this house has teeth.

She looked up at the thick, rusted pipe running the length of the ceiling. It was suspended on sliding brackets — once used for redirecting water flow when the Citadel’s climate systems were being tested.

Kalinka grabbed her multitool and yanked off the locking pins.

The pipe shifted slightly. Heavy. Too heavy for her to lift outright.

But not too heavy for gravity to do the work.

She quickly tied the pipe to a cord fed through a pulley system — an old prototype from one of Dive Man’s submersible training rigs. Then she dragged the pipe all the way to the top of the stairwell, braced it, and attached a motorized quick-release.

“They’re gonna wish they stayed in Mega City,” she muttered, pulling herself up into the rafters.

“Keep your eyes open,” the first goon muttered. “She’s probably rigged the whole building.”

The second one snorted. “Kid’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But I swear, if she throws another paint can at me—”

CLANK.

A single paint can dropped from the top of the stairwell and bounced harmlessly down the stairs.

Both goons froze.

“…She’s mocking us,” the first one growled.

“…I think I respect her now,” the second muttered, taking another cautious step.

And then came the real hit.

WHAM!

A giant steel pipe swung down from the ceiling, smashing both goons square in the chest with a comical THUD, launching them backward like rag dolls.

Their weapons flew into the air. One shoe hit the railing. The other goon landed on top of him.

But Kalinka wasn’t done.

With a push of a button, the pipe dropped loose from its bracket — slamming down the stairwell where it landed with a clang right onto their helmets.

There was a long pause.

A groan.

“...I think I bit my tongue,” one of them whimpered.

“...I saw my tongue,” the other muttered.

Kalinka peeked down from the rafters, satisfied.

“I can’t believe that worked.”

She gave a firm nod. “Thanks for the idea, Kevin.”

Kalinka sprinted through the ventilation wing, hauling a battered maintenance crate behind her. Her fingers worked quickly, flipping it open and revealing an old industrial-grade staple gun — not the handheld kind, but the kind bolted to repair scaffolds for attaching armor plates to robot frames.

Not exactly OSHA approved for skin contact...

She smiled grimly.

But perfect for people who keep calling me "collateral."

She rummaged through the crate, pulling out a broken targeting sensor from Ring Man's old training rig. It still worked — sort of. Enough for close-range motion detection.

She mounted the staple gun just above the corridor's T-junction, hiding it behind an old access panel. Then she rigged the sensor to a tripbeam at chest height.

Step into the beam, get stapled in the face. Easy math.

She stuffed the weapon with heavy-duty staples — thick, gleaming silver pieces longer than her pinky. These weren’t paper staples. These were made to punch through metal.

As she sealed the panel and ducked into a side tunnel, she heard voices coming down the hallway.

Paint-streaked and pipe-battered, the Emerald Spears pair limped their way into the corridor. One of them held a crowbar. The other, now missing a boot, held a taser.

“I swear,” one muttered, “the next time she throws something at me, I’m throwing her off the roof.”

His partner snorted. “Just focus. The plans are in the main lab. We grab them, torch the rest, and get out.”

They rounded the corner.

Zzzzt.

The motion sensor lit up red.

CHAK-CHAK-CHAK.

The staple gun fired three times in rapid succession — THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

First staple: right between the eyes.
Second: the neck of the taser guy’s suit.
Third: directly into the butt of the guy with the crowbar.

“AAAGH!” one of them screamed, clutching his face as he stumbled backward.

The other dropped the taser and spun in a circle. “She stapled my @#& butt!”

“How do you staple a butt?!”

“How do you build a STAPLE GUN in FIVE MINUTES!?”

Kalinka watched from a nearby vent, giggling into her hands as the two goons scrambled away, one swatting at his back, the other trying to remove a staple from his forehead.

She gave the gun a pat and whispered, “Thanks, Papa’s auto-assembler.”

She turned back toward the control room.

They’re getting desperate, she thought. Next time they might bring something serious. I need to think bigger.

Kalinka crept down the dimly lit stairwell, clutching a handful of gadgets pilfered from her father’s workshop. Her breath hitched as two Emerald Spears goons stumbled up the stairs—paint-splattered and frost-bitten, but still stubbornly advancing.

“They’re coming up fast,” Kalinka muttered, eyes flicking to the heavy tool chest resting on the landing above.

She grinned, recalling her brothers’ stories about another famous trap. This would be her version.

With a quick tug, she loosened the latch holding the chest in place, careful to keep it balanced just so. The wooden crate — packed with her father’s heavy engineering tools — wobbled ominously.

The first goon shuffled closer, crowbar raised.

Kalinka held her breath.

Then—CRASH!

The tool chest toppled, thundering down the stairs in a chaotic tumble. The heavy tools inside clanged and rattled as the crate careened, barreling into the stunned goons with a bone-jarring force.

They were slammed back against the cold stone wall with a sickening crack—the impact driving the tool chest into the heavy metal door behind them.

The door groaned under the sudden weight, swinging downward with a deafening clang, pinning their legs.

The goons groaned, trapped beneath the pile of wood, metal, and sealed steel.

Kalinka exhaled sharply, heart racing.

“Looks like this party’s over,” she whispered, already moving on to her next trap.

The narrow laundry chute echoed with the frantic scrape of footsteps as the second goon, clad in emerald and black, scrambled upwards, desperate to escape.

Kalinka’s eyes flicked to the clothesline strung above the chute’s opening, where a heavy, old-fashioned metal iron dangled ominously by a taut wire.

She activated a small servo motor on the wall with a quick press.

The iron snapped loose.

It plummeted straight down the chute with a deadly clang—spinning rapidly, its sharp, pointed tip gleaming as it fell.

The goon’s head barely turned in time.

The iron struck with brutal force.

A sickening thud echoed through the narrow shaft.

Kalinka winced but kept her gaze steady.

The goon stumbled into the laundry basket behind him.

The iron embedded deep, the weight and speed enough to usually cause a fatal blow.

No exaggerated faces. No cartoonish pain.

"I'M GONNA DESTROY THAT BRAT!"

Kalinka bit her lip, breathing heavily, her fingers twitching as she ran from the area.

The Emerald Spears goons closed in on Kalinka with cruel snarls and swift movements. She had nowhere left to run—the narrow alleyway between the Citadel’s ancient walls was a trap itself. Her breath came in sharp gasps, heart pounding as the rough hands of the lead goon grabbed her arm, yanking her backward.

“Gotcha now, little Cossack,” he growled, tightening his grip. “No more games.”

Kalinka’s mind raced. She could feel the cold metal of the goons’ weapons pressing closer. The Citadel was crumbling around her, and so was her hope.

Then, out of the darkness, came a sudden burst of light.

“Flash Stopper!” came a voice—bright and chipper.

A dazzling, ten million-watt flash of pure white light exploded from the head of a tall figure clad in a gleaming suit of armor. The sudden brilliance stunned the goons’ camera eyes, freezing their movements like statues.

Bright Man, Kalinka’s oldest “brother” among the Cossack Numbers, shouted, “Don’t worry, sis! Your big brother is here!”

Kalinka blinked against the afterimage and saw more figures emerging from the shadows—each one a familiar face.

“Toad Man here!” came a croaky, cheerful voice as the agricultural robot hopped forward with a surprisingly nimble triple jump. “I was worried you’d end up a little frog in a pot, but looks like we’re in time!”

“Skull Man, ready to protect,” muttered a stoic, armored figure, raising his skull-shaped shield with a grinding of gears. “Let's not let these pests ruin our home.”

“Drill Man!” a voice called out with reckless enthusiasm as a drill attached to an arm whirred and sparked. “Time to dig these troubles a hole they’ll never climb out of!”

“And voilà! Tundra Man makes his grand entrance!” A tall, sleek figure in icy-blue armor pirouetted into the fray, his movements as smooth as polished ice. With a single twirl, he conjured a frigid vortex—“Tundra Storm!”—that blasted a squad of goons off their feet, freezing their weapons solid in glistening frost. He struck a flamboyant pose, skating a half-circle across the cracked stone floor. “No Emerald Spears thug can match the elegance of my performance!”

The goons, caught flat-footed and blinded, scrambled as the Cossack Numbers surged forward like a storm. Bright Man’s light pulses kept the attackers frozen just long enough for Drill Man to fire explosive drill bombs that scattered the thugs in every direction.

“Dive Man, ready to splash into action!” shouted a deep voice as a torpedo-like robot launched himself forward, knocking a pair of goons into the mud.

Kalinka let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her “brothers” fought with a synchronized blend of skill, quirks, and an almost familial energy that turned the tide in seconds.

“Ring Man’s got the throw!” shouted the ring-throwing robot, spinning his boomerangs with deadly precision to disable weapons and disarm foes.

Dust Man wheezed and snorted nearby, vacuuming up debris and sending compressed garbage bombs flying into the fray, “Spring cleaning’s never been so explosive, heh.”

Pharaoh Man stood a little apart, sarcastically observing the chaos. “Oh great, another mess to clean up. Some things never change. But hey, glad you’re all still breathing.”

Tundra Man spun gracefully to a stop beside Kalinka, bowing with one arm extended. “A flawless routine, if I do say so myself. And you, my dear, play the perfect leading role.”

Kalinka smiled despite the danger. “Thanks for coming, my brothers. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

As the last of the Emerald Spears fled into the night, defeated and blinded, Bright Man clapped his hands together with a grin. “That was too close for comfort. And don’t get me started on how those neon signs made my sensors twitch.”

Toad Man croaked nervously, “Phew! I’m glad I hopped in.”

Kalinka quickly turned their attention to another danger—the traps scattered throughout the Citadel.

“I took after Kevin McCallister and booby-trapped the Citadel,” she explained, her tone urgent but steady. “If we don’t clear them, Papa could be hurt—or worse.”

Ring Man stepped forward confidently. “Strategy time. Let’s dismantle these traps fast and clean. I’m all about precision.”

Drill Man rolled his shoulders, “No time like the present to dig into the job! Literally.”

Pharaoh Man smirked, “Well, if you insist on turning the Citadel into an obstacle course, I’ll keep an eye out for ancient curses. Can’t have those ruining the party.”

With Kalinka’s guidance, the Cossack Numbers spread out, working seamlessly. Bright Man’s light illuminated the darkest corners, revealing wires and pressure plates hidden beneath rubble.

“Toad Man, your Rain Flush might help clean some of this debris,” Kalinka suggested.

Toad Man nodded enthusiastically, unleashing a gentle but persistent acidic rain that dissolved sticky residues and rusted locks. “Don’t worry—Dr. Cossack is still trying to figure out the acid part,” Toad Man added sheepishly.

Dust Man happily vacuumed up loose shards and tossed garbage bombs to clear stubborn obstacles. “Pollen allergies be damned,” he muttered through a sneeze.

Skull Man guarded the perimeter, his skull barrier deflecting loose rocks and keeping watch for any unexpected dangers. Dive Man carefully navigated water-filled pits, using his amphibious abilities to disarm underwater triggers. Ring Man’s boomerangs sliced wires with surgical precision. Drill Man detonated and drilled through stubborn traps with reckless efficiency, occasionally breaking into an impromptu whistle.

Some of the trickier mechanisms required grace and balance. “Leave these to me!” Tundra Man declared, skating effortlessly over thin beams and treacherous pressure plates. With elegant spins, he froze delicate gears in place before they could trigger. “See? Artistry saves the day once again.”

“Speed is of the essence,” Pharaoh Man remarked dryly, “even if you do tend to rush headfirst into danger.”

The sun crept higher as they worked, the weight of fatigue pressing on them all, but their spirits remained unbroken. Finally, after hours of careful dismantling, Kalinka surveyed the courtyard. The Citadel’s traps were no more than memories now.

A heavy set of footsteps echoed through the stone halls. Dr. Cossack appeared in the doorway, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“I saw the news… the Emerald Spears attacking the Citadel. I feared the worst,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

Kalinka stepped forward, meeting her father’s eyes. “I stopped them,” she said quietly. “With the help of my brothers.”

Dr. Cossack’s gaze swept over the group—the Cossack Numbers standing tall, battered but resolute.

“You've laid out all of those traps?” he asked, nodding toward the security footage.

Kalinka’s chest swelled with pride. “I designed and set them. I used what I knew about the Citadel’s history, the Emerald Spears’ tactics, and how many times I've watched Home Alone. It wasn’t just brute force—it was thinking outside the box.”

Dr. Cossack’s eyes glistened with softness as he placed a firm hand on Kalinka’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, Kalinka. You’ve grown beyond what I imagined—not only in strength but in ingenuity. You truly are one of a kind.”

Bright Man, unable to contain himself, piped up, “She’s becoming the best strategist I know! I mean, if only I could stop talking so much, maybe I’d get some credit too.”

“Toad Man disagrees,” growled a slightly annoyed but fond voice. “You never shut up.”

Tundra Man gave a final spin and bowed low. “And may our performance always bring down the house.”

Kalinka laughed, the sound like sunlight breaking through the night’s shadows.

Dr. Cossack smiled. “We have quite the family.”

Kalinka looked at her “brothers,” her team—her family.

Together, they would protect their home, their legacy, and each other.