Chapter 92: The Last Sam
Vance rubbed his receding hairline, offering a sheepish, awkward chuckle. "Ah, haha... sorry. I completely forgot."
Grandpa Max didn't give him a chance to elaborate, grabbing the weatherman by the collar and dragging him back to a safe distance.
With the civilians finally out of the blast zone, Klein—currently in the crackling, energy-absorbent form of Feedback—lowered his hands. The air between him and the towering Calamity Monster hummed with static. Even though the rogue weather robot was already marked for the scrap heap, Klein was genuinely curious to see just how hard this oversized toaster could struggle.
"Go ahead. You take the first shot," Feedback drawled, his voice echoing with a synthetic, metallic buzz. He crossed his arms casually. "Otherwise, this game is going to be over the second I lift a finger."
The robotic behemoth's chassis flared with an ominous, pulsing purple light. Above them, the churning dark clouds thickened, swirling into a violent vortex. "This is the weather Vance has always wanted to report!" Sam's mechanical voice boomed, dripping with artificial passion. "Rain!"
Gale-force winds howled around the Calamity Monster, ripping up chunks of asphalt and tossing debris into the air. "This is the storm Vance would bravely approach, even in the face of his own fear!"
The purple core in Sam's chest erupted with blinding intensity. "And this is the sound Vance and I have heard countless times together! Listen to the thunder, you scoundrel!"
Thunder cracked the sky wide open. A massive, blinding pillar of jagged lightning tore down from the heavens, striking Feedback dead center with an devastating boom.
Dust and ozone billowed outward. Yet, as the smoke cleared, Feedback stood completely unbothered, bathing in the torrential downpour of electricity. His arms remained casually crossed. The millions of volts didn't even singe him; instead, the energy flowed smoothly into the plugs on his fingertips and tail, greedily absorbed into his alien physiology.
What is this hunk of junk going crazy about? Klein thought, staring through the blinding light with absolute deadpan apathy. He's acting like I'm the final boss in a cheap anime.
It honestly left him speechless. How did this rogue weather drone suddenly develop a protagonist complex just from trading a few blows? Did the robot completely forget that it was the one trying to destroy the town?
"Is that all you've got?" Feedback sighed, the electrical charge sparking wildly across his black and white suit. "Then this is where it ends."
He raised his right hand, arcs of highly concentrated, stolen lightning crackling dangerously between his fingers.
"Is this... where it ends?" Sam's mechanical voice hitched, playing up the tragic angle to the absolute maximum. "I really wanted to report the weather with you... one last time... Vance!"
The robot's melodramatic final words echoed mournfully across the ruined Rock and Roll Carnival venue.
...
Meanwhile, safely behind the barricades.
"Sam!" Vance wailed, thick tears streaming down his face as he listened to the robot's heartfelt declaration.
Overcome with emotion, the weatherman completely lost his mind again, thrashing against Grandpa Max's grip as he tried to sprint back onto the battlefield.
Max stared at the man in sheer disbelief. How can someone's stance be this wildly inconsistent?!
"Are you crazy?!" Max barked, tightening his hold. "Do you really want to go down in history as a laughingstock?"
"Let me be infamous for eternity!" Vance sobbed hysterically. "My buddy Sam is still waiting for me!"
With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Vance wrenched himself free from the old man's grasp and sprinted blindly into the fray.
...
"Are those your famous last words?" Feedback asked, preparing to unleash a devastating blast to finish the job.
Just then, a frantic figure darted into the line of fire, throwing himself protectively in front of the towering metal behemoth. It was Vance.
Klein blinked his single green eye, finding the scene utterly absurd. You're a middle-aged guy in a cheap suit. How exactly are you planning to shield a three-story-tall Calamity Monster?
Vance seemed to realize the logistical flaw in his heroic stance. He lowered his outstretched arms, grit his teeth, and pulled back a fist.
"Don't you dare underestimate our bond!" Vance screamed, throwing a desperate, wildly telegraphed punch straight at the alien.
"Ah!"
Smack.
Feedback casually caught the man's fist in his palm. Without missing a single beat, the alien threw a lightning-fast counter-jab. A dull thud echoed as Klein's fist connected, and Vance instantly crumpled to the asphalt, out cold.
Seriously, what is wrong with this guy? Klein thought, staring down at the unconscious weatherman. Why did he suddenly get so fired up? He shook his head, feeling a deep sense of helplessness at the sheer stupidity of the human race.
"Damn it! Vance, why are you so completely useless?!" Sam's robotic voice shrieked, entirely dropping the tragic hero persona.
The machine was genuinely dumbfounded. It hadn't expected the alien to actually knock out a defenseless civilian without a second thought.
That was right—Sam hadn't suddenly remembered the magic of friendship or some deep, emotional bond with its creator. The calculating AI had just been putting on a show, fully intending to use Vance as a fleshy meat shield to stall for time and save its own mechanical hide.
Feedback slowly raised his gaze back to the towering robot, the electricity in his hands flaring brighter. "So," Klein drawled, thoroughly amused. "Got any other little tricks up your sleeve? Go ahead. Entertain me."
Sam's optical sensors flickered in silence for a long, agonizing moment. "Um..." the robot began, its voice suddenly timid. "I just remembered that there's a manufacturer a few towns over that still sells my spare parts. Could you, perhaps, wait right here while I go find them?"
Feedback let out a harsh, crackling laugh. "What do you think?"
Another beat of silence passed. Sam's chassis whirred nervously before it tentatively asked, "...I don't suppose I could ask you to spare my life?"
The moment the words left the robot's vocal processor, the pent-up energy in Feedback's hands erupted.
BOOM!
A blinding, hyper-concentrated beam of pure lightning tore through the air, instantly piercing straight through the Calamity Monster's armored core. The sheer force of the blast shot upward, violently scattering the unnatural storm clouds gathered above.
The massive robotic frame shuddered, short-circuited, and collapsed into a heap of smoking, molten slag. Above them, the sky rapidly began to clear, bathing the festival grounds in warm sunlight.
Sam was officially out of commission.
A faint, familiar flash of blue light illuminated the wreckage as Feedback timed out, transforming smoothly back into Klein. He dusted off his jacket, looking entirely bored by the whole ordeal.
Not long after, a groan sounded from the pavement as Vance finally regained consciousness.
"Sam!" Vance gasped, shooting up into a sitting position. He gripped his aching jaw, his eyes darting frantically around the clearing. "Where's Sam?!"
He scoured the area, but the towering, menacing figure of the weather monster was nowhere to be seen.
"Uh... he should be over there," Ben muttered. The boy, having already reverted to his human form, awkwardly pointed a finger toward a charred, headlight-shaped piece of scrap metal resting in a smoking crater nearby.
"Sam! No!" Vance scrambled to his feet, sprinting over to the crater. He fell to his knees, cradling the scorched, lifeless robotic head in his arms, and burst into loud, ugly tears.
Gwen sidled up next to Klein, lightly tugging at his sleeve. She leaned in, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, "Should we... tell him the truth?"
Klein stared at the weeping weatherman for a long moment. "...Let's not," he replied softly, shaking his head.
This wasn't out of the goodness of his heart. Far from it. Klein simply wanted to watch Vance cry over a pile of junk for a little while longer.
After all, the idiot had just lost his mind and actually tried to punch him in the face. The incredibly petty and vengeful Klein had decided to let the man exhaust his tear ducts completely before brutally dropping the bombshell that 'Sam didn't care about him at all and only wanted a meat shield.'
But the rest of the family didn't know that. Grandpa Max walked up and patted Klein on the shoulder, a look of deep relief and pride on his weathered face. The old man genuinely believed that his grandson was maturing, finally showing a little bit of kindness and empathy for others' feelings.
"It's a shame, though. Looks like we won't get to see Shag Carpeting's performance after all," Max sighed, his smile a bit forced as he looked around the trashed venue. He turned, gesturing for his grandchildren to head back to the Rustbucket.
Klein glanced sideways at Max's disappointed expression. He briefly considered hunting down the elderly band members, tying them up, and dragging them back to the stage to perform at gunpoint. The only flaw in that plan was figuring out how to convince Grandpa Max that the band was playing willingly while bound in ropes.
Fortunately, before Klein had to resort to kidnapping, and before the Tennyson crew could even reach the exit, the situation took a sudden turn.
The booming, static-laced voice of the festival host echoed from the surviving stage speakers behind them. "Ladies and gentlemen! After a unanimous decision from the organizers... the Rock and Roll Carnival will continue!"
Well, I guess I don't need to tie them up after all, Klein mused, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was a pretty good outcome; at least it saved him the logistical headache of staging a hostage concert.
His face lighting up with pure joy, Grandpa Max immediately grabbed Ben and Gwen by the shoulders, steering them back toward the main stage to secure a good spot for the show.
Klein, on the other hand, casually strolled back over to the crater where Vance was still weeping. It was finally time to tell the weatherman the cold, hard truth about his beloved robot and amuse himself with the resulting mental breakdown.
, after having his heart thoroughly shattered by Klein's revelation, Vance learned a very painful lesson. He firmly decided that from now on, he would stick to honestly reporting the weather. Building giant, sentient robots was officially off the table forever.
...
As a final note, the concert proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ben and Grandpa Max truly shared the Tennyson bloodline. After enduring the entire setlist of Shag Carpeting, Ben found himself genuinely tapping his foot along to the beat, realizing he actually liked the old-school rock band's music just as much as his grandfather did.
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