For a twelve foot tall robot with industrial drills instead of hands, there were worse gigs than being the heavy for a criminal mastermind. Sure, work was sporadic and the law was always on their tail, but the pay was good and he never had to worry where his next tune-up was coming from.
“Drillbit!”
That was his cue. He walked through the ragged opening where the lobby doors to the bank had stood moments before. His boss, Doctor Dystructo (the papers were always spelling it wrong), stood in the middle of the lobby wearing his usual black get-up, fists on his hips. Dozens of people huddled on the marble floor amidst the rubble from the blasted doors. He didn’t pay them any mind. Crowd control was someone else’s job.
The Doctor raised one hand and pointed to the far wall, beyond which, if their blueprints were correct, the vault was located. He then yelled, “Drill!” and released a sinister laugh that only madmen could pull off successfully.
Drillbit could do without the theatrics, but that was the Doctor’s style. The robot cranked up his cone-shaped drills and they whirred into life. He walked through the lobby and swung his arms wide to loosen the joints. People screamed and ducked their heads to avoid being hit by the deadly drills.
Okay. Maybe he liked a little theatrics, too.
The wall was reduced to a pile of plaster and masonry in a matter of minutes. He then dug his drills into the smooth surface of the gleaming vault. Metal shards rained down around him as his drills sank further and further into the three foot thick door. He figured at this rate, they would be back at headquarters in plenty of time to catch most of the “Lost In Space” marathon on cable.
Drillbit could tell by the change in vibration that he was inches from punching through the vault door. Digging in for the final assault, he heard a commotion and turned to look back into the lobby.
Damn. It looked like he was going to miss that marathon after all.
Cops in riot gear swarmed the bank. The Doctor was face down on the floor with a cop’s knee in his back. Two more cops had their guns trained on the Doctor’s head.
If he had shoulders, Drillbit would have shrugged. Their guns couldn’t hurt him. He’d just continue drilling into the vault, grab some bags of cash, then plow through those cops and stroll out the front door. He was about to return to his work when he felt a tap on his right side. Looking down, he saw a female officer grinning up at him.
“Give it up bolt-bag,” she said as she waived her high-powered taser in his face.
Drillbit was about to show her what this “bolt-bag” could do to a human skull, when she pulled the trigger and released 100,000 volts into his metal hide.
The last thought to flash through his circuits before they fried to a crisp was that subway construction might not have been such a bad career choice after all.
Crime doesn’t pay, y’all. Just ask poor Drillbit.
This one turned out a bit sillier than I intended. And no one died. My muse is getting soft.
If you’d like to see pictures of my previous paper robot pals and read their stories, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.
He’s cute… in that murderous, heart-of-steel kind of way
He is a little too adorable to lead a life of crime.
Really. You are incredibly good at this, Amy. This was excellent! I liked the thought of Drillbit shrugging his shoulders if he had shoulders. Great, great stuff.
Thank you so much, Lenore! This one took off in a direction all its own.
Drillbit died – robots count, I think.
I liked it!
His circuits might be able to be replaced, but technically, I think it could count as a death. Thanks!
Replaced circuits, huh? Always the optimist.
And, I have realized too late that May has 31 days, so this post is a day early. Better than a day late, I suppose. *facepalm*
That’s OK. The calendar police don’t make it easy, giving some months 30 days and some months 31 and going back and forth on the question of how many days to give February.
I’ve only lived through 38 Mays, so you’d think I would have a clue by now. I think I was just so ready for this week to be over that I skipped a day in my mind.
Mom always wanted Drillbit to get a nice banking job. This wasn’t what she had in mind.
Nobody died, nobody got maimed…what’s next, Amy – robot ponies and kittens frolicking through flowers?
Woah. Let’s not get carried away. There was destruction of property and crime. That’s sumthin’ right?
I’m with skippingstones — I think drillbit bit it… get it? “bit it”? “drillbit”?
I slay me.
You slay me too, Steve!
Once again, I missed this post due to the WordPress Gods changing things up and not making them better, whence I lost my blog reader feed again for 6 weeks (angry face here) Another eanjoyable read. You’re making me like robots, just a bit (ok, smack me now)
Where the hell are you, woman??? STOP reading those manuscripts for free and come back to us. I needs me a little AmyMAdness sumtimes, ya know?
I love that I’m making you like robots, even if it’s just a little bit. They have more personality that people give them credit for.
And, I KNOW! I miss my blog-world and all my wonderful blog-friends. I promise to try to get back into the swing of things and interact with all my awesome buddies again very soon. I need you guys, too!
We understand the value of a break, and creative refueling…I’m off at etsy making baby aliens and little overpriced art dolls these days
and my writing, it suffers….
But we whom adore thee suffer when you are absent…just keep that in mind while you selfishly indulge in passions which deny us our rightful Amy-ness.
What Spectra said.
Aw geeze. I don’t need that kind of guilt, guys!
But, thank you!
No guilt here…just love, Amy. Groovy.
The fact that you’re on hiatus has not deterred me from nominating you for Mrs. Sparkly’s Ten Commandments Award. Details at my blog. I know these things are kind of silly, but they’re a good opportunity to show appreciation for enjoyable blogs. Thank you and I, for one, anxiously await your return!