Ch. 3: West vs. the Invasion

We were given our profiles of one of the six variants of silicon mice and proceeded through the Old Gladiator’s Home. Hotstuff seemed to be making the most progress, but this was a task too daunting for any one contestant.

I looked at the profile for my variant, and decided that it would be best to construct a robot mouse to lure the mice into a trap. I read an article once about robot cockroaches that could influence how other cockroaches behaved, so I based my robot mouse design on that.

I may hate robots, you know, but I’m good at making them. I once made robots that set fire to the local Radio Shack. All I had to do this time around was scrounge for parts from the old Gladiators’ pacemakers and hearing aids.

I completed my robot mouse and set it loose, but then I smelled something odd. I looked around and saw Hotstuff passing around gas masks, and before I knew it, I was unconscious. When I awoke, it was like I was Gulliver tied down by the Liliputians, but instead they were cartoon mice! I knew that my variant was going to look like that, due to their cels, but seeing them in person was scarier than I imagined. I stood and shook the creatures off, but a girl mouse stayed stuck in my pocket until I took off my shirt.

Then this cartoon cockroach came up to me and attacked me. I’m like, “What the hell?”

And the cockroach was like, “Thanks for arming our rodent enemies with a vicious robot, you jerk!”

And I’m like, “Robots are bad, but the robots I control are good!”

And it’s like, “You are so naïve, kid.”

So I built a robot cockroach like the kind that I read about in the article, and it was an epic battle of the cartoon mice and their robot versus me, my robot cockroach, and the cartoon roaches. The kitchen of the Old Gladiators’ Home was littered with exoskeletons and bloodied fur as the two forces met.

“Do svidaniya!” The mouse named Fievel said as he leapt onto my shoulder and tried to chew my ears off, but my robot cockroach electrocuted his American Tail to death. Then the king of the cartoon cockroaches and the cartoon mice turned to me.

“The battle between our armies shall be decided by this interloper!” the king of the roaches cried.

“The robots must face off with each other!” Basil, king of the mice, replied.

I watched as my robot creations tore each other apart, until the mouse robot, the one that had betrayed me, was destroyed. The silicon mouse variant that I had been tasked with capturing, the cartoon mouse sub-species, conceded defeat, and followed me as prisoners of war.
The king of the roaches thanked me for my help, and I took the ruined machines that I created and turned it into the ultimate robot chimera. Returning to my teammates, I handed over my mouse-luring-and-killing drone, as well as the mice I collected as prisoners of war.

I smiled modestly into the camera. I don’t do this for the fame. I do this because I’m West Rosen, and because I can.