Well.
Here I am.
Bleeding on the floor of a trans dimensional arctic hide away while an epic battle rages around me, having acomplished nothing in terms of said battle.
Just a day in the life of Charles Victor Szasz.
I try and pick myself up, but my arm goes numb and I collaps all over again.
"Help?"
Suddenly, a golden hovering little robot comes out of somewehere, gracefully dodging the blasts around it, and comes over to me.
"Do you require assistance?"
"Yes."
It helps me up off the ground.
"Come with me."
I follow the robot through the fortress. All the while, we weav to avoid the fight around us. It takes me to a room off to the side of the main hall. Inside, Wonder Woman and the first Flash are lying on tables, still unconscious.
"What happened to them?"
"They were injured in battle by criminal database entry # 6: Raymond Jones A.K.A. 'The Parasite'. Take off your shirt and coat, please."
I do so, and the robot comes over with a tray of medical tools. It begins to inspect my shoulder.
"The bullet is rather deep. I will have to suspend nerve acticity in your arm while I operate. Lie down on the table."
I lie down on the table it motions to, and it comes over with the tools. It pricks my arm, and I loose all feeling in it. It then begins to operate.
"What is your name?"
"What?"
"I find that surgery goes faster when the patient and surgeon engage in conversation. What is your name?"
"Charles, bu...."
"Please, refrain from straining your voice. It is unnecesairy, and can cause long term throat damage."
"Uhh, sorry. As I was saying, my name is Charles. But most people call me Vic. What's your name?"
"My official designate is helper bot # 1. The master is fond of calling me Atticus."
"The master?"
"You may know him as 'Superman'."
"Oh. Him. So, what exactly do you do here?"
"I, aswell as my bretheren, do as the master wishes of me."
"Alright. What do you do in yout off houres?"
"Off houres?"
"When you're not working."
"My bretheren and I are always working. However, when the master is not around, we do find ourselves with little to do. During those periods, I do enjoy accesing the internet for periods of time."
"Really?"
"Yes. I am especially fond of the role playing games. However, I am unable to use the more complex ones due to my lack of funds."
"Well, why don't you ask for a raise?"
"Raise?"
"You know. Ask Superman for more money."
"My bretheren and I are unpaid."
"You're slaves?"
"No. We were created for a function, and carry out said function. We do not receive payment for doing what we were created to do."
"Don't you want something more?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, humans may or may not have been created for a certain function. But if we were, there's no doubt in my mind that we've grown beyond that function. We choose what we want our functions to be."
"You are saying that humans imbue their lives with their own meaning?"
"Yes."
"Interesting. A writer (and a bit of a philosopher) once wrote: 'If nothing we do matters, the only thing that matters is what we do.' I suppose that if one feels that they have no purpose, of feel unhappy with their purpose, then they may create a new purpose for themselves."
"There you...."
"However, I am quite content with my purpose at the moment."
"Whatever suits you."
"But I may speak with the master about a 'raise'."
"You've got to start somewhere."
"I am done."
He bandages my arm, and pricks it again. Feeling returns. I grab my shirt and coat, and put them back on. Atticus leaves, and soon returns with a few guns.
"Take these. You should be safe in here, but if something should do awry, you should have these to defend yourself."
"Thank you."
"You are welcome."
Atticus begins to float towards the door, but I call after him.
"Hey, Atticus, who was the person who wrote that quote?"
"Joss Whedon, I beleive."
He floats out the door, and it closes behind him.
Joss Whedon.
Heh.
I take a chair and sit beside Wonder Woman and The Flash.
"So. Either of you ever hear the one about the two guys who really liked baseball?"