--
I hate whoever made us like this.
Able to love, and just as unable as humans to accept the consequences of our love.
If I was thinking rationally, I would leave.
I'm not even sure what I'm trying to achieve by staying. I just can't bring myself… to walk away. Maybe she'll kill me, and I won't have to.
I suppose I feel responsible.
I'm sitting in the rain, on the ruins of our house -this used to be a wall. She'll come back here, I know it.
Knowing it is making me jumpy.
She'll be here soon.
I dread seeing her again; I can't wait for the waiting to be over. I look nervous; in other circumstances I'd be embarrassed of myself, looking up every second like a teenager awaiting their first date, fearful of being jilted.
Look from a distance: I'm sitting in the rubble of my house, mostly hidden from the road by another ruin, almost monolithic. My head is down, I'm despondent. My hair is flattened to my face, water soaked through my clothes long ago. I don't feel the cold much, and I don't notice it at all now.
I shake my head as a drop of water runs into my eyes. Then, again, I'm a statue.
I see movement. She's here!
--
Bain is my soul-mate; I've been convinced of it for years. She laughs at me when I'm sentimental like that; she doesn't believe in such things. Still, she humours me, smirking and making affectionately scornful comments, but laughing, and –although she's too proud to admit it- flattered.
(And the memory of her laugh stabs through me like a dagger; I try to swallow down the lump in my throat)
She looks older than me, and acts so too. She has an… assertive… nature, and that comes out when she's with me.
We've lived together for nearly seven years, half of my lifetime. I'm older than her, and I've known her since a year or so after her activation.
She was created as a teacher, and given an appearance that her creators thought suited the role. She looks almost middle-aged, although, of course, we reploids are ageless in terms of appearance, with aquiline features and dark brown hair clipped back severely. Her face isn't lined, but it's angular and stern, and the impression is of someone you wouldn't want to argue with.
Her creators were unusual people by all accounts, and they saw no harm in making her to a design with none of the normal idealistic features of the average reploid. Nor did they see any harm in calling her Bain (apparently none of them knew that Bane was a boy's name and 'bain' was French for bath). But she suits the name (pronounced 'bay-n', not 'ban') and the appearance, so it's never really bothered her.
Not on the surface, at least. I don't quite think she shrugs it off as easily as she appears to.
I've given up being protective when people mock her name: when she's riled enough to challenge people who laugh at her – she prefers to ignore them, with a proud, haughty look that makes her face harsh and masks whatever she feels at their words - she's far more able to out-argue them than I.
She's not the kind to care whether she meets people's expectations, nor will she follow a trend except for its own sakes.
…She's not as imposing as she looks, at least when you get to know her.
I did.
(Bain had given in to tears, she was crying; hysterical sobs shaking her body. I held her. Nothing to say, words failed me. But at least I was there for her. There's something to be said from that, I suppose)
Her company's contract got terminated, and they had no need for a teacher reploid. They kept her around, but when the company went broke six months later they had no choice but to sell her.
Eventually she found her way to Tokyo, robotics capital of the world, and Cain labs. She had developed a cynical attitude and self-assured, almost arrogant persona. But under that… she was the most insecure person I'd ever met.
I got to know her… and helped her keep her job after an incident occurred. She was terrified of being fired, more than seemed rational.
She began to confide in me. Over a period of months, I learned her story.
No, I'm not saying. That's for her to tell, if she wants to.
But yes, I got to know her, and we fell in love.
It sounds idealistic, and it wasn't just like that. It would make a beautiful story, but I couldn't tell it now, while I'm still losing her and the memories hurt so much. Accept that we did, and she moved into my house from the flat she'd be staying. Of course, being reploids, we couldn't act on our desires, but I'd still call us lovers, in a pure sense of the word.
After all, we can't get married and be called proud husband and wife. There is no sacrament for a reploid couple.
No, the church decrees that the purpose of marriage is ultimately for a couple to create the perfect environment in which to raise children, and since reploids obviously can't, we have no need to marry.
Never mind that we had all the instincts and desires of human couples; never mind we wanted to prove our commitment to each other in the way only marriage could.
Like I said, I hate whoever made us like this.
No… I don't really. It's stress speaking; this fiasco, this tragedy playing out now, is giving me some of my partner's harshness, attitudes I've picked up from her.
She's coming.
--
We saw each other as she turned the corner and entered each other's line of sight. I could see the changes being Maverick had made to her.
She was standing confidently, but not aggressively. I noticed she was wearing armour, something very unusual for her. She was staring at me, fixing me with her most direct look.
I met her eyes. With Bain, it's her face that attracts attention, far more than her –mediocre, someone speaking more objectively than I can would say- figure or anything else. She has a way of looking at you directly, a gaze that demands return.
I could see a… hardness, determination, in her face; I'd that look before, when she was angry and resolute. When she was scared and trying not to let it show.
I looked away. Her eyes were so dark they were black, but looking at them now there seemed to be something different. It wasn't a change I could define, but I didn't need to. She was Maverick.
I looked at the rest of her. Her armour was black and grey (she'd almost never worn it, and I could see why; it didn't suit her image of herself - she looked more comfortable in street clothes). Someone had made some changes to it, I realised – probably weapons.
More obvious was her hair, let down from the bun that was its normal state of existence. It hung in a long plait from the back of her helmet almost to the ground. Her creators, she told me, had wanted to copy the hunter Zero's hair, but in black. They'd failed, or she didn't want to look like Zero, so she always kept her hair tied strictly up in a bun. It looked nice down, I thought absently.
"You waited for me…" She sounded sad, she wished I hadn't.
"You should have gone…" Her voice became darker, rich with suppressed emotion "You know it's too late to save me"
Her head was bowed; we can't cry, but if we could there would be tears on both our faces. I stood up, legs stiff with inaction, the rain trickling down my back, and moved over to her. Bain suddenly jerked back from me, looking up as she did so.
Her eyes were narrowed, full of an almost animal alarm.
A second later, she recovered herself. I'd moved back in shock (not noticing it, I'd been too startled by her reaction), and we looked at each other again.
"See…?" She laughed humourlessly, the sound curiously brittle. "Go away," Sadly, softly, devastatingly final. Her heart must have been breaking as much as mine.
--
I felt like it was my fault, like I had failed by letting it happen to her.
In a way, I had.
I couldn't have done anything!
Not doing anything condemned her; you betrayed her through inaction.
--
She was ahead of me, the both of us running. Bain was more agile than I, though we were both still far below the level of physical aptitude of a Hunter or other military-spec reploid. Needless to say, either of us was far superior to a human athlete.
Mavericks! Get out of the area!
Turning a corner, a road we walked every day on the way to work (a place that didn't look like, Bain stopped with a suddenness that alarmed me; I slowed to a walk, starting to call out and ask what was wrong.
She glanced back at me, her face alarmed.
"Hide!" She hissed.
As commanded, I moved to behind a wall, confusion leaving me uncertain and thus submissive to her.
Someone came into my line of sight. My heart stopped.
Sigma.
Bain shifted as if she was going to run, changed her mind, and stood (her back was to me, but I could picture her expression of wary defiance) facing the Maverick general.
I wondered - the part of me not overwhelmed with concern for Bain - what the Maverick overlord was doing here. I confess, I don't know more than anyone else about the Mavericks and Hunters, but I wouldn't have expected to see their leader out whatever hidden headquarters they have.
Sigma approached Bain. I saw her move slightly back, defensive instincts (Not that we have instincts, you say. Fine, call it a reflex.) kicking in. He was over a foot taller than her, and she looked up, into the infamous reploid's eyes.
Almost lazily, he drew his beam sabre, but she spoke before he ignited it.
"Are you going to kill me? I thought your crusade was against humans." Her voice sounded jarringly fake to me, an oh-so-brave front she was putting on.
He didn't activate the weapon, I breathed out, realised I'd clenched my fists painfully tight.
"And you're not trying to defend the humans? You should have run" The Maverick's voice was scornful, but he didn't seem to be about to kill her, at least.
"Then I you'll let me go…?" She looked down, and I could picture her face change from defiant to a look of supplication, almost-pleading.
"Why should I?" His voice had adopted the mocking tone of a cat playing with a mouse, and I imagined a hundred of Bain's angry responses, but none that would get her into safety.
Don't provoke him!
But Bain was proud, and clever, and oh gods, no, she'd argue with him, the most feared reploid in the world; he'd kill her without a second thought and she's going to debate in her arrogant, crazy attitude that got her into trouble back before…
My train of thought – OK, my hysteria - was cut into by the Maverick's voice, baiting Bain.
"Give me one good reason for me to let you run back to the Hunters and your happy life as a slave. Death would be preferable to any sane reploid."
"Define slave" Bain's voice was controlled, not angry, she looked back up at the imposing figure in front of her.
He shifted, deciding to play the game, Bain arguing for her life and he in absolute control of it.
He's evil, Bain! Insane. Deranged. A violent mass-murderer. Do you really think he'll let you go? You, with your cynical out look on life, believing the best of public enemy number one?
I suppose this is better than giving up and surrendering, being killed like an animal.
He spoke.
"Fine, not slave. Second-Class citizen. Reploids hold no political power and almost no financial power. Even your dear Hunter heroes can not hold citizenship of any country and legally we all have fewer rights than animals."
He moved back imperceptibly, like a chess player waiting for an opponent's move. Her back was to me…
"In human society we are second class." She acknowledged. I remembered her telling me this, her theory, her argument, before. I remembered my (and our colleagues') appalled reaction at her casually…Maverick (the recollection made me uneasy)… viewpoint.
"And humans will never accept us as equals. We are not equals. We have the potenential to exceed human achievements in every area. That is why they view us as such a threat; why they fear us. The only sensible course of action from here, though, is to become independent of them and from our own culture, with no humans to hold us back. They are obsolete.
"However, we don't need to fight them to prove our superiority, only to exceed their achievements in every relevant area. That should be easy."
We'd debated that, Bain and I. But she believed in it so strongly that I always ended up conceding, either because we'd argue forever, neither convincing the other, or because – I wouldn't admit it – I was swayed by her arguments.
Now, she recited her viewpoint with practised clarity and with the conviction of someone who believes utterly what they are saying. There was an undertone of fear in her voice, but shaky determination was there too. She was proud of her composure, of how she could keep her voice steady whatever she was feeling inside.
What could she possibly achieve by this debate?
Silence followed this. When Sigma (the household name can't begin to convey the regal presence of him in person; he almost demands a capital – He, like a king or god or demon lord) opened his mouth to speak I thought for one crazy moment he'd say she was absolutely right, and reform the Mavericks and live happily ever after.
Of course not. Optimists fall harder when their dreams are shattered.
"I don't see you living independently of them" He didn't sound scornful, exactly. The scorn was implied.
"Maybe not yet. My point is that reploids' superiority can better be proved by non-violent means." Not yet. She wasn't planning independence any time soon, and I knew it; Sigma could guess it.
"You don't believe that the United Nations would let you set up an independent state." It wasn't a question. He said you, not us. Would. Conditional tense. He didn't think she'd do it. She was losing the battle.
Not that she ever had a chance.
"Less violent means. It would work better than fighting the hunters and earning the animosity of normal reploids. Most of them would like the idea of an independent reploid state.
"The problem with the Mavericks is that they don't have the people on their side; if they had been more careful in how they dealt with normal reploids they could be a far more effective force."
Bain… don't talk to him like that.
Word's I've spoken so often, but normally referring to someone she was intimidating, who she was giving the impression she was unstable or Maverick. It didn't seem right that she should be in this situation, it was surreal (but at the same time, very real and terrifying and how could she get of this in one piece?)
"Oh really? You think that you could do a better job of getting people to like my people than we are?" I cringed; please please don't kill my dear Bain, please don't please don't please…
Repeating the words in my head until they became utterly meaningless, so I almost missed the next part of the exchange.
"Hm." Bain would be smiling in a half-sarcastic way, deciding whether to mock your question or answer seriously… and then, alarm, as the subtext of Sigma's question became belatedly clear to me. Bain!
"Well, it would be pretty hard to be worse… but, nah, I'd be crap at it" Her voice was fake-sounding again, falsely casual.
But Sigma wasn't listening; the tone of a radio signal told us that, and he listened and gave a series of terse instructions: then get him there! I don't care. Call in the others. I know. Yes, I will. Are you questioning me! Good. Sigma; out.
He turned his attention back to Bain, who was –with the complete control she used under pressure- still holding herself composed. At least, she looked composed from behind, to the one who knew her best.
"Pity, our conversation ends now." His voice sounded sincere, or, at least, lacking the irony it had held before: "Would you rather die or turn Maverick?"
I couldn't see Bain's expression, and, for the first time in this stand-off, I couldn't judge what it would be. There was silence for a few seconds that seemed like an age, then she turned and ran, bolting like a frightened hare, towards where I was.
She got maybe two steps. Sigma reached out, grabbed her by her head and lifted her straight up, pinning her legs with an effortless movement of his other hand as she kicked out.
I had half-stood behind my wall, unconsciously defensive, as if I was going to charge him or try and fight.
But… as I said before, I'm a coward. I crouched back down, feeling sick with shame and fear.
He held her still with no apparent effort, lifted her up to his eye level.
There was complete silence, a tableau image in tense silence.
Finally, Bain spoke, voice choked, defiant:
"Just do whatever you're going to do, you sadist…"
--
So now she was standing in front of me, lost. I wanted to cry, or scream, or challenge the Mavericks to fight me and howl at the sky like a wolf under the moon.
But I just stood there, rain trickling through my hair and making me shiver as it ran down my back.
"Bain… I should have helped you. I was a coward" My admission of guilt. I was looking down, and my wet hair went in my eyes. I half-closed them.
She shook her head, a twisted smile on her face. One hand reached out and touched my cheek, her cold fingers the most comforting gesture that there could have been.
"You ought to leave now…"
And the most gut-wrenching, the one that cut deepest.
She didn't deny my cowardice, how could she have? But she didn't even consider blaming me. For a second I became angry at her, that I should feel she had been gracious… it was her pride and strength of character that had lead to her – not being killed.
I cut myself off. To even consider blaming her for this, however painful the situation, was despicable. She was the victim.
"Don't be naïve like me… Get out of here. I'm too far gone!" We stood still, her voice in a crescendo, almost shouting by the end with a vehemence that signified, for Bain, a lack of control.
Me, numb, helpless but stoically taking her words, her pain, and waiting for rationality to return to her.
"Don't be naïve! It's not easy, you know, to keep still, to keep talking like nothing's wrong like I can be who I was; this… it's, it's… I'm trying, trying to be strong and let you go." And her voice waned again, the angry strength leaving it.
Her hand returned to my cheek, stroked down it and I reached out and held it in my own hands, her gloved hand small in mine.
"I want you back. Don't tempt me, you're better than me. Go. Live a normal life, forget, forget, Be happy. Let go, let go… I've never been worth it…" Her voice was almost inaudible, words costing her too much or maybe breaking out against her will. Needing to be said. I'd leaned closer to listen but she reached out, pushing me, with no force other than the symbolic.
I moved back, being even more weakened by her words than she was. I should go, she said. She gives up her chances of - what? Companionship in her Maverick state? She was… tempted to turn me to her new allegiance.
But she wanted something better for me. She wanted a happy life for me.
"Silly Bain… a life without you could never be happy…" I squeezed her hand, reassuring, I hoped. It wasn't; it hurt her more and I knew it as soon as I did it.
"I should have let him kill me… I was naive. Stupid."
Naïve again. She'd said it before. Why.
But, reviewing the scene for the thousandth time, I realised why. What I'd seen and pretended not to notice before: Bain's speeches had all lead to the concept of Maverickism, leading Sigma towards the choice to make her Maverick.
But she'd run away.
She knew she wouldn't get away… maybe… she did it to reassure me.
Bain didn't want to be a Maverick.
Indeed, the concept of being in anything other than complete control over her decisions was repugnant to Bain.
But it was still better to her than being dead…
Whatever… I thought. So what if she had chosen to live.
I can always forgive my Bain, my love.
"You're you… I can always forgive you." I said it alive. Wanted her to know that, before whatever end in store for us came to pass.
"You should go… Be happy. You'll find… someone else." Her voice was faltering. She didn't believe it. She thought I did.
Maybe I should go, turn my back, give up on her. But I'd waited for her here, and…
I wanted to stay with her.
I… The thought of going, leaving the ruins of our house and the ruins of our life was terrible. I couldn't bring myself to walk away.
She stood there, one of her hands held in both of mine, looking down.
She seemed as beautiful to me as she had ever been, and all the mixed emotions in my head, confusion and fear and pity and overwhelming sadness, brought me to one conclusion.
"I could never leave you." And I believed it as I said it, and she believed me.
"But…" She started to protest. I put my arms around her, one hand touching the long braid of hair down her back. My head on her shoulders, her armour hard against it, slick with rain, and her arms reaching up.
I'd stay with her.
We stood in a silent embrace, the rain the only movement in the tableau.
I felt weak, all my willpower spent through the stress and turmoil of the day, and maybe it was only her stable body keeping me upright, anchoring her.
She was saying something, voice subdued.
The meanings of the words slipped away from me, mind hazy, non-coherent.
Noise, sounding distant. Something… an alarm. Something else, Bain. Words sounded distant too, and I felt disconnected from it all.
Nothing made sense, and I became scared. My head hurt, and I tried to move, talk, and say something to the person with me. There was someone, wasn't there?
An alarm was in my head… Alert. Something important…
A warning.
… It fell silent.
--
Mako.