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The sub-basement of Light Labs was sealed behind three layers of reinforced, blast-resistant titanium doors. Behind those doors, Dr. Thomas Light and Rock were currently engaged in a highly confidential, incredibly intense security upgrade.
The trauma of the "Double Gear Incident"—where Dr. Wily had hijacked eight newly designed civilian robots during their routine annual maintenance—had left a lasting scar on the family's tactical protocols. Today, they were constructing the "Aegis Shielding System," a localized, impenetrable electromagnetic firewall designed to protect the lab's maintenance bays from any external hacking attempts.
Unfortunately, this meant Dr. Light and Mega Man were completely out of commission for the day.
And today was the Annual Robot Maintenance and Wellness Checkup Day.
Standing in the center of the primary laboratory, looking at a towering stack of metallic clipboards, was Roll. She was wearing her red dress, her blonde ponytail tied back neatly, but she already looked like she had aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
"Okay," Roll muttered, rubbing her temples. "Thirty-two scheduled maintenance appointments. Twelve emergency diagnostics. And the main computer is currently compiling the new firewall, which means I have to log everything manually on paper. I can do this. I am a highly organized, highly efficient household manager."
"Did someone call for... the Chief of Surgery?!"
A loud, booming, incredibly goofy voice echoed from the secondary storage locker.
The double doors burst open. Lumbering into the lab was Auto.
The massive, green-and-yellow lab assistant was a sight to behold. He had somehow managed to find a massive, bed-sheet-sized white lab coat, which was currently bursting at the seams around his round torso. He wore a tiny, completely useless toy stethoscope around his neck, and a reflective silver head-mirror was strapped precariously to his green skull-cap. He held a giant wooden clipboard in one massive hand and a comical, oversized plastic reflex hammer in the other.
"Auto," Roll deadpanned, her hand dropping from her forehead. "What are you wearing?"
"This, my dear Nurse Roll, is the uniform of a medical professional!" Auto declared proudly, tapping the toy stethoscope. "Pops and Rock are locked in the basement, which means I am the acting Medical Director of this establishment! I am Dr. Auto! Master of the Scalpel! Savior of the Servos!"
"You don't have a medical degree, Auto," Roll pointed out, her eye twitching. "You don't even have a degree in basic electronics. Last week, you tried to fix the toaster by stuffing it with aluminum foil and hitting it with a shovel."
"And did the toaster toast?!" Auto challenged, crossing his massive arms.
"It exploded, Auto! It launched a burning piece of sourdough through Dr. Light's favorite portrait of classical composers!"
"It was a creative thermal discharge!" Auto huffed. He walked over to the main diagnostic table, slamming his giant clipboard down. "Listen, Roll. We have a lobby full of highly unstable, highly temperamental patients. If we don't administer their annual oil checks and joint-recalibrations, we're gonna have a localized mechanical strike on our hands. Now, are you gonna be my Head Nurse, or do I have to perform these delicate cyber-surgeries alone?!"
Auto held up a massive, rust-resistant, high-speed industrial chainsaw, revving the engine with a terrifying BRRRRRRR-CLANG.
Roll’s optical sensors went completely wide. She lunged forward, physically snatching the chainsaw out of his grip and throwing it into a nearby hazard bin.
"Absolutely not!" Roll screamed. "You are not performing surgery with a lumberjack tool! Fine! I will supervise you! But you do exactly what the clipboard says! No 'creative thermal discharges'! No shovels! And absolutely no diagnostic testing involving your teeth!"
"Spoilsport," Auto grumbled, adjusting his head-mirror. "Alright, Nurse Roll. Let's look at the triage list. Who's our first victim—I mean, patient?"
Roll let out a long, exhausted sigh, picking up her clipboard. "Bring in the first group. And God help our insurance premiums."
The primary waiting room of Light Labs had been converted into a temporary triage ward, and the atmosphere was thick with the scent of burnt synthetic grease, panic, and extreme competitive tension.
Sitting on a reinforced steel bench, looking like a brilliant, flamboyant ice sculpture, was Tundra Man. He was dramatically draped over the cushions, one hand clutching his forehead plate. "My pivots! My beautiful, tragic triple-axle! It lacks the crushing weight of winter! I can feel a microscopic drag in my left ankle servo! My art is dead, Nurse Roll! Dead!"
"You just have some dirt in your skate-bearing, Tundra," Acid Man sighed from the seat next to him. The chemical-themed robot, encased in his green, fluid-filled armor, looked profoundly annoyed. "And please, stop sighing so loudly. The humidity of your dramatic gasps is throwing off my internal pH balance. I feel... too basic. I need an acidic rinse immediately, or my primary containment unit is going to corrode from sheer aesthetic disgust."
"Is someone talking about basic?!"
Block Man sat on the floor, surrounded by a small, messy pile of stone blocks he had been compulsively forming and stacking. He had a notoriously short temper, and his stout, brick-patterned armor was vibrating. "I'll show you basic! I've been waiting here for forty-five minutes! If the doctor doesn't see me soon, I'm gonna build a pyramid over the reception desk and trap you all inside!"
"Go Guts! Fight Guts! Shake your pom-poms, touch the sky! Who's the team that's gonna fly?! GUTS MAN!"
A sudden, ear-splitting, hyperactive cheer erupted from the far corner of the waiting room.
Standing on the coffee table were the Cheerbots. The two female cheerleader robots, imported directly from a specialized performance exhibition, were a vision of pink and white metallic plating. They possessed flowing, metallic pink hair tied in high ponytails, wore cute metallic skirts, and were vigorously shaking high-frequency, sparking pink pom-poms.
"Give me a G-U-T-S!" the first Cheerbot squeaked.
"We are trying to maintain a peaceful, therapeutic environment!" Kung-Fu Bot snapped from a nearby chair.
The martial arts robot was a spectacular specimen. Clad in yellow and black armor plates designed to mimic a traditional Bruce Lee jumpsuit, he possessed a bald, highly polished metallic head, a sleek black mustache plate, and a long black sash wrapped around his waist. He was currently sitting in a perfect lotus position, though his right leg was violently, uncontrollably twitching, delivering rapid-fire shadow-kicks to the air.
"My leg... it has a mind of its own, like a restless, malfunctioning dragon!" Kung-Fu Bot gritted his teeth, attempting to hold his knee down. "The focus of my Qi is completely disrupted by those high-frequency pom-poms!"
"Go Guts! Fight Guts!" the Cheerbots cheered louder, completely ignoring him.
Lumbering through the entrance, carrying a massive, industrial-grade trash compactor on his back, was Garbage Man. He was a newly redesigned sanitation juggernaut—no longer a literal pile of garbage like his old Captain N cartoon depiction, but a sleek, emerald-green and industrial-gray waste-conversion golem. He had heavy vacuum-hose arms and a massive, spinning turbine chest.
"Pardon me, folks, just need to squeeze past," Garbage Man rumbled, his deep, resonant voice sounding like a garbage truck backup alarm. "I’ve got a severe case of internal indigestion. I think I accidentally swallowed a magnetic hard drive during my morning sweep of the Sector 4 recycling bays. Every time I take a step, my compass points north and my left shoulder tries to stick to the ceiling."
CLANG.
True to his word, as Garbage Man walked past the metal doorframe, his left shoulder violently magnetized to the steel casing, trapping him in a very awkward, one-armed stretch.
"Yep. Definitely magnetized," Garbage Man sighed, hanging from the door.
Auto stepped out of the examination room, looking at the chaotic, shouting, vibrating room of robots. He put a hand over his heart, a look of profound, dramatic intensity on his faceplate.
"My god," Auto whispered to Roll. "It's a warzone out here. We're losing them, Roll. We're losing them all."
"They're just waiting for their checkups, Auto," Roll sighed, pushing past him. "Alright, first patients! Acid Man and Tundra Man, please step into Exam Room 1."
Exam Room 1 had been prepped with a variety of diagnostic lasers, oil pressure gauges, and a padded examination table.
Acid Man sat on the edge of the table, his green, fluid-filled visor fogged up. Tundra Man stood in the corner, holding a dramatic pose as if he were posing for a winter-themed oil painting.
Auto marched in, holding his giant clipboard, looking incredibly serious. He walked up to Acid Man, pulled the toy stethoscope from his neck, and pressed the plastic diaphragm directly against Acid Man's head.
Auto closed his eyes, listening intently to the complete, absolute silence of the plastic device.
"Hmm," Auto muttered, shaking his head. "Highly irregular. I'm detecting a complete absence of a heartbeat."
"I don't have a heart, Dr. Auto," Acid Man sighed, his voice echoing through his fluid chamber. "I have a primary chemical reactor. And as I mentioned, my pH balance is dangerously close to 7.4. I require an immediate injection of hydrochloric acid to restore my acidity."
Auto tapped his chin with his pen, looking at the clipboard. "Hydrochloric acid... hmmm. That sounds very dangerous. How about some lemon juice instead? It's organic! It's fresh! It's got vitamin C!"
"Lemon juice?!" Acid Man’s fluid violently bubbled in horror. "Are you insane?! The citric acid will react with my internal copper wiring and cause a localized copper-sulfate explosion! I will literally melt my own legs off!"
"Trust the doctor, Acid Man!" Auto said, pulling a massive, rusty yellow wrench from his pocket. "Now, let's check your reflexes!"
Before Acid Man could scream, Auto swung the massive wrench, delivering a resounding WHACK directly to Acid Man's knee joint.
The reflex was, indeed, highly reactive.
Acid Man’s leg shot up with hydraulic force, kicking Auto square in his massive, round stomach. The impact sent the giant lab assistant flying backward, crashing through a rolling cart of cotton swabs and landing in a heap of stainless-steel trays.
"Auto!" Roll screamed, rushing into the room with her broom. She looked at Acid Man, who was clutching his knee, his fluid boiling with rage.
"He tried to treat a Class-A chemical reactor with citrus!" Acid Man shrieked. "He is a menace to the trade!"
Roll immediately took charge. She pushed Auto out of the way, pulled a clean, sterile cartridge of industrial-grade pH stabilizer from the cabinet, and slotted it perfectly into Acid Man’s side port.
With a soft hiss, the stabilizing fluid pumped through his system. The violent bubbling in his visor immediately calmed, settling into a cool, clear green.
"There," Roll said, her voice steady and professional. "pH balance restored to a perfect 2.1. You're good to go, Acid Man."
"Thank you, Nurse Roll," Acid Man sighed, sliding off the table and walking out, giving Auto a very wide berth.
Auto slowly pushed himself up from the floor, a cotton swab stuck to his nose-cone. He looked over at Tundra Man, who was still posing in the corner, completely ignoring the violence that had just occurred.
"And what of you, my artistic friend?" Auto asked, walking over and tapping Tundra Man’s ankle with his pen. "What seems to be the tragedy?"
"My pivot, Doctor! My pivot!" Tundra Man wept dramatically, throwing his arms wide. "I feel a microscopic resistance when I execute my signature spinning-lutz! The world demands perfection, and I am delivering... friction!"
Auto leaned in close, inspecting Tundra Man's sleek, white-and-blue skate boots. He tapped the internal bearings.
"Hmm," Auto said, putting on a pair of oversized, magnifying glasses. "I see the issue. You have a severe, chronic case of... the Glitter-Grumps!"
Tundra Man stopped posing, blinking in confusion. "The... the what?"
"You've been skating through the kids' play zone, haven't you?" Auto asked, pointing to a tiny, microscopic pink star sticker that was currently wedged directly inside the ball-bearings of Tundra Man's left skate. "The pink glitter is jamming your rotational velocity! We must perform an immediate, high-stakes extraction! Nurse Roll! Prepare the surgical tweezers!"
Roll walked over, looked at the skate, and simply reached down with her fingernails, easily plucking the tiny glittery sticker out of the bearing.
She blew a puff of air into the skate. The wheel spun flawlessly, humongous and silent, at ten thousand RPM.
Tundra Man gasped, looking at his skate as if she had just performed a miracle. He took a slow, tentative glide across the linoleum floor, executing a lightning-fast, triple-spin that ended in a perfect, graceful bow.
"My pivots! They are free! The winter returns to my soul!" Tundra Man cried with joy. He grabbed Roll's hands, kissing them dramatically. "You have saved my art, Nurse Roll! I shall dedicate my next performance at the Ice Coliseum to your administrative brilliance!"
"Just pay the copay on your way out, Tundra," Roll smiled wearily.
As Tundra Man glided out of the room, throwing handfuls of imaginary snow into the air, Roll turned to Auto, her hands on her hips.
"One patient cured, one nearly exploded," Roll summarized, her voice flat. "Let's try to make the next round a little more... clinical, Doctor."
"Code Blue! Code Blue in Exam Room 2!"
Auto’s voice blared over the lab's intercom system, sounding incredibly dramatic.
Roll rushed into Exam Room 2. The scene was pure, unadulterated physical comedy.
Kung-Fu Bot was currently pinned to the wall, but not by a villain. His own right leg, completely out of his control, was delivering a relentless, high-speed barrage of kicks against a heavy-duty punching bag, making a sound like a machine gun.
Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack!
"Nurse Roll! Help me!" Kung-Fu Bot gritted his teeth, his head gleaming with sweat-coolant. "The dragon... it refuses to rest! I cannot meditate! I cannot strike a peaceful stance!"
Sitting on the counter, shaking their pom-poms with boundless, unyielding energy, were the Cheerbots.
"Go Kung-Fu! Fight Kung-Fu! Kick that bag, don't you lag! Shake your leg and do the drag!" the Cheerbots squeaked, their pink pom-poms sparking with static electricity.
"Every time they shake those pom-poms," Kung-Fu Bot gasped, "the electrostatic discharge... it triggers my leg's primary reflex motor! It's a localized, high-frequency electromagnetic interference!"
Auto walked into the room, holding his clipboard. He looked at the kicking robot, then at the Cheerbots. He took a deep, dramatic breath.
"Aha!" Auto declared, pointing his plastic reflex hammer at the Cheerbots. "The diagnosis is clear! These two are suffering from a severe, chronic case of... Hyper-Active Cheer-osis!"
"Cheer-osis?!" the first Cheerbot squeaked.
"Yes!" Auto nodded solemnly. "Your pom-poms are generating a massive, localized static field that is disrupting the peaceful Qi of our martial arts friend! We must perform a static-discharge therapy immediately!"
Auto reached into his pocket and pulled out a massive, heavy-duty can of static-cling spray used for laundry.
"Hold still, ladies! This might feel a bit... fresh!" Auto yelled.
He lunged forward, aggressively spraying the Cheerbots with the aerosol.
The effect was instantaneous and disastrous. The fine mist of the anti-static spray, combined with the high-voltage static charge of the Cheerbots' pom-poms, created a localized, electrical short-circuit.
BZZZZZZT-POOF!
A massive cloud of black, puffy smoke erupted from the pom-poms. The Cheerbots squeaked in terror as their pink pom-poms completely lost their charge, dropping to the floor like limp, wet noodles.
Worse, the sudden, massive electrical feedback loop shot through the room, striking Kung-Fu Bot’s twitching leg.
His leg didn't stop kicking.
Instead, the overcharge caused his knee servo to lock to maximum velocity. His leg kicked the punching bag so hard that the heavy chain holding it to the ceiling violently snapped.
The hundred-pound bag flew through the air like a missile, striking Auto squarely in the chest.
"OOF!"
Auto was launched backward out of the room, crashing through a rolling cart of glass vials and landing in the hallway with a spectacular CRASH.
"My diagnostic vials!" Roll screamed, running out of the room. She looked at the giant green robot lying in the hallway, covered in cotton balls and blue antiseptic fluid.
"I'm okay!" Auto called out, giving a weak thumbs-up. "The chest-compressions were successful!"
Roll let out a low, dangerous growl, her fists clenching around her broom. She walked back into Exam Room 2.
Kung-Fu Bot was standing on one leg, his right leg frozen in a high, dramatic kick, unable to lower it. The Cheerbots were sobbing digitally, looking at their ruined pom-poms.
"Alright, everyone, quiet!" Roll commanded, her voice carrying the absolute authority of a head nurse who had reached her limit.
She walked over to Kung-Fu Bot. She didn't use a wrench. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small, specialized diagnostic screwdriver, and opened the small access panel on his hip joint.
She turned a single, tiny brass screw.
With a soft, hydraulic hiss, the locked leg lowered gently to the floor. Kung-Fu Bot let out a long, peaceful sigh, dropping into a perfect, stable stance.
"The dragon... is asleep," Kung-Fu Bot whispered in awe. "My Qi is restored. Thank you, Nurse Roll."
Roll then turned to the Cheerbots. She took their limp, uncharged pom-poms, plugged them into a nearby high-voltage charging port on the wall, and dialed the regulator to a safe, steady three amps.
Within seconds, the pink pom-poms flared back to life, sparkling with beautiful, controlled static electricity.
"Go Roll! Fight Roll! She's the nurse who makes us well! Best in the clinic, can't you tell?!" the Cheerbots cheered happily, doing a tiny synchronized jump.
"Just stay on the charging ports, girls," Roll smiled tiredly.
She walked back out into the hallway, where Auto was currently attempting to use a rolling office chair as a wheelchair.
"Two more down," Roll said, her eyes narrowing. "Now, we have a very... sticky situation in the main bay."
In the primary maintenance bay, Garbage Man was still magnetically stuck to the heavy steel doorframe. His left arm and shoulder were completely flush against the metal, his massive, emerald-green chassis hanging awkwardly at a forty-five-degree angle.
"I tell you, Nurse Roll, this is highly embarrassing," Garbage Man rumbled, his chest turbine spinning slowly. "I'm a sanitation professional. I'm supposed to be clearing the clutter, not becoming a permanent fixture of the architecture."
"Don't worry, Garbage Man! Dr. Auto is on the case!"
Auto rolled into the bay on his office chair, wearing a pair of heavy-duty, insulated rubber gloves. He pulled a massive, industrial-strength horseshoe magnet from his pocket.
"We are going to perform a magnetic extraction!" Auto declared, waving the magnet. "I will use this larger magnet to pull the swallowed hard drive out through your stomach plate!"
"Wait! No!" Roll yelled, rushing into the room. "Auto! If you bring a high-yield magnet close to his chassis, you'll scramble his primary memory core! You'll wipe his entire operating system!"
"But the physics, Roll! The physics dictate that opposite poles attract!" Auto argued, leaning forward.
"Your understanding of physics is a threat to public safety!" Roll snapped, grabbing the horseshoe magnet and tossing it into a lead-lined container.
She walked up to the stuck Garbage Man, analyzing his chest plate.
"Garbage Man, did you say you swallowed a Wily hard drive?" Roll asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Garbage Man nodded, his green head-dome clinking against the steel frame. "During my sweep of the Sector 4 recycling bays. It was a black, heavily encrypted drive. I thought my waste-conversion furnace could handle it, but the magnetic casing didn't melt. It got lodged right next to my primary power generator, magnetizing my entire outer shell."
"We don't need a magnet to extract it," Roll said, her eyes scanning the blueprints of his chest turbine. "We need to trigger your waste-compactor's emergency reverse cycle. If we can force your turbine to spin backward, the centrifugal force will dislodge the drive from the generator."
"But the manual override switch is located on his back!" Auto pointed out. "And his back is currently pressed against the wall!"
"I can reach it," a loud, boisterous voice boomed from the doorway.
Impact Man, the combined form of the three Kui brothers, stepped into the bay. He was massive, his yellow, black, and orange armor practically filling the entire ceiling height.
"IMPACT MAN IS READY TO PUSH THROUGH!" the giant robot bellowed.
"Impact Man! Perfect timing!" Roll cheered. "We need you to hold Garbage Man's weight so his shoulder doesn't tear when we trigger the reverse cycle."
"No problem! Just push through!" Impact Man roared. He stepped forward, his massive, spiked arms wrapping around Garbage Man's emerald-green torso, anchoring the sanitation bot with his immense strength.
"Auto! Get under there and flip the manual reverse switch on his lower spine!" Roll ordered.
"I'm going in!" Auto yelled, sliding off his office chair and crawling under Garbage Man's massive chassis like a mechanic under a car. "Where is it? I see a lot of wires! There's a red one, a blue one, and one that looks like a piece of licorice!"
"Do not eat the wires, Auto!" Roll screamed. "It's the heavy-duty yellow lever near his waste-chute!"
"Got it! Pulling the lever!" Auto shouted.
Auto grabbed the yellow lever and violently yanked it downward.
CLACK.
Inside Garbage Man's chest, the massive waste-conversion turbine suddenly ground to a halt, before violently spinning in the opposite direction.
VROOOOOOOOOOM!
The vacuum pressure inverted. A massive gust of air blasted out of Garbage Man's chest vents, smelling of old paper and recycled plastic.
With a loud, metallic CLINK, a black, rectangular hard drive was shot out of Garbage Man’s chest plate like a toaster pastry, flying through the air and landing perfectly in the lead-lined container Roll had left open.
Instantly, the magnetic field collapsed.
"Whoa!" Garbage Man gasped as his shoulder detached from the doorframe.
Impact Man caught him easily, setting him gently down on his feet.
Garbage Man rolled his shoulders, his turbine spinning smoothly in its normal direction. He looked at his green arms, completely free of any magnetic pull.
"My compass is pointing north, and my shoulder is completely free!" Garbage Man laughed, his backup-alarm voice sounding incredibly happy. "Nurse Roll, Dr. Auto, you guys are absolute geniuses! The service here is top-notch!"
"Just doing our duty to the trade," Auto said, standing up and dusting off his lab coat, looking incredibly smug.
"We got lucky," Roll sighed, wiping a smudge of grease from her cheek. "But we still have the rest of the 11th Gen bots waiting in the main ward. And they are getting restless."
The main examination ward of Light Labs was a scene of absolute, comedic madness.
Blast Man had decided that his checkup was entirely too boring. He was currently sitting on a diagnostic table, juggling three small, highly volatile, purple-and-orange bombs. "Come on, Doc! Let's make this diagnostic checkup more explosive! I can blow up this cabinet! Or that sink! I write the column for Boom Monthly, you know! I know exactly how much C-4 is required to vaporize a rolling stool!"
"Blast Man, put the explosives away!" Fuse Man yelled.
The yellow-and-black speedster was vibrating so fast he was leaving afterimages on his examination table. The surge arresters on his head were sparking violently. "The static cling in this room is unacceptable! My current is unstable! I have twenty-two diagnostic checks to perform, and I am currently forty seconds behind my schedule! Zzzt!"
"You think you're hot?!" Torch Man roared from the corner.
The flame-themed robot's head-fire was burning at a terrifying, blinding intensity. His heat-control valve was stuck on high, turning the entire examination ward into a literal sauna. The air was thick with heat, causing the ceiling sprinklers to groan. "My temperature is rising! I need a cooling gel, stat! I'm going to melt through the floorboards!"
"WHEEEE! IT'S HOPIXERCISE TIME!"
Bounce Man was currently bouncing erratically off the walls and ceiling of the ward, squeaking loudly with every rebound.
"Bounce Man, stand still! I need to check your fluid pressure!" Block Man yelled, throwing blocks of stone at him to try and corral him.
"You can't catch me! I'm too bouncy! BOING!" Bounce Man laughed, bouncing off a cabinet and sending a tray of surgical tools flying across the room.
"My pivots! The chaos is destroying the tranquility of my winter soul!" Tundra Man cried, posed dramatically in the doorway.
Auto walked into the center of the room. He looked at the screaming, exploding, flaming, bouncing ward of robots.
He took his toy stethoscope, threw it to the ground, and pulled a giant, red megaphone from his pocket.
"ATTENTION ALL PATIENTS!" Auto bellowed through the megaphone. "THIS CLINIC IS CURRENTLY IN A STATE OF CODE BLUE! EVERYONE HOLD YOUR EMISSIONS!"
Surprisingly, the room went quiet. Blast Man caught his bombs. Torch Man lowered his flame slightly. Bounce Man hovered near the ceiling, holding his knees.
"Alright, Nurse Roll," Auto whispered, sweating profusely. "How do we handle a multi-system failure of this magnitude?"
Roll stepped forward. She wasn't wearing a lab coat. She had her red broom in her hand, and her blue eyes were burning with absolute, heroic determination.
"We do what we always do, Auto," Roll said. "We clean up the mess."
"Blast Man! Catch!" Roll yelled.
She grabbed a heavy, insulated containment jar from the shelf and threw it. Blast Man, surprised, caught it.
"Put your bombs in the jar, or I'm deleting your subscription to Boom Monthly," Roll threatened.
Blast Man gasped, instantly dropping his bombs into the jar and sealing the lid. "Not the magazine! Anything but the magazine!"
"Fuse Man! Control yourself!" Roll ordered, pointing to the massive, copper spike she had installed near the diagnostic table.
"Zzzt! Understood! Aligning frequency!" Fuse Man dashed forward, grabbing the spike. Instantly, the excess static electricity draining from his armor was safely channeled into the ground, his spark-arresters cooling down to a peaceful, steady hum.
"Torch Man! Cooling gel!" Roll threw a massive, industrial-sized bucket of blue, flame-retardant gel to Auto. "Auto! Slather his chest plate!"
"I'm on it!" Auto yelled. He lunged forward, grabbing a massive handful of the blue gel and slapping it directly onto Torch Man's primary heat valve.
With a loud HISSSSS, the roaring flames on Torch Man's head shrank back to a peaceful, steady, candle-sized flicker. "Ahhh," Torch Man sighed, his armor cooling down. "The focus of my flame... is restored. Thank you."
"Bounce Man! Rebound!" Roll yelled.
She stood in the center of the room, holding her broom high. As Bounce Man bounced down from the ceiling, Roll used the flat of her broom like a baseball bat, gently, perfectly catching him mid-bounce and redirecting him onto the padded examination table, where he landed with a soft, satisfying SQUISH.
"There," Roll panted, her hair slightly messy, but her posture triumphant. "All patients stabilized."
The doors to the sub-basement suddenly slid open with a heavy hissed sound.
Dr. Thomas Light and Rock stepped out into the main laboratory, carrying a glowing, blue electronic matrix—the newly completed Aegis Shielding System.
"We've completed the firewall defenses, Roll!" Dr. Light smiled warmly. "How did the—"
Dr. Light stopped.
He looked at the main laboratory.
The floor was covered in cotton balls, blue antiseptic gel, and shattered glass. A punching bag was lying in the hallway. A Wily hard drive was sitting in a lead-lined container. The Cheerbots were cheering in the corner, Kung-Fu Bot was meditating, and the MM11 bots were sitting peacefully on their exam tables, completely repaired, polished, and functionally healthy.
Auto was standing in the center of the room, wearing his oversized, torn lab coat, holding his clipboard proudly.
"Ah, Doc! Mega!" Auto beamed. "You're just in time! The cyber-surgeries were a complete, hundred-percent success! Every patient has been successfully diagnosticed!"
Rock stared at the absolute, hilarious chaos, then at Roll, who was leaning heavily on her broom, a exhausted but proud smile on her face.
"Did... did Auto actually help?" Rock asked, bewildered.
"Surprisingly, yes," Roll chuckled, walking over and placing a large, glittering gold star sticker directly onto Auto's green head-mirror. "He's officially the most chaotic Doctor of the Year."
"I am the Master of Medicine!" Auto cheered, doing a clumsy little victory dance, his stethoscope swinging wildly.
Dr. Light looked at his creations, his eyes warm and full of deep, fatherly affection. Despite the mess, his family was safe, healthy, and closer than ever.
"Well, Dr. Auto," Dr. Light smiled, patting the giant green robot on the arm. "I suppose you've earned a round of high-grade oil at the bar. But first..."
Dr. Light handed him a mop.
"...you have to clean up your operating room."
"Aww, man!" Auto groaned, his medical dignity instantly deflating.
The entire laboratory erupted into loud, joyful laughter, the annual checkups officially wrapped, and the foundation of their family stronger than any firewall.