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fandomweekly2019-02-01 11:32 am
[#005] Separation Anxiety (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes)
T.K.O. chews mindlessly on yet another forkful of spaghetti and messes with his cell phone. Social Media isn’t that great and getting his paws on this beeping little brick hasn’t made him happier. It’s mostly cheery people doing cheery things. Heroes doing community service, going on dates, and showing off hobbies in between selfies. Villainous accounts are up, but they’re rarely used. Location pinging, photo sleuthing, a virtual paper trail. Makes it to easier to catch up with them. Well, the Boxmore bots at least have accounts, since everyone knows where they live anyway.
But other villains have accounts. Throw away accounts, mostly, but sometimes more permanent accounts where they keep an anonymous identity. They aren’t afraid to Private Message, at least. He finishes off his bowl of pasta and unceremoniously tosses it over his shoulder, letting it shatter on the floor. The pieces instantly reform into a clean bowl and the sauce wipes itself up. K.O. took it upon himself to child-proof the place. The only place T.K.O. is allowed to be. Solitary.
So K.O. means well. Big dang whoop. T.K.O. makes a fart noise with his mouth and moves to his messages. A photo of a weapon. The tank is filled with a pink liquid and a single glorb. Under the photo sits a message T.K.O. read hours ago. We’re busting you out. He zooms in on the photo. He doesn’t know what to make of the contraption, but he also doesn’t care. He wants out. He doesn’t care how he gets out.
But can a single glorb really get him out? Well, can isn’t the question. Will it? The same creeps tricked K.O. into making him. Or, making him aware that he exists. Whatever. The point is, they’re creeps and they might just be messing with T.K.O. to mess with K.O. or the plaza or heroes in general. But who cares anymore? K.O. will never have the tech necessary to yank T.K.O. out of his system. That kind of research doesn’t happen under the watch of heroes.
It’s not a good bet he’s placing, but he’s at least aware of that. He holds his phone out and takes a selfie with a thumb up and sends it privately to “GreenieMeanie” before closing the Social Media app and putting his phone to sleep. He sighs. And if it doesn’t work, then he’ll be caught red handed.
T.K.O. pulls down the screen letting him look out of K.O.’s eyes. He’s explaining some nonsense POW card sorting technique to Rad, who is not listening. Idiot doesn’t even notice. T.K.O. knocks on the screen and the picture jostles.
“Oh! Sorry Rad, I’ll have to finish talking to you later. T.K.O. is calling me. He probably ran out of hot cheebos again.”
Rad nods politely, still not paying attention. “Super neat, little buddy.”
K.O. walks off to the stockroom, feet padding audibly against the tiles the whole way. The view darkens and a meditative hum takes over the audio signal. K.O. pops into existence in the living room, landing on a bean bag.
“Hey! Need something? Or maybe you want to play videos game again? Ooh! Or maybe..” He pauses to think for a moment and a board game pops into his hands. It looks boring. “One of the kids in school brought this in to play! It's called badminton the game and-”
“No! Ugh.”
“Sorry. What is it you called me in for?”
K.O. sits up straight on the beanbag instead of lounging like anyone else would. He’s focused on being attentive instead of on being comfortable. T.K.O holds in a groan.
“I want to go to the arcade.”
“Of course! I can do that!” K.O. starts to focus again and T.K.O. leans against the doorframe between his kitchen and living room.
“I mean the real arcade, K.O. No offense but your simulated people are really bad at everything. I want to challenge a real person at real H. Elodie.”
K.O. looks a little uncomfortable at this point. Of course he does. Just hand over the reigns to your whole body. Didn't it go great last time? Plaza destruction? Never heard of it.
“Alright. But you have to be nice, okay?”
“Really?” T.K.O. perks up despite himself. He was really only aiming for a combined K.O. trip to the arcade to get the wheels rolling. K.O. smiles and good-naturedly laughs. T.K.O. closes himself off once more, crossing his arms. “It’s about time you let me pilot again. You just use our body to fart.”
“I do not,” K.O. calls back, playfully defensive.
“Whatever. Just get out of here until I can go play, okay?”
“Alright... And you’re sure you don’t need anything in here?”
“I’m fine.”
K.O. nods and then taps his chin. “It’s a teacher’s day Thursday, so you’d have the whole day to play... Is that okay?”
“Fine,” he responds, testier than he intends to.
K.O. rubs an arm nervously and then closes his eyes. “Alright, I’ll visit again soon.” After a moment’s focus he disappears. A bag of hot cheebos replaces him on the bean bag.
T.K.O. pulls out his phone again and sends another message. Thursday arcade. He doesn’t feel like elaborating any further and he knows they’ll figure it out.