Chapter Text
The screen exploded with color—a gleaming logo of a tire wrapped in a lightning bolt spun into view as synth-rock music surged. Battle & Chase! The words blazed across the screen in metallic red and blue, pulsing to the beat.
Plum stood center stage in a virtual studio aglow with neon. Her purple-chromed plating shimmered under the studio lights, and her optics sparkled with barely contained excitement.
“Good morning, afternoon, or whenever your internal clock ticks, racers and robo-fans alike!” she announced with a chipper, modulated voice. “I’m Plum, and this is a special RobotNet SportsStream EX bulletin! Today’s news has more horsepower than a Guts Tank on nitro!”
Footage blared onto the display behind her—archived highlights from the original Battle & Chase tournament. The roar of engines. Tires screaming across sand and ice. Explosions flaring in the distance. Bass flipping his vehicle over a lava pit, Roll waving with a beaming smile as she passed a cheering crowd.
Plum’s voiceover cut through the adrenaline:
“After years off the track and more fan petitions than we could count, the greatest racing event in robot history is making its triumphant return: BATTLE & CHASE!”
The screen cut to a stunning cityscape bathed in digital fireworks, a scrolling marquee blinking 10,000,000 ZENNY GRAND PRIZE.
“That’s right!” Plum continued, posing beside a massive virtual leaderboard. “With ten million Zenny and more glory than a championship belt dipped in chrome, racers from all over the globe are suiting up for the Grand Prix of a lifetime!”
The digital display blinked, now revealing returning competitors—bright character cards showing Mega Man in his signature Rush Roadstar, Roll in her cheery Pop’n Beat, and Proto Man with arms crossed beside his sleek Red Striker.
“Returning fan-favorites and forces of nature include the mighty Mega Man in the Rush Roadstar, the ever-charming Roll in the Pop'n Beat, that mysterious man in red, Proto Man, with his turbo-charged Red Striker, the brutal Bass in the Treble Darkstar, the powerful Guts Man in the Wild Arms, the speedy Quick Man in the Sonic Formula, the chilly Ice Man in the Cool Mobile, the sneaky Shadow Man in the Shinobi Master, the enthusiastic Napalm Man in the Patriot Bomber, and the bouncy Spring Man in the Surprise Boxer! But they won't be alone on the grid this time, folks. We’ve got new challengers from all corners of the Robot World!”
Dark silhouettes of never-before-seen racers appeared onscreen, dramatic music rising in sync with each flicker.
“We’ll meet them shortly,” Plum said, gesturing to the screen. “But first, a word from our sponsors.”
The program shifted to an ad break, showcasing a robot wolf baring metallic fangs as it lunged for a rolling tire—only to morph in a flash of circuits into Rush, Mega Man’s loyal companion.
“Tired of sluggish data?” a narrator’s voice intoned. “Upgrade to LightNet—the only satellite provider with canines in orbit!”
At the heart of Mega City, deep inside the bustling halls of Light Labs, emergency lights blinked as a storm outside howled against the facility. The power grid flickered. Sparks erupted from a console with a deafening pop.
“No, no, no! We just got that fixed!” Roll’s voice rang out from the far end of the lab as she rushed toward the smoldering wreckage. Her ponytail bounced with each step.
Dr. Light stood nearby, pinching the bridge of his nose. Beside him, Mega Man scanned the damage with a quiet frown while Guts Man prodded the scorched console with a worried glance.
“This storm was a lot more aggressive than forecasted,” Dr. Light muttered.
“That’s an understatement,” Mega Man said. “We’ve lost all uplink. No system diagnostics, no robot monitoring, no external feeds.”
Guts Man scowled. “And my gym's offline!”
Roll gave him a deadpan look. “Priorities, Guts Man.”
Just then, a portable monitor flickered to life near the control station. Kalinka Cossack’s face appeared, eyes wide and voice urgent. “Uh, Dr. Light? You might want to see this...”
The screen split to show a broadcast in progress—Plum, still in high spirits, practically glowing with excitement.
“...and yes, you heard right: ten million Zenny,” she said, pointing toward the number spinning behind her. “Enough to repair an entire research facility, fund your own satellite defense system, or buy a really nice island!”
All eyes in the lab slowly turned to Dr. Light.
There was a long pause. Then—
“Rock,” Dr. Light said, calm but resolute, “get the Rush Roadstar ready.”
Elsewhere, under dim workshop lighting, Tempo LaLinde—known to the world as Quake Woman—sat hunched over a reinforced chassis, sparks flying as she welded a new stabilizer into place. Her expression was focused, her posture tense but determined.
“I wasn’t planning on entering,” she admitted, brushing oil from her cheek as the camera zoomed in. “But when Mom told me Light Labs needed support rebuilding…”
She paused, glancing toward a dusty photo nearby—herself and Roll, smiling in grease-stained uniforms.
“I owe them. So I made a few calls. This rig’s gonna quake the racetrack.”
On a sunlit hillside track, Vesper Woman—or Measure LaLinde—lounged atop a polished racer with satin ribbons tied elegantly around its frame. The air smelled faintly of lavender.
“Why am I racing?” she said, reclining with dramatic flair. “Heh, why not? It’s speed. It’s spectacle. And I get to beat the bolts out of Pharaoh Man in public again.”
She dabbed scented oil onto her servos. Her smile turned sly.
“Besides… Tempo’s doing it. Can’t let my big sister have all the fun.”
Across the world, other racers prepared in their own eccentric ways:
In the burning sands of an ancient ruin, Pharaoh Man stood amid fluttering banners, waving farewell to a fleet of insectoid drones.
“With the prize,” he said solemnly, “I shall restore the forgotten tombs of our ancestors.”
At an oil refinery, Oil Man skated across the slick floor, tightening bolts on his buggy with flair.
“I just wanna prove I ain’t slippery when it counts,” he chuckled.
And deep within a lush greenhouse garage, Plant Man tended to vines curling around the exhaust pipe of his vehicle.
“They said I was outdated,” he mused, watering the greenery with a graceful flick. “But once I cross that finish line in full floral bloom... they’ll see.”
Back in Light Labs, Roll adjusted her racing gloves, pulling them tight over her fingers as she lowered her visor. The Pop’n Beat gleamed in the background, engines quietly humming.
“It’s not about the prize money,” she said. “Not really. It’s about keeping our family safe… and okay, maybe showing Bass that style and strategy matter.”
A few meters away, Proto Man leaned against the Red Striker, arms folded and eyes hidden beneath his shades.
“Don’t expect a pep talk,” he said flatly. “I’m here to win.”
A beat passed. Then, softer—
“But they’ll need backup.”
In a shadowy fortress lit by erratic sparks and half-functioning monitors, Dr. Wily watched the broadcast with glee.
“Ten million Zenny?” he bellowed with laughter. “HA! These fools race for prize money—I race for domination! Once my Skull Machine XX hits the track, there won’t be a single bolt left standing!”
He turned to stomp triumphantly away, only to bump into a fuel drum and knock it over. The resulting explosion rocked the room behind him.
“…I meant to do that,” he muttered, brushing soot off his coat.
The Sky Circuit Stadium overflowed with energy. Robots of all shapes and designs crowded the registration booths. Engines roared. Chatter buzzed through the air.
Plum’s voice returned over the scene, swelling with anticipation.
“Racers from every nation and network are arriving. The grid is stacked. The circuits are charged. And the competition is brutal!”
A high-speed tracking shot soared across the pit lanes—Quake Woman’s Tremor Titan, still missing one rear wheel; Vesper Woman’s Nocturne Spiral humming like a lullaby; Pharaoh Man’s ancient cruiser gleaming with solar gold.
“From the icy tracks of the South Pole to the drop-offs of Talon Ridge,” Plum said, “Battle & Chase is more than a race. It’s a test of heart, code, and courage.”
The camera cut back to her. Plum straightened her posture, her expression bright.
“We’ll be covering every twist, every crash, every last-lap comeback. So charge your cores, keep your wheels spinning, and remember—”
She winked.
“—it’s not just a race. It’s a Battle & Chase!”