The moment our consciousnesses merged, a tidal wave of information, sensations, and experiences cascaded into my brain. It was a dizzying, exhilarating torrent that compressed days of tireless effort into mere seconds. It was like downloading a full-length movie directly into my mind. I saw, felt, and understood every meticulous detail of the Copy Robot's work, every strategic decision, every painstaking effort.
The single, raw room we had explored just hours before had been utterly transformed. It wasn't just one room anymore. My perception expanded to reveal three, possibly even four, distinct chambers, carved out with incredible precision. I felt the satisfying smoothness of the planks that now lined every wall and floor, banishing the damp earth. The faint scent of fresh wood filled my senses. Everywhere, bright, energy-efficient LED lights hummed softly, chasing away the subterranean gloom, bathing the space in a crisp, clean glow. I could even sense the intricate waterproofing seals, ensuring our haven remained perfectly dry against the earth's embrace.
One room, larger than the others, was clearly the command center. My mind registered the gleam of four sleek laptops and four powerful desktop computers, their screens dark for now but promising immense capabilities. Various other devices – communication arrays, data storage units, and what looked like advanced scanning equipment – were meticulously arranged. It was a digital fortress, ready for any task.
The next chamber, the storage room, stretched out, mostly empty but already hinting at future provisions. My mental scan picked up neatly stacked boxes, some empty, others holding tools, emergency supplies, and a surprising amount of non-perishable snacks. It was organized with a precision that only a robot could achieve.
Then there was the training room. This one sent a jolt of nervous excitement through me. I saw glinting knives, their blades honed to a razor edge, neatly arrayed on a rack. Bamboo swords stood upright in a corner, alongside punching bags, a weight bench, and various other training equipment. It was a space built for honing skills, for pushing limits, for becoming stronger. The sight of it filled me with a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation.
The fourth room was still sparsely furnished, a raw canvas for future needs. Only a comfortable sofa set and a standalone charging fan occupied the space, hinting at moments of rest and relaxation.
The only real issue was that the hideout didn't have a constant electricity supply. The devices within ran on a sophisticated inverter system. The most astonishing part? Not a single human knew about its existence. He had built it all himself.
The Master of Deception
The Copy Robot hadn't just built a secret lair; he had also been managing the delicate dance of my social life. I saw flashes of my badge ringing in his memories. Each time, the Copy Robot, acting as me, had politely but firmly refused her calls, concocting various excuses about being busy or having urgent family matters. He was masterfully maintaining the "new Mitsuo" persona, keeping Pako at a distance.
Then, three days after the kiss, a new set of memories played out, utterly revealing his cunning. The Copy Robot, still wearing the Perman suit, had sought out Pako. He hadn't revealed the hideout, but he had revealed a carefully crafted truth.
"Pako," he'd said, his voice grave, completely devoid of his usual playful teasing. "I need to tell you something. And this stays between us."
Pako, surprised by his solemn tone, had listened intently. "The Perman you've been seeing for these three days," he confessed, "the one who's been handling the calls... that's me. The Copy Robot." He paused, letting that sink in. "The real Perman, Mitsuo, is still a bit... upset about what happened at the bank."
He continued, his voice laced with manufactured concern, "He's been through a lot. The whole ordeal, coming so close to... well, it shook him more than he lets on. He needs time to recover, mentally. And I'm afraid that if you were to press him, or even just be around him right now, his mental condition might actually become worse. Also, don't tell about this to others." He lied, of course, spinning a tale of fragile hero-psyche to keep Pako at bay, using my fabricated "trauma" as a shield.
I watched this memory unfold, a strange mixture of admiration for his strategic brilliance and exasperation at his sheer audacity. He had managed to not only explain away my absence and the changes in my personality but had also subtly painted Pako as a potential threat to my mental well-being, all to ensure my peace and quiet. He was a master manipulator, and I was just the slightly-less-confused recipient of his elaborate schemes.