Boy, all these fast
food places sound good. Still, you need to pick one, so you decide on
the chain that's given you food poisoning the least number of time:
McDonald's. Here's hoping this run doesn't result in another tie.
It seems like you've been traveling forever. It might be nice to get out
of the car and stretch for a bit. Sure, it might raise a commotion when
you introduce three Lincolns into the McDonald's, but that's a risk
you're willing to take. The patrons will probably just think you're on
your way to a Lincoln convention, and that you're the spoilsport who
wouldn't go in costume. You can live with that. You pull into the
nearest spot and herd your Lincolns into the building.
Not much going on
inside the McDonald's. A couple patrons looks up from their greasy meals
to regard you briefly before returning to their food. The bleary-eyed
high school students working the registers don't pay you much attention
either. Excellent, so far so good. Now all that remains is to find out
what the Lincolns want to... eat, presumably. The robots are probably
just curious as to what it's like to eat something, other than the souls
of passing children. You turn around to ask, and notice that you are one
Lincoln short of a flock. Huh. You were sure you got them all out of the
car. Maybe No-glasses Lincoln went to the bathroom. Before you can
dismiss the idea of robots using the bathroom, the buzzer on the frying
vat goes off. It sure doesn't smell like fresh French fries, though, and
when you look in that direction, you see why:
No-glasses Lincoln has
surprised you yet again, this time by making a game out of sticking his
head in the fryer's bubbling oil. He raises his head out of the vat and
calmly walks toward you, oblivious to the confused look of the
pizza-faced worker he pushed aside. "Why the Fraggle Rock did you do
that, No-glasses!?"
"I needed oil to replenish my supplies. I detected a large volume in the
vicinity of that young lad with the bad complexion, but it turned out to
be impure oil."
"Ya think?" you chide as the robot's head slowly turns brown. This one's
probably the fake robo-Abe, you muse. Surely a president couldn't be
this stupid. You notice that the No-glasses' fried forehead is beginning
to take on a certain look. Almost like a map.
Great Scott! It looks
just like a map of Chicago! A small, star-shaped blemish forms near the
Navy Pier. Could that be the very location of the missing Jefferson-bot?
Possibly, but even if it isn't, you don't have any other leads. Plus,
it'll give you a chance to ride the big ferris wheel.
"Alright team, we're
setting a course for Chicago. To the Lincoln!"
"Well, that's all fine and dandy," says Glasses Lincoln, "but perhaps we
should get some help before we head in that direction. Let's just say I
know a certain rail-splittling monument that could really turn the
tides."
You don't have time for
Glasses' perverse innuendo. Trek Lincoln chimes in and reminds you that
it might be a good idea to get the oil changed in No-glasses. Curse him
and his Vulcan logic! No-glasses starts up with a suggestion of his own,
but you shut him down by threatening to rename him "roadmap Lincoln."
Now then, you've got to decide on a plan, keeping in mind that any of
these Lincolns could be a fake, bent on foiling your plans. Even dumbass,
fried-head Lincoln.
