Wafka Station

The Case of Stanbot: Episode 2

The following takes place immediately following: The Case of Stanbot Episode 1

Stanbot is loaded into the back of a police van and driven away. Master Devlin and Waldo follow, trailing the vehicle across town to a strange brutalist building in Widdicombe.

It’s curious. There were police stations closer than this, yet the van had bypassed them all. And the building itself—gray, faceless—had no clear markings identifying it as a police station. Only the uniformed officers stationed at the side gate, nodding as the van passed into an underground garage, suggested otherwise.

Undeterred, Master Devlin strides through the front entrance.

Inside the Station:

Desk Cop: As I said, Mr. Devlin, Mr. Smith is in interrogation. It could be a while before you can see him. You’ll have to come back later, or… wait over there if you like.

Master Devlin glares but says nothing. He and Waldo take a seat in the eerily quiet waiting area.

Waldo scans the room, restless.

wF: Mastaaaaa, this is boring! Let’s go home—this holiday sucks!

Master Devlin: Quiet, Waldo.

wF: 😒

Waldo sighs, then picks up a copy of the Waldopolis Chronicle newspaper. The headline reads:

"EXPLOSION AT COUNCIL GROUNDS—ARSON SUSPECTED"

He smirks, nudging Devlin with the paper.

wF: Look, Masta… Some putz blew up his house in your backyard? 😏

Master Devlin exhales sharply.

Master Devlin: Hmph.

12 Hours Later:

Master Devlin sits slumped in his chair, caught somewhere between sleep and fugue. Waldo, now fully awake, notices something strange—a false mustache lying at his feet. He blinks at it, shrugs, and approaches the reception desk.

A different officer sits there now.

wF: Good morning, sir. The Masta and I have been waiting here all night. May we see Stanbot now?

Desk Clerk: Stanbot?

wF: Yes—Mr. Stanbot Smith.

The desk clerk frowns, flipping through a logbook.

DC: I’m afraid we have no record of a Mr. Stanbot Smith.

wF: That’s ridiculous! He was arrested by Detective Lieutenant Castillo and brought here from the Council campus. We followed them here!

The desk clerk shakes his head.

DC: You must be mistaken. There’s no Lt. Castillo working here.

Waldo squints.

wF: Don't be preposterous man. Are you new? He has a moustache and weird craters in his face. Looks like Edward James Almost but not quite.

DC: No one here matches that description, young fella. And I should know—I’ve been the desk sergeant here for twenty years.

Waldo glances back at Devlin, still lost in his fugue. He narrows his eyes.

wF: Your colleague last night said otherwise. He told us to wait here.

The clerk looks puzzled.

DC: This desk? No… This reception area is only used during the day. Night shift operates from the other side of the building.

A long pause.

DC: You must be mistaken again.

Waldo hesitates.

wF: No way, man! I’m sure it was here… Then again… we do get confused sometimes… But the Masta was talking to him! He’s all fuguey though.

DC: And what was this officer’s name?

wF: Uh… We don’t know.

The clerk gives a patient sigh.

DC: I’m sorry, but it sounds like you might’ve gotten lost. I can show you the way out.

Waldo’s eyes suddenly widen.

wF: Wait a minute—I remember! Stanbot is in there! —Interrogation Room #1!

Before the clerk can react, Waldo rushes toward the door.

DC: SIR—STOP! YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE!

Waldo throws the door open.

The room is empty. No table. No chairs. Not even one of those fancy two-way mirrors. Just blank, unmarked walls.

Waldo stares.

wF: Wait a minute… What in tarnation is going on here?

The desk clerk steps up behind him, arms crossed.

DC: This section of the building is under renovation. It’s only used in a limited capacity, sir.

wF: Then where the hell is our robit??

The clerk shrugs.

DC: I don’t know, sir. Would you like to fill out a missing persons report?

Waldo blinks.

wF: …Sure. Okay!

DC: Well, I can help you with that. Take this form—MM25-B—and head upstairs to the third floor. Turn left through the double doors, follow the corridor to the junction, then take a right, second door on the right, then left to the Department of Missing Waldonians. They’ll help you fill it out. Once completed, you’ll need to take it to the sixth floor for processing.

wF: I don’t think I should leave the Masta in this state. Can’t you handle the form here?

DC: I’m afraid we don’t keep those forms here. Processing requires a specialized unit…

wF: Fine, fine. I’ll go. Just… keep an eye on him while I’m gone.

****

Upstairs, at the Department of Missing Waldonians:

Clerk: Oh… no. I’m afraid this is the wrong form. This is an MM25-B. You need an MM35-B. I can’t do anything with this.

wF: But the sergeant at the desk gave me this form!

Clerk: Strange. What was his name?

wF: I, uh… drat! I don’t know.

Clerk: Well, you’ll need to get the right form.

wF: Where?

Clerk: Well, uh… Phil! PHIL! Where do we keep the MM35-Bs?

Phil: Dunno. Fifth floor, maybe

Clerk: Sounds about right. Try the fifth floor.

wF: You don’t know?

Clerk: Easy there, master goblin, it’s not like we’ve ever had to file a missing persons report ourselves. We’re the police, after all…

wF: I just want to file a missing persons report for a kidnapped robot! Why can’t you help me? This is urgent! My Masta really likes that robot!

Clerk: Robot? Well, why didn’t you say so? That’s a completely different form. MR 902-C1.

wF: Do you have that?

Clerk: Uh… yes! Yes we have MR902-C1. We have MR902-C1 today! They just came in the post!

wF: Excellent!

Clerk: Now, let’s get some details… Name?

wF: Stanbot II, aka Stanbot Alonzo Ricardo Smith.

Clerk: Mr… Smith… Haha, look Phil—SARS! Ahem… age?

wF: Uh… about two years old, I think.

Clerk: Description?

wF: About 5’6". Medium build. Metallic. Pointy and triangular in nature. Red visor for eyes. Horns. Pronounced beak. Often leaks coolant.

Clerk: Last seen?

wF: Taken into the east wing of this station approximately 14 hours ago.

Clerk: Oh… no. Sorry. Robots have to be missing at least 72 hours before they can be reported missing.

wF: But this is under unusual circumstances! I think he’s been kidnapped! By a fake detective!

Clerk: Hmm… well, perhaps we could make an exception. Did Mr. Smith have any vulnerabilities?

wF: Well… he’s a homosexual who was repeatedly violated in the exhaust pipe by a roided-out bird full of nanomachines, son. Also, he’s an alcoholic.

Clerk: Oh?? Oh dear. Alcoholic, you say? Have you tried looking in the river?

wF: No! Why would he be in the river?

(The clerk shrugs.)

Clerk: Anyway, I’ve noted down his… vulnerabilities… and here is the official stamp. Now all you have to do is take it to the main desk on the sixth floor for processing.

wF: Thanks very much, officer!

****

At the sixth-floor desk...

Clerk: A missing robot report for a Mr. Stanbot Smith... Well, everything seems to be in order, I'll just need the accompanying MM25-B form...

wF: ...Do you know where I can get this form?

Clerk: Hmm, they should've given it to you on the third floor.

wF: But they didn’t know where to get it!!

Clerk: Well, go back and tell them Nancy said they should be in the file cabinet near the back wall in the old office in the Madeline McCann wing...

wF: ...Fine.

Waldo approaches the Missing Persons Department.

wF: Hello again... Nancy says I need the...

The clerk he was speaking to wasn’t there, but Phil was leaning back in his chair, eating a donut. Without looking up, he taps the sign on the desk that reads: CLOSED FOR LUNCH TILL 2PM.

wF: But I just need the M...

Phil points to the sign again and pulls the plexiglass screen shut.

wF: 😡

15 minutes later, Waldo is sitting next to the Master again, staring at the desk where the sergeant should be.

The sounds of ambulances wail as the vehicles screech to a halt outside, and paramedics can be seen rushing through the main entrance and up the stairs in a hurry.

Waldo puts his hands in his pockets and feels some scrunched-up paper in one. He pulls it out... it reads: MM25-B form for missing persons.

wF: 😒

Waldo looks at the clock. 12:17. Looks back at the Master. Looks back at the clock...

A few minutes later, the Master wakes from his fugue.

MD: Sorry, Waldo, I dozed off. What’s going on? Where’s Stanbot?

wF: 😒

MD: Widdle Frunkut, I asked you a question.

wF: 😣😖 WE DON'T KNOW!! We don't know what's going on! I think he's been kidnapped.

MD: Kidnapped?? Where is that disgrace of a detective? Castillo.

wF: They claim there's no such detective here. To be honest... I don't even think this is a real police station. We spent all morning trying to get this form processed, but well... we can't now.

MD: Why not?

wF: There was some... unpleasantness. The third floor is now closed. Emergency services have sealed it off.

MD: Quit stalling and tell me why!

wF: Waldo had... an anger moment...

MD: Waldo... what did you do?

wF: The bureaucracy was too much. They pushed us to the limit and... things got out of hand. A few deaths were involved...

MD: Oh dear. Could you not have just gotten them some flowers to sweeten the deal? Chocolates, perhaps?

wF: We was polite! Such bribery shouldn't be required for them to do their job.

MD: No, but sometimes it is necessary to grease the wheels.

wF: Well then why don't you try, then? Good luck.

MD: I can't. You killed them.

wF: Whatever. That was past Waldo... no point crying over spilt milk. We think they were baddies anywayz. Something's off about this whole place. If you didn't keep spacing out, we wouldn't be in this mess... Anyway. What do now?

A uniformed officer appears—different from the one earlier.

Officer: Excuse me, gentlemen, but if you're going to sit there any longer, you're going to need a permit. You've exceeded the waiting time limit.

The Master stands in anger, towering over the officer, who immediately looks intimidated.

Officer: Um... do you have a permit?

MD: We have several.

Officer: Well, I, uh... need to see it. Please...

The Master reaches into his pockets, pulls out a pile of useless scraps of paper, and dumps them in the officer's hand.

MD: I've had enough of your permits. What kind of police station is this??

Officer: A strict one, I'm afraid... Sorry, sir, but I don't see it here. You need a stamped permit from the desk clerk stationed over there.

MD: The one who hasn't been at his desk all day?

Officer: Hmm. Must've stepped away. The desk should be attended.

MD: Where is he??

Officer: I'm not his keeper, sir. I can't speak to his whereabouts. I'm just the officer in charge of checking waiting permits.

MD: This isn't a strict office. It's inefficient. Useless!

Officer: If you don't have a permit, you'll have to get one, or you can't wait here.

MD: Fine. Go get one for me and stamp it yourself. GO ON!

Officer: Not my area, sir. I don't have the authority to do that. Could lose my job.

MD: But you have the authority to check??

Officer: Yes. This is common.

MD: No, son. Nothing about this is common. This place is a farce. An absolute joke.

Officer: So you're leaving?

MD: Yes. I'm not wasting any more time in this place.

Officer: Very well. I'll just need to see your leaving permit from the Chief.

The Master laughs in his face.

Officer: It's not a laughing matter, sir. One does not simply walk out of a police station without permission.

The Master picks the little officer up by his shirt and farts on him.

Officer: Sir. That was dirty. You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer.

The officer speaks a code into his radio. Immediately, six armed officers in riot gear enter the waiting room.

Officer: They don’t have permits!

The Master spreads his wings and places Waldo on his back.

The cops rush at the Master, but he unleashes a blast of fiery breath, engulfing them in flames. The single officer scrambles to hit the fire alarm.

Officer: You’ve done it now!

The Master picks him up and hurls him through the nearest window. The officer lets out a Wilhelm scream as he crashes through the glass.

MD: Thank you for the fire exit. Come along, Waldo, we are leaving!

wF: Good! Wiffuhuh doesn't feel well in this place. We told you it was evil.

The Master steps out into the courtyard and takes off, flying in the direction of the Council HQ in Waldobury.

The story continues in Messengers of the Court.