It's the anniversary. Glam would very much not like to celebrate.
It’s their last day on Winslow High—they’re being transferred to Arcadia on Monday—and also their last day without a patrol schedule assigned.
And the PRT released a small announcement on its website about Glam joining the Wards. Now their wiki page doesn’t get erased, of course—they’re no longer speculative. They wonder what it’s got on them.
"Mmhm. Need to be very likeable and charming and such. But I was kinda expecting that, so."
"I've just been offered moderation status on the PHO forums," says the bot in its own voice.
"...Do the existing moderators, um, know that you are an autonomous software entity."
"Yes. It was listed as a pro."
"...Okay then."
"In many possible cases, yes, such posts would not violate any forum guidelines."
"Yeah. But I mean, I still don't think it's that worrisome, most heroes aren't fakes and unless I give people specific reason to expect I am they shouldn't."
"Done," says the bot.
"Somebody says, 'Glam can't do X', bot is there to demonstrate that you have done X on camera."
"Oh! Yes, good. Good bot. Although I mean, people know you know me, so they might think it's being partisan?"
"We know each other, but I don't have a history of defending anybody else via bot, including my dad, and it's also in the bot's profile that I'm not directing it in detail."
"Yeah, fair enough. And part of the reason I like you is that you wouldn't defend me if I didn't deserve it, soooo." Grin.
"Deserve it and need it. Plenty of perfectly decent people don't need the boost."
"And if you stop deserving it you're in huge trouble. Be good."
A few days later, Glam is waiting at a new intersection, looking like a fidgety woman with severe withdrawal symptoms holding a bag with money.
Lorica doesn't have a cloaking system working yet, so her bot is hiding inside a paper bag on the street.
"W-where's t-t-the thin-ng? The drug! Where i-is it?" They shiver and sweat a bit, just because.
The hybrid thing shows its other hand, holding another vial. Glam makes to take it, but the hybrid closes its hand around it and shakes its head, then extends its other hand more insistently. Glam looks around, as if nervous, then gives the hybrid the bag with money.
"Now can you give it to me?" they ask, the pitch of their voice changing with affected nervousness.
The thing raises a finger in a "wait" gesture, opens the bag, and starts counting the money.
The robot waits in its bag. Other robots hide along the direction whence the creature came.
A small beetle lands on the hybrid's cloak. It doesn't notice the insect. After it finishes counting, it nods, closes the bag, and gives Glam the drug. It nods, then starts going away in silence.
A paper bag blows into the air in a gust of wind. It spirals down the street, glancing off buildings and the sidewalk.