Chapter 1
August 15, 2099-Washington D.C.
He watched the drones flying their predictable patterns outside of The White House walls. According to intel, Wily should be in his workspace, in the Calligraphy Room. Same time every night.
His red boots crept, quietly, across the front lawn, carefully avoiding the buried landmines and circling eagle drones. On the southwest side of the East Wing, he located the Boiler Access. The boiler itself hadn't been used in decades, but the other machinery inside was still used, frequently.
The fusion launchers, mounted into the tops of his red gloves, were modified with sound dampeners. This made blowing a hole in the lock no problem for him. Scanning the room, through his jet black, eye visor, he noted the alternating heat lasers down the corridor. He had practiced this hundreds of times, back at Light Tower, but the real thing still gave him a nervous feeling. One small mistake and he would be "Proto-pieces" on the floor.
He counted down the pattern, and dashed forward, between the first set of lasers, immediately dropping to the floor, he rolled under the next. Pulling up his flowing, yellow neck cloth, he flipped off one foot through the horizontal-moving beams. After more running, ducking and sliding, he emerged, in one piece, into the Machinery Room.
If the scouts were correct, the large heating regulator, on the far left side of the room, should filter in, linking to the First Lady's Office. He undid the bolts, and ripped open the sheet metal on it's side, revealing a grated, ventilation hole underneath. Pulling up the grate, he hopped inside, crawling through the narrow shaft. A small ray of light shone down on his red helmet. The white curved trim beamed in contrast to the dark visor over his eyes. "Dr. Light," He said, over his comms, "I'm in."
"Good work, Protoman, remember, if things go south, head for the rendezvous point. Stick to the plan, and it should be smooth sailing, though." Light replied.
He crawled out of the duct, underneath a padded, resting bench. There were two rows of security droids, lined up in "standby" mode. He counted ten in total, and they blocked his way to the hallway door. This was looking bad, these sentries weren't listed on the initial report. He stayed crouched by the bench, the slightest noise or movement would alert them. He needed to think fast. He charged fusion launchers, and pointed both fists at the back two droids' heads. When he fired the fusion discs, they simultaneously went through the ranks, piercing all of their heads, and dropping them...all but one, who was only grazed, when shifting its view. It fell to the floor, where he quickly stabbed it's skull, with his tactical knife.
The alarms cut the silence, making him jump. "Shit!" he said, thinking of what to do next.
"Proto, you still have time." Light said, "Get to Wily, before reinforcements arrive, and he retreats to his bunker!"
Tracy came through next, "No! Get the hell out of there! You can still get through the Maintenance Hatch, unseen, Scott!"
"I'll be fine." He replied, "Wily is right down the hall, I'm gonna make a break for it."
She started to object, but he cut her off, "It's all or nothing now, Tron. We've come this far, and he'll just retaliate if we can't stop him."
He opened the door, shooting down waves of bat drones, getting battered by a few. He reached for his belt, grabbing the four inch, cylindrical handle, pulling it free. It had a curved, white and red, diamond-shaped, knuckle shield to guard his hand in the front. Activating a thumb sensor, it extended from the top, becoming a sword-like baton. With impressive speed, he began beating away at approaching gearbots and patrol drones.
Rounding the corner, leaving sparking piles of twitching machines in his wake, their lay an army of security droids, on either side of him. Flicking his thumb, the bottom of his handle also extended, arming him with a staff now. He spun himself, twirling it around his waist, slapping back the front ranks, before lashing out at the heads of the bots to his left. Avoiding blaster fire, he twisted his way around to the back of the group, keeping from getting surrounded. When the storm of bolts came in, he flicked his thumb one more time, expanding the knuckle guard into a full-body shield. The fusion rounds deflected back on their senders, filling the hallway with a burning stench.
Using his free hand, he blasted the lock to the Calligraphy Room and threw open the door. He scanned the room, while firing on the stray droids that followed him in. Wily wasn't there, only his hulking General, in his red boots and gloves. He swung to fire, but Gutsman was, surprisingly, quick, grabbing his arm. He flipped Protoman to the floor, causing him to drop his shield, which retracted back to it's handle form. Guts kicked him in the sternum, flipping him several times, into a wall, cracking it. Before he could level out his vision, he was picked up by the throat and punched, repeatedly. He raised his fusion launcher to try and get in a cheap shot, but the large android ripped the helmet from his head, causing his weapons to go offline. Gutsman slammed him to the floor, ripping his nanosuit open.
He had gotten his sense of direction back, when the door pushed open. It was Curtis Wily, who was obviously frustrated. He shut off the alarms and approached Guts, "He got this close?" He asked looking down at him.
"Sir, he has very advanced gear and a lot of intel on our headquarters." Guts replied.
Wily, holding back his rage, said, "You know who sent him, and you know what we have to do now." He pointed to Protoman, "Throw this one in the compactor and meet me in my office."
Gutsman grinned, picking him up like a rag doll. He escorted him down to the very same Machinery Room that he had come in through. He tossed Protoman on the floor like a bag of garbage, while admiring his helmet. He was waiting for the current compactor cycle to finish, when he spoke, "You know, if it weren't for King Wily's foul mood, I could have just killed you on the spot. Made it quick." He looked at the malfunctioning Protoman, "Shame you have to go like this, it's a nasty thing, being crushed. I bet it would be amazing to see, though."
The doors opened and Guts picked him up, "If it's any consolation, your parts will be shipped to Pennsylvania, to repair other droids. I think humans call it 'organ donors'." Protoman only twitched, with dead eyes. "Shit, I may have done you a favor, with that beating." And with that, he tossed him in, closing the doors, and pressing "activate".
Protoman, falling down the shaft, turned in mid-air, landing on his feet. He looked around quickly, he didn't have much time, and without his helmet or shield hilt, he was almost powerless. He started, frantically, digging a hole into the floor of scrap metal. The compactor edged closer, as he dug faster. At the last second he rolled into the shallow grave, and closed his eyes, tight. The compactor pushed hard on him, as he absorbed the pain, and held back a scream. Then the pressure stopped, and reversed. When it raised high enough to get to the door, he tied a heavy piece of metal to his yellow cloth, and tossed it through the opening, climbing out.
Without his visor, he couldn't see the land mines, and the parole drones still circled. At least the Alpha Classes weren't still out, Guts must have bought his "beaten senseless" act. He carefully crossed the grass, listening for the faint hums of the traps, and avoiding sentries. It was a slow process, but he would make it back, no matter what.
Hunkered inside the Lincoln Memorial, he waited for the Pick-up Team. It hasn't been that long, he thought. If they left, they should, at least, be coming back. So he hid...for three days, before making a walk into the city, to steal some plain clothes.
Four Months Later
Tracy Bonne sat at her desk, looking out, across her lab. She had no desire to work, raids and scouting missions had slowed down, substantially, since their "leader" had detached himself, mentally. What the hell is he doing in there? She thought. Then she decided, she didn't care. Light had sent her brother to his death, even if he was an android, he was her brother to the core. And now she had to mourn him a second time. The news spread that Wily had killed his son. Alex was an okay guy, but no one even asked how she was feeling.
Her personal comms chimed, snapping her out of the daze. She put the pad on the table and activated it. An extremely poor image of static appeared, but she could almost make out Scott's face. The static was heavy, "Holy shit...works! Tron? Can...hear me?"
She was shocked, "Scott?" she managed to whisper.
"Listen, I...much time. I esc...House...team was gone...about something...Atlas Ca...you to get m...Chesap...ay...in Vir...Don't tell anyone!" The transmission cut out, as she bolted out the door, never to return to Light Tower...as an employee.