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Suspension Issues

Warning: Robot Death

Bing was bored. Bored Bored Bored. His skateboard was bust after a handrail trickshot accident and so the only other ‘trick’ vehicle was the communal car.

Unfortunately, the suspension was also bust, due to Wilford not caring about potholes or speed bumps at any capacity. The car needed to be inspected and fixed and Google was tasked with the job. In the meantime, Wilford was banned from the car and egos could only drive at a manageable speed on smooth roads.

However, boredom was taking over and Bing decided to take the car out for a joy ride. It wouldn’t be long. Just some donuts and ramping up the deserted construction dirt hills out back. He was a responsible adult. He knew how to drive. He quickly snatched up the keys and snuck into the garage. He’d only be gone for half-an-hour or so.

Twenty minutes later, Google gets a pager message from Bing. Thinking it a nuisance, he disregards it and continues soldering the new upgrade panels for the security system. Three minutes later, he gets an ‘urgent’ notice from Bing. Google sighs as he puts down his tools. He told Bing he wouldn’t be able to fix his board until the upgrade was done. Bingiplier was an extremely impatient android.

Google followed the GPS coordinates from the notice, but was quickly surprised when it led out the door instead of towards Bing’s room. He was even more surprised when he noticed the coordinates were for behind a dirt pile and there were pieces of glass spread around the corner. He started rushing.

There at the bottom of the hill of dirt lay the car on its right side, front windshield cracked into a million-piece kaleidoscope and both side windows blown out from the impact. Car parts lay broken and warped in the dirt. The front left wheel was bent at an odd angle and the axle looked broken.

A search result popped up immediately. Suspension Spring Collapse. ‘Sudden failure results when a spring, or other weight-bearing part, breaks and is referred to as a collapse. Avoid hitting potholes whenever possible (for this and other reasons) and try to slow down over very large bumps such as driveway openings and speed bumps.’

This could have been avoided if he hadn’t kept putting the repair off. It was only a simple repair. Replace a spring coil or two and check for any other damage. He felt like a stupid robot. A stupid robot with incorrect priorities and a too ambitious ‘to-do’ list.

He walked around the car and dropped to his knees when he found Bing slumped against the inside ‘floor’ of the car, his back semi-resting on the inside of the once-roof of the car. His synthetic skin on his arms and torso was torn from the broken window and impact and oil was leaking out of the missing socket of his right arm. The detached arm lay useless a few feet away.

Google punched through the windshield, careful to do it in a location as to not shower Bing and removed enough glass to make a hole big enough to climb through. Although he didn’t like the idea of climbing INTO the overturned car, Bing was not in a condition to be easily moved. He initiated his scans and assessments. He started to continually glance at Bing’s face which began producing small streams of oil from his eye-sockets once Google began prodding at the damage. Once-in-a-while, Bing’s face would scrunch up from sensory overload. His core hadn’t stopped whirring from overdrive since Google found him. It was one of the only signs that he was still online.

After fifteen long minutes, Google’s final assessment came up ‘negative for repair’. There was too much damage. The amount of work that would need to be done would not leave Bing with enough original parts to be… ‘Bingiplier’. Before Google could share this information, he received an electric shock from Bing’s shaking hand and a pager message popped up on his internal screen.

“I know.”

Google couldn’t tell whether the oil on his hands was from Bing’s broken body or from his own face anymore. The two robots sat in silence for the longest minute of Google’s life, he tried to get Bing to say something, anything. But everything he received via message was distorted with letters misplaced. Without speaking, he finally opened the front panel of the android. Sparks shot out continuously and wires were disconnected everywhere. Google reached in and grabbed the main one running from the power source to the core. He felt a shaking, frail hand weakly grip his arm.

“I’m sorry” showed on Google’s lips however, the noise itself was lost in the sound of nearby sirens passing by on a different street to a different location calling towards a different problem. There was no help coming for them. He closed his eyes and yanked the cable, opening them only to find a small smile forming on Bing’s face as the lights in his eyes dimmed faster and faster.

Everything froze. The mechanics stopped its ceaseless clattering, and the air was deadly still.

Everyone had some sort of tear on their face sitting around the living room. Dr. Iplier had streams even going around the stiff hands on his face because as a human doctor, he could have done nothing. Bim and King of the Squirrels quietly sobbed while hugging each other on the couch; Bing was the only other in the office who loved adventures. Host stood silently in the corner, however his narrations were kept to short quips and a small track of red ran down his cheek. Wilford was choked up in the armchair because he wouldn’t be able to see Bing’s smiling face for a while; of course he wasn’t dead. Even Dark seemed a little more somber than usual, sitting on the matching armchair; but if you asked him how he was feeling, he’d rather be anywhere else obviously.

Google was off to the side with a blank expression. Work, work, work was the only thing on his mind. The only thing in his programming. That, and his objectives. He had no emotions. Useless things. They brought him too much pain and was interfering with coding. What was the point in charging when the only image behind eyelids was Bing’s tear-tracked, blank, pained face; mechanics whirring with errors and overloads. No, emotional upgrades were removed and buried along with Bing’s parts. They were all useless at this point. Too much sentimental value.

________________

Google’s head snapped up. His sensors were telling him he had been laying hunched over on his hard, wooden desk for the better part of an hour and a half. His internal core was whirring extremely loud and drives under his synthetic skin were spinning fast. His chest kept rising and falling intensely, trying to suck in as much cooling air as possible to slow down his core. A simple scan of his hard-drive registered the message ‘PANIC’ to pop up. ‘sudden uncontrollable fear or anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior.’

Fear. Anxiety. Those were emotions. When did those return? Before Google could scan further and answer his own questions, the Host seemed to appear into the tech workshop. He walked up to Google as somber as ever, hands neatly behind his back.

“The Host asks if Googliplier is alright. He seems to show signs of intense fear and worry. Typically signs of a nightmare.” Then he smirked, “The Host knows the signs well.”

“I’m fine, Host. Androids do not dream. How can I help you?” Google tried to make his face as stoic as possible.

“The Host asks if Google will finally fix the suspension on the car today as he has been putting it off for two weeks now. It has likely become quite dangerous.” As the Host turned to leave, he then added over his shoulder, “The Host had a vision recently that Bingiplier may wish to borrow the car today. He seems quite bored.” and then left from the room.

Google sat at his desk for a minute more before silently rising and thinking his plan over as he reached his destination. He knocked sharp and loud. Soon after, the door opened to Bing leaning against the doorframe, tossing a baseball in the air over and over again.

“Sup, Googs!”

“I request your assistance. The suspension on the communal car needs fixing and the job will be done faster with two robots. Then, uh, it is possible that we can fix your skateboard.”

“Aww sweet! Lemme get my working gloves.”

But this time, Google didn’t roll his eyes at that humanistic comment. He was too busy in his mind, replaying the scene of a dying robot lying slumped over in a broken car.

_______________________________________

For those wondering, let’s just say the Host made sure to transfer that vision along.

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