Rock Em' Sock Em' Rover! (Open)

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Gotham East- Park Row- Chico's Autoshop- 12:34am

From an outside view, the run down autoshop looked abandoned. The only splash of life on the face of the building was a bright, almost painfully neon sign that would fizz and flicker as power surged in and out of the coil wire lights, showing an image of a classic; box robot wearing boxing gloves.

Inside was an entirely different matter. The autoshop was deeper than it appeared, a two story building with the top floor behind above ground and the second being a deep basement where a throbbing din could barely be heard from the street level.

A square arena made up the center of the basement, people lined the seats along the arena’s perimeter; alcohol and other more illegal substances were served openly. Men and women cheered and cried out as the squeal of metal and the hissing of electronics snapping filled the air.

The 10th annual Rock Em’ Sock Em’ Bot Brawl was in full swing now. Bets were placed and the miniature combatants were rearing to go, a few scattered bits of robotic corpses were still littering the ring as two fighters were busy peeling each others panels off.

The favorite of the night was Rover, a four legged power house that had 5 wins and 0 loses, resulting in a balance of $35,000 earned to the robots owner. Rover belonged to the mysterious tech wizard; Pemsworth, who was represented by a random no-name teen. The boy merely handled Pemsworth’s money and talked smack to the other contestants who wanted to know where the man actually was.

Rumor was he was somewhere in the building, controlling his Rover from the shadows.

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Evan would have loved this place. The robot fighting was entertaining, everyone was drunk or getting coked up, and the women walking around the stage announcing the rounds wore skimpy uniforms. Mark had bet $20 on the robot with the crude spray painted “ROVER” on the side, and he had made himself a decent $300 from the winnings so far. Why not get drunk and make some money? The entertainment wasn’t half bad either.

Mardon clutched a 40oz. of beer in one hand, and a fistful of dollars in the other, pounding against his table, rooting for his robot. He’d put everything down on the next match once it started, as it didn’t seem that his bot would lose tonight. If he did lose everything next match, well at least he had a good time and he would have only been a total of $20 that he walked out from.

Being oddly dressed, it didn’t seem like anyone wanted to be near the Central City Rogue, he seemed like one of those weird homeless who just wore a mismatch of clothing, because it was all they could get their hands on. It was half true, he hadn’t purchased any clothing for Gotham, but the raincoat he was sporting served a purpose. He knew he wasn’t in the good part of town, if anyone tried to fuck with him, Weather Wizard would show them the short end of the stick.

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The spider like bot, Tripod, staggered back away from Rover, nearly losing its footing as the other robot bull rushed it.

Tripod’s owner, a surprisingly attractive twenty-something year old college coed cursed loudly as she hammered on buttons and rotated a few toggles that controlled the spider-bot. She looked over to the mouthpiece of Rover, Pemsworth’s representative, glaring and crinkling her nose in disgust as the pimply faced teen gave her a wink and kissed the air in her direction.

The teen was doing nothing but posing thuggishly on the sidelines and hooting and hollering when Rover would nearly knock the spider-bot off balance.

Rover charged, aiming to bit one of Tripod’s legs with trap like jaws, only to miss. The spider-bot lifted said leg and sent the sharp, blade like limb down into the top of Rover’s back. People shouted out and stood up out of their seats as Rover gave a shudder, Tripod’s handler stood as well as yelled out something incoherent, sweat beaded on her brow as she waited to see if Rover would move.

The referee stared in disbelief, raising his hand above his head, ready to call the victor; that is until Rover’s upper jaw lifted and rotated until it’s jagged teeth were facing upwards. The top chassis of Rover’s back whirred as tiny blades darted out of the porous metal, Then it clamped down, snapping shut and crumpling Tripod’s limb like a coke can under a boot.

The spider-bot gave a pitiful stagger before it fell to the ground, twitching and attempting to stand as it’s handler worked furiously at the controls.

Rover worked it’s morphed jaw until the limb was a ball of metal, spat out in an almost arrogant manner. The dog-bot proceeded to march on Tripod, standing over the spasming figure, Rover turned his head towards Pemsworth’s Rep, who sneered and gave the dog-bot a thumbs down.

Rover proceeded to trample the spider-bot into a crumpled mess of twitching wires and ruined metal plating, it’s short little legs were heavy pistons that worked like mallets. People screamed and cheered, or moaned and cursed as the canine victor tilted it’s dented head back and let loose a warbled howl.

The Ref called the fight, people hooted, Rover returned to the side lines to be scrubbed down with an oiled rag by Pemsworth’s Rep. There may not have been any guts or blood, but the mangled form of Rover’s opponent held lifelessly in its creator’s hands was proof enough.

This was a blood sport.

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Had he been watching this on TV, Mark probably would have felt sorry for the college girl; the way Rover crushed the scrap metal that was the spider tri-pod was brutal. It was just hard to feel sorry for anyone when he just won himself another $60. Mark was very careful when it came to gambling, sure he’d never strike it big, but as long as he never went negative it was a good thing. Walking up to the handler he collected his earnings and left another $20 on Rover.

Although logic dictated he could comfortably put all his earnings on the table, he was always paranoid that someone out there would have the bot to take down Rover. He’d be happy if he even won $10, like most people, Mardon barely won anything in his life. Though if he knew anything, it was not to put all his eggs in one basket.

Returning to his seat, Mark popped open another beer and topped off his mug. He clapped his hands, ready to see Rover take yet another robotic life. It seemed that people were wising up and betting on the dogbot as well.

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There was so much COKE! The table looked like several coffee addicts had a hard time pouring sugar in their cups. Lines? What lines!? There were no lines here! It was just a mountain being slapped on the beer stained table. Carpenter coughed and sniffed her nose as she was surrounded by three other guys all rooting her on as she shook her head. In a pair of black jeans, that hugged her ass, and a loosely fitted shirt that was cut off by her shoulders, also a faded black. She felt that ever since she began fitting in the crowd, Carpenter was becoming generally a darker person. Not just the way she dressed, but her activities as well; being apart of probably the most illegal of places in Park Row only made it more evident. Probably even more so when she asked her friends to join her and no one agreed to it.

Barely paying attention to the fights that were occurring, she’d glance up every now and then and cheer on the destruction. Who was coming up with all this coke?! God bless them, every one. Covering one nostril she leaned in close and buried one side of her face in the cocaine and snorted as much as her lungs would allow her. Springing up from the mound, she shook her powdered head and exclaimed, “Goddamn!” The men surrounding her cheered on her high as she collapsed back into her seat to take a break. Blood trickled down her nostril and she slowly licked it up, her body quivering and shaking. She moaned and closed her eyes, assuring herself that she was only resting them. “You boys wanna find a quiet place and make it not so quiet after the fight?” She asked smiling a toothy smile, large enough to show off her canines. The sound of their whooping only assured her of their participation, which only made her depressingly happy.

It was a strange emotion, but it was more evident than any other emotion. 

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“OH! THERE YOU HAVE IT FOLKS! TRIPOD SUFFERS A GRUESOME DEFEAT AT THE PAWS OF ROVER!”

A man in a bright yellow suit wearing white shutter shades flashed a silver smile at the crowd, his grill read ‘ROBO’ on it and his hair was braided into cornrows. Byron Von Bootycatcher was his street name, his mama called him Byron Baker.

Byron loved the fights, something about metal beings destroying each other, surrounded by a jeering crowd just made him feel alive. More than the acid in his system or a supple young hooker ever did. He loved screaming out commentary and watching all the slum rats throw money at the fights.

“NOW LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WE WILL TAKE TWENTY UNTIL THE NEXT FIGHT--LOOK FORWARD TO THE DEVASTATING POWER OF BACONATOR BROWN VERSES THE POWERFUL JAWS OF GATORBOO!”

With that said, Byron Von Bootycatcher waved to the excited crowd and stepped down from the podium to walk off to the back room.

Rover was taken away from the arena to be fixed up, a lot of eyes followed the Teen Mouthpiece of Pemsworth, watching where he went in the hopes of glimpsing the Mecha Champion’s creator.

Some eyes however, were on other types of winners. A gorgeous, young blonde wearing nothing but a yellow bikini (she was one of Byron’s girls) and a large button that was a promo for the fights pinned to her chest, had her eye on Mardon for the last two Rover fights.

It was more because he was one of the more attractive gamblers than his actual earnings, anyone who had a brain was betting on Rover, so his take wasn’t impressive. But he looked dangerous, and like a lot of Gotham Girls, this blonde liked em precarious and weird.

With a ratty fedora in her hand, the blond walked through the crowd towards Mardon, biting her bottom lip to try and conceal her anticipatory smile. Once close enough, the blonde placed a palm on the table and leaned forward a bit. “Hey there, Handsome”

Meanwhile, in the backroom….

Byron wiped his knuckles over his sweaty brow, taking a deep breath as he watched the two figures work diligently on Rover.

“Man, you’re making a killing tonight. I can’t even tell you the numbers! Baby! You gotta tell me how you came up with this tech”

A slow wheeze filled the room, followed by the ticking sound of little claws on cement. “ Twendy-thousands tix-hundeerd amb fiddy” [Twenty-thousand six-hundred and fifty]

The accent was thick but Byron was learning how to understand it the more he worked with the little canine staring; wall-eyed, up at him. “Man Pug, you sure know your robots. But why don’t you let one-a my boys represent you instead of this shit stain?”

Kevin; the pimply teen, looked up to Byron and flipped a greasy middle finger in his direction. Peanut ignored the exchange and snorted, sitting down on his wrinkly little butt and huffing. “Plead Pyron. I choode my represendadive carefully. Kebin suffices” [Please Byron. I choose my representatives carefully. Kevin suffices.]

Byron shrugged, not at all perturbed by the Pug speaking broken english to him. He had been at first but months of working with the guy had proven Peanut a sound businessman and a profitable partner. “Whatever you say Peanut. Whatever you say”

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Mark broke out an extra chair and pulled it up for the blonde to sit in, though he was already enjoying the view. “How’s it hanging,” he said instinctively looking down at her chest, then catching himself, reverting his attention back to her eyes, “beautiful?” The villain leaned in close, one elbow on the table to hold up his chin, by the looks of things, the game was on. She seemed cheap and easy, if anything, she was starring at his fistful of $20’s. He had to figure a way to get her back to Cold’s warehouse without her taking any money. This was going to be more fun than he was initially already having.

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Ever had a long night of drinking and you stumble to the bathroom drunk to relieve yourself? Ever look into the mirror after you’re done washing your hands? It’s a sobering image; you often ask yourself things like “What the hell are you doing with your life?” and, “I did my best,” as well as a classic “Who the hell are you?!” as if you don’t have things worked out before; like all your plans and hopes and dreams are gone because of one night. Well this is probably not the first night. Actually, Carpenter has been doing this for a solid month. Though she couldn't exactly see herself through the mirror, her high was so intense she hallucinated what she might look like had she been doing more than a hundred milligrams of cocaine. 

She drew water out and splashed it against her face, shaking and convulsing, Carpenter leaned in closed and puked nothing but liquid into the Auto-shop’s sink. She wiped her mouth and saw blood in her vomit, right before it swirled away through the pipes and drains. Dizzy, and completely gone, Carpenter tried her best to stand up straight. Giving herself motivation, her normal pep talk, the vampire sniffed hard and slapped herself across the face, leaving no mark, for barely any blood was flowing. Coughing and hacking up more spit and puke, she shook it off and began walking back out to the robo-fight.

Walking around aimlessly looking for a couch to crash on for a few minutes before getting back to the table of cocaine and her triple night stands; she effortlessly kicked in a door and looked about the room. She saw a few faceless people she couldn’t recognize and for whatever reason, a talking pug. Being so high, she wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. “Can I like… borrow that couch over there?” She slurred in a dazed plea, her knees shaking, and absolutely unclear of whom she was even talking to.

Dear lord, girl. What are you doing?

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The blonde laughed as she took the seat he offered and wiggled a bit to make a show of getting comfy. “Oh you know, it’s hangin’. I noticed you’ve been betting on Rover. You have a good eye, no one thought he was going to win any fights since he’s a first timer.” Her voice was sultry and pleasant, even as she had to raise it in order to be heard over the din. “With all the luck you’ve been having I bet you’re walking away with three figures tonight---OH! Man--how rude of me!”

Pouting a little, and bopping herself on the temple gently with the heel of her hand, the blond reached over the table and picked up his moneyless hand to shake it daintily. “My names Bambi. What can I call you Mr.High-roller?”


Meanwhile…..

Byron looked to the intruding woman with a hint of moderate annoyance, this was contestant space only and this chick was far too wasted to be any sort of robo-nerd. All of them were far too invested in the sport of ‘taint’ their game with booze and drugs, which Byron didn’t get but it meant they fought hard and well so he didn’t complain.

“Listen, Baby----You gotta get outta here and find somewhere else to lay down. This ain’t open to spectators--” Byron Von Bootycatcher moved to shoo Noelle off, but the pug walked in front of him and and gave a quick little shake of his head. Byron stiffened and stared down at Peanut for a moment, before he shrugged and straightened the lapels of his bright yellow suit.

Kevin went back to welding the chassis of Rover back into place, pressing the teeth back down into their slots as Peanut moved to Noelle and placed a paw on her foot. He gave a little bark, attempting to gather her attention before he removed his paw and walked away towards the couch; looking back every now and then as if he was leading her there.

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Mark called for a pitcher to a passing bartender, "Mardon, Mark Mardon. Care for a drink?" He said starting off with his usual Bond-ism, "I'm actually, new around here, so my guess was as good as any." He said looking into her eyes and just giving a simple smile. Though Bambi, if that was even her real name, seemed to be ready to get out of here. 

The only thing that was keeping Mark from ditching the auto shop, was the twenty bucks he put up for the next fight that Rover was in. The best he could do now was to attempt to get her drunk, which she already seemed tipsy. "So." The villain said with the only sharpness that he was swindled out of his cash in the past."You just interested in this hand?" he asked holding up his cash hand.

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An empty stomach, the woman was happy she couldn't puke anymore, but Bryon made her think she could unload what little stomach acid was in her.  "Don't act like you've never done a hundred grams of coke." the Vampire spat on the floor, as if it was a normal thing between everyone in the room. Including the sixteen year old. 

Carpenter could have balled her fist if it wasn't shaking from the blow. The obnoxious yellow suited man had a face more punchable than Jaden Smith, and a voice that sounded like microphone feedback. Still the pug who barked at her feet, a cutie which calmed her nerves. The vampire nearly hissed at the dog until she realized how it beckoned for her to follow him to the couch. "You're a cute thing aren't you?" Carpenter whispered, smiling and stumbling to the couch and collapsed. She was probably hallucinating, it was very possible, but she felt the need to thank the dog if it was sentient and had said something. Although she wasn't positive, but her brain told her that he was talking. She pulled herself up and dazed at him through bloodshot eyes.  "Thank you man-dog." She sighed before depressing his head into the nearest couch pillow and resting her eyes, and sniffing through a single nostril, as it seemed like the other wasn't working. 

Getting comfortable, Carpenter mumbled, "I'll only be a few moments. Half an hour at most." She said before passing out on the couch's heavenly pillows.

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Bambi smiled back, resting her chin in her palm as she leaned across the table towards the Central Rogue. “Not in the way you’re implying Mark. I noticed you were new around here, since you’re the best looking guy I’ve seen in awhile. You’re not from Gotham either I’d bet….Mmm no. I don’t want your money, Baby” The blonde reached over and ran the tip of her finger over a crease in his jacket, smoothing it out playfully. “Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to donate a little to the fund raiser. So that we can afford to do this next year---But I think I’ll refrain”

Bambi bit her bottom lip and looked about conspiratorially, before leaning even closer to Mark; their noses almost touching. “After the next fight. You wanna get outta here?”


Byron rolled his eyes as Peanut led the foul-tempered chick to the back, that damn pug always was too mushy hearted to be a real bad guy. The pimp pulled his collar up around his ears and scoffed, spinning on his heel to head towards the door. “ You got ten minutes Peanut. Get Rover out there or you forfeit the match”

Peanut ignored Byron as he jumped up onto the couch, moving around Carpenter as she laid out on the musty cushions. He stepped on and over the woman before jumping up on the back of the couch and settling his butt down on what appeared to be a laptop. But it glowed an eerie green and had several large buttons and jutting toggles on it’s keyboard. “Kebin, I weel stay wiff dis lady, yoo fix dat chassis. I wandt those teefus reinstalled anb dat punck-ter feexed” [Kevin, I will stay with this lady, you fix that chassis. I want those teeth reinstalled and that puncture fixed.]

Kevin blinked at the snoozing Carpenter, then looked to Peanut and gave a skeptical nod of his shaggy head. “Whatever you say Mr. Pemsworth”

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Mark did his best to keep one eyebrow from raising in an immediate interest in the last thing that the go-go girl said, as if nothing else really mattered anymore. It wasn't smooth of him, but she wasn't entirely the quality woman that needed the suave persuasion. "Want to skip the fight and find a get a cab?" Mark asked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and rolling the back of his hand down her cheek and resting on Bambi's neck; she seemed more eager to get out of the shop, and after weighing the options, did he really need another sixty? It was just then that the barmaid brought a pitcher of beer between the two. "Wait a moment," Mark spoke up, stopping the barmaid, "depending on this young lady's answer, I may have to send this back." Mardon said poking at the pitcher. He could go a few more rounds and get her more tipsy than she already was. 

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She was already crashing, Carpenter's high couldn't have lasted anymore than fifteen minutes. She needed more, that or her body was rejecting the cocaine, the stimulant was most likely being taken out by her regenerative abilities. Ergo, she needs more blow. The headache began to subside, and her bloodflow, though cold, was beginning to regulate. Carpenter was also absolutely sure that the pug was talking, it wasn't her first priority, but it was like a string around her finger; constantly annoying her, and wanting to get to the bottom of it. She rolled in the couch and shaded her eyes from the flickering florescents that waved around in the backroom. Nothing seemed to interest her at this point now; the vampire began to slowly doze off.

Being unsure of just how long she had been laying down on the couch, with her head sunken in the pillow; but when she had enough rest she peeked one eye out to see what was going on. She wasn't aware of it, but the pug had crawled around and was sitting next to her, it seemed involved in whatever it was doing, so she figured it best not to question it. The vampire smothered her face back into the pillow and began to take in her sleep to its full advantage.

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Bambi knew she had him with that, smiling devilishly as he tried to hide his interest in her proposition. He blew his facade of disinterest with his question and the blonde just smiled wider. She leaned into his touch as his hand slid down her soft cheek, looking down at the table top to give the illusion of shyness, laughing too softly to be heard over the din of the crowd.

When the waitress approached, Bambi shot her a look and simply took the pitcher from her, the other girl shrugged at Mardon and left the booze with them. The blond stood up, in all her bikini clad glory and took a swig from the pitcher. “I work here Mark. We can take it with us”


Kevin continued to work diligently on Rover, chattering at Peanut every now and then when he would lose track of what he was doing. Which was often, the Pug theorized it was too much pot frying his brain, but then Peanut had never indulged himself.

Peanut was only moderately interested in the woman who dozed beside him, she smelled dead and was too cold to be normal. Possibly some sort of meta, Peanut wanted her close to him so that he could monitor her, the last thing he wanted was some coked up metahuman crashing his fights.

He needed the money.

Slowly he shifted toggles and tapped buttons, recalibrating Rover’s action parameters, he wanted to fiddle with the Bayesian inference in the hopes that Rover would be able to start predicting certain recurring attacks in his opponents and the appropriate actions to take against said attacks.

It didn’t take long and eventually Peanut had to stop working on it, or else he’d start working on little things and forget the time. The pug stood up from where he had been working and bowed down into a stretch, but his muscles relaxing released a tiny fluff of air from his butt, which had him shoot up straight and looking back at Carpenter to make sure she hadn’t heard him fart.

He was mortified as he looked to Kevin, who was shaking from the strain of keeping his laughter on the inside.