Chapter Text
“Another one already? My, you’re quick to replace things.”
The pink-haired cyclops leant against the doorframe, a smirk curving her lips as the television-headed man ushered a sleepy child inside.
“There isn’t time to waste. Her power is growing, and there is very little else to be done to stop her,” replied RGB, striding past the shorter woman to hang his hat and cane on a stand. “I’m certain that this one will be the hero we need.”
Madras opened her mouth to speak only to be interrupted by a surprisingly loud yawn from the boy that stood on the landing. He looked to be about eleven, with blonde hair and brown eyes, dressed in plain pajamas that seemed just a tad too small for him.
“Sir, where are we?” he mumbled sleepily, swaying on his feet slightly.
“At a friend’s,” answered RGB promptly before turning his head slightly to look at the merchant with an expression that would have been skeptical were it on the face of a human. “That is, if she still is a friend.”
Madras merely waved a hand dismissively at the man with a slight chuckle, closing the door and heading downstairs to the main area.
“What would ever make you think otherwise, dear RGB?” she called. RGB’s screen flickered slightly in annoyance. “Now are you going to stand by the door all night or will you come in properly?”
RGB grumbled slightly, but gestured to the new hero to follow Madras. The boy stumbled down the stairs, eyes hooded and half asleep. Upon reaching the ground floor he stood in the middle of the carpet, waiting to be told what to do. The man behind him sighed loudly, then pointed to an over-stuffed armchair in the corner of the room. The boy slowly walked over and curled up on it, falling asleep almost instantly. Thin, curling lines began to form over his head as he dreamed.
“You’ve found a very obedient one this time,” remarked Madras, watching the scene with a small amount of wonderment. “I remember the last one barely stopping to listen to anything you told her.”
“And it was her inability to listen that got her…” RGB’s voice slowly lowered in volume as he spoke, trailing off completely before he could bring himself to finish the sentence. His head hung low as he looked down on the new child, the third one to bear the title of ‘Hero’ since he started his quest.
Madras cautiously walked over, placing one hand gently on the man’s arm. Had it been but a week ago he would have jolted out of this despondency, instead is antennae merely drooped further. Colours dripped from his screen with more frequency than usual, and if Madras didn’t know better she would have sworn he was nearly crying.
“I warned you not to get attached.”
“I know, I know. But I keep bringing them here, and they keep getting killed, be it her interference or my own stupidity. What if it’s impossible?”
“Now don’t say things like that. Where’s the RGB that charged into battle? That stayed up for nights on end planning and scheming ways to overthrow her?”
“I’m starting to think he died in that battle, Madras.”
At that the lady hit him on the back of the head, the blow resonating with a loud whump! She shook the pain out of her hand and glared at the man angrily.
“What was that for!?” exclaimed RGB, rubbing the back of his head with one gloved hand and gesturing at his friend wildly, the static on his screen playing up as he stared in shock.
“For not just lying to me, but also yourself! A month ago you were jumping around everywhere in excitement when you came up with the idea of a child hero so don’t you dare say that part of you died in battle.”
The downturned test-screen began to flatten as RGB pondered those words. His antennae slowly perked up as realisation dawned in his circuits.
“You’re right.” The cyclops could hear tinges of elation in his slightly metallic voice. “Madras, you’re right!”
RGB clasped his hands around Madras’ upper arms, screen curving into a wide smile as the energy seeped back into him.
“A Hero will work, we just need to make him into one! There’s no way she’ll be powerful to stop a child.”
The cyclops smiled wryly as the man released her and all but danced off. It was good to see him still so full of hope, and she prayed that it would never change.
Two days later she realised that no one had listened as a lonely RGB stumbled to her door, shirt covered in tears from the razor sharp beaks of Fears. When he left, with mended shirt and a new cane, he wasn’t the same. With the third death he had become cold, hard, like the glass and metal he was made from.
It wasn’t until he arrived with a small, unconscious girl slung over his shoulder, years later, that Madras began to hope for change again.