The Boiling Point (WIP)

Sleepy was merely on a routine grocery trip the day he finally snapped.

Lately, he had been going to smaller, more local shops for his food.  Easier to keep track of who's who, where the supply chain starts and ends.  It wasn't that any particular event spurred him to this, but he figured his luck couldn't last forever.  Best to take every reasonable precaution in times like these.

His haul wasn't anything extravagant; he had some fresh fruits and vegetables, some canned goods (checked meticulously for tampering), replacement cartridges for the water filter, and a box of Shoot cereal.

Sleepy wasn't a huge fan of the cereal, but he had gotten an interesting request for a projectile launcher that was amusing enough to pursue.  Plus, the client looked vaguely important.  Not a great idea to keep someone like that waiting for too long.

Unfortunately, that project would never see the light of day.

There was a loud BANG in the distance, in the direction of the shipyards.  It was a noise Sleepy hadn't heard in a good, long while, and one that quickly drained the color from his face.

He was out the door before his groceries had even hit the ground.


He thought they would have learned their lesson after the first couple of times they've tried this.  Especially since the first attempt left one of their agents deceased.
Nevertheless, he had come to recognize the loyalists' penchant for persistance.  The alternative to throwing themselves at death, he imagined, was likely a worse outcome.  Doubly so with that crazy plush girl at the helm.

He continued to weave through the confused crowd as he made his way to the docks.  The realization that the local authorities weren't already en route to the source of the explosion raised a number of red flags.  Sleepy began to move faster, with less regard to any bystanders in the way.

The fact that Professor was already safely at Shellendorf offered him some iota of comfort.  After some convincing, he had allowed her to bring the hypno-shades to the Institute for further study.  It was likely that the deeper organizations of the Inkopolis government would eventually obtain the device from there, and as little as Sleepy trusted their agents, he still trusted them a hell of a lot more than the Octarians.


Of course, these considerations inevitably took a backseat to his primary concern.

His workshop.


When he finally reached his destination, the first thing Sleepy noticed was the telltale scorch mark of his usual booby trap.  Near it, a trail of ink leading both to and away from the door, running for a short distance before suddenly stopping.

That had worked, at least.  If his security systems had performed their function, then he could rest easy and get back to what he was doing.

However, any stray optimism he had about the situation was violently quashed when he approached the entrance.



The door had been blown off its hinges.



He sprinted to the doorway, panic overcoming him.  His heart raced, yet the universe itself seemed to slow to a crawl as he made his way inside.


No words, no thoughts could come to him.  All he could do was witness what had become of his workshop.


His home.  His workplace.  His sanctuary, the only thing that truly tethered him to anything resembling normalcy.

Ransacked.  Raped.  Vandalized.

His very heart and soul had been violated.  HE...had been violated.

It was a feeling of helplessness and vulnerability that he was not used to feeling.


As if drifting through a nightmare, he aimlessly wandered throughout the workshop, taking in every detail, unconsciously noting every offense against him.  Every closet, cabinet, and container had been turned inside-out.  Parts, tools, schematics, and prototypes lay scattered across every surface.  Holes had been torn in the room's soundproofing.  Some projects had even been stolen outright.  His info board was overturned, yet oddly intact.

And then he discovered the reason for the deafening silence that had only just become apparent to him.

In a corner of the room lay his radio.  Brutally smashed to pieces.

An insult standing atop a mountainous mass of injuries.  Within the wreckage, however, lay the cherry on top.



A small, wireless camera.  She was watching him.



Sleepy's hyperventilating and trembling suddenly ceased.  His expression fell blank as he stared into the lens.

A moment passed, and then...


His lips began to curl into a smile.


With one swift motion, he crushed the camera in his hand.  Ink slowly began to drip to the floor.  The pain was somehow...refreshing.

Releasing the destroyed device, he slowly strolled outside and hung a sign next to the doorway that read "Closed".  He then returned indoors, grabbed a few parts and tools from what remained, and sat down at his workbench.

His smile wouldn't leave his face for hours.  He had never felt more awake in his life.



She just had to go and make this personal.

She would soon regret that decision.



Dearly.