The word "deception" hung in the air between us, not as a judgment, but as a fascinating new concept. I watched the Copy Robot's grin, a genuine, almost mischievous expression that was startlingly human. He wasn't just logical; he was… cunning.
"So," I ventured, a smile tugging at my lips, "you're saying we're going to trick Birdman. Like, really trick him?"
He chuckled, a low, pleased sound. "Think of it as strategic misdirection. A necessary component for long-term operational viability. Our primary objective is to maximize Perman's effectiveness, and that requires resources. Acquiring those resources discreetly is simply a subroutine of that larger goal."
I shook my head, half in amusement, half in awe. "You're unbelievable. So, all these computers, the satellite stuff... you're going to get it all, without anyone knowing?"
"Precisely," he affirmed, a glint in his eye. "We'll begin with a few initial purchases. Nothing too extravagant to raise immediate flags. Small, untraceable transactions. Gradually, as confidence in our methodology increases, we can scale up." He gestured around the cavern. "This hideout will be our base of operations. A secure, off-grid location where we can centralize our efforts without external interference."
The next morning, school felt… different. After dropping me off, the Copy Robot gave me a quick, firm nod. "Remember your cover. Act normal. And try not to cause any additional anomalies today."
The next morning, with the sprawling image of the underground hideout still vivid in my mind, I held out my Perman suit to the Copy Robot. "Here," I said, a rare sense of genuine trust settling over me. "You'll need this. All those... 'strategic resource acquisitions' are going to take some serious work."
He accepted it with a nod, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "Indeed. Consider it handled. Focus on your regular duties, Mitsuo. Maintain your cover."
And so, for the next five or six days, my life settled into a bizarre, yet strangely comfortable rhythm. My days reverted to the familiar drudgery of school—sitting through boring classes, enduring Kabao's lingering glares (though they now lacked their usual bite, infused instead with a healthy dose of fear), and navigating the subtle, almost imperceptible shifts in the social hierarchy. But beneath the surface, everything felt different. The quiet hum of the world seemed sharper, more meaningful.
The Copy Robot would make his presence known a few times a day, just enough to keep up appearances. Sometimes, he'd be waiting for me outside the school gates, giving a curt nod before zipping off into the sky, a streak of red against the afternoon sun. Other times, I'd spot him from my classroom window, a distant flash of red soaring high above the city, undoubtedly on some complex mission that involved acquiring industrial-grade wiring or advanced subterranean ventilation systems. He was handling all the Perman duties too, the small ones like rescuing cats from trees and helping old ladies cross the street, and the bigger ones that popped up on the news, all while diligently working on our secret project. It was a strange sensation, knowing that while I was struggling with a high school-level math problem, a version of me was out there, subtly shaping the world, moving mountains (or at least, significant amounts of earth).
My own life, in a peculiar way, had begun to improve. The subtle changes the robot had orchestrated were undeniable. Girls, who previously wouldn't have given me a second glance, would now casually strike up conversations. "Mitsuo, can you help me with this science problem? You just seem to understand everything now." or "Hey, Mitsuo, you seemed really good in P.E. the other day, want to practice some sprints?" I knew, with the robot's cynical wisdom echoing in my head, that it was largely superficial. They were trying to use me for my newfound 'brains' or 'athleticism.' But even so, it felt... less lonely. I found myself sticking to a schedule, focusing on my studies, trying to embody the "new Mitsuo" that the robot had so meticulously crafted. It was a bizarre form of self-improvement, but it was undeniably working. I felt a subtle confidence blooming inside me, a quiet assurance I'd never known before.
I still didn't fully grasp the 'why' of it all. Why did we need such an elaborate setup for a supposed one-month stay? Why were we accumulating so much wealth and technology in secret? The robot's cryptic answers about "flexibility" and "strategic resource management" offered little clarity. But I trusted him. He had faced down Kabao for me, he had created this incredible secret world beneath the earth, and he had, in his own strange, logical way, made my life infinitely more interesting.
One evening, as the last vestiges of twilight faded from the sky, painting the clouds in hues of rose and violet, the Copy Robot appeared in my room. He looked far less grimy than usual, a testament to his efficient resource acquisition. He set my Perman suit, freshly laundered and neatly folded, on my desk.
"Huh, I'm tired," he announced, a note of deep satisfaction in his voice, a weary contentment that was surprisingly human. "Our hideout has been completed."
"Wow," I said, genuinely impressed, my eyes widening. "That fast? You really are amazing."
He gave a noncommittal shrug, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips the only indication that he appreciated the compliment. He then stretched, his muscles making a soft whirring sound.
After that, he reached out, and our hands met. We shared our memories for the first time in five days, a floodgate opening between our minds. As our consciousnesses merged, a tidal wave of information, sensations, and experiences cascaded into my brain.