A.N.: Hello, guys. This is my first story published on this site. I had the idea for a crossover between No More Heroes and Metal Gear Rising, having BladeWolf as protagonist, about four or five days, during an RPG where I was RPing with him and a friend, with Margaret, and using BladeWolf's pacifist traces screwed me up more than helped...

For those who are reading based off knowledge of only one of those games or none of them, lemme explain the basics:

Metal Gear Rising takes place on a 2018 earth with over-the-top technology advancements, like highly intelligent robots (Our kind BladeWolf, for example) and cyborg technology. I like to think the whole Metal Gear franchise takes place on an earth where the Church did not destroy Alexandria library nor any other knowledge centers.

No More Heroes is a humouristic game where the protagonist — Travis Touchdown — buys a lightsaber and joins an association of assassins to cut off some heads because 'It could kick ass'. However, as story advances on the second game, he starts to think more about his choices and becomes more honoured and merciful, yet a bastard.

That's it. Hope you enjoy! o/

'What is the meaning of life? Why are we here?' asks the cyborg in a sarcastic tone.

A logic bomb. Expected. As almost every human being I confronted, questioning the extension of my intellect is an often reaction.

I quickly drag my tail to my back, grabbing throwing knives with the claws on the tip, and shoot for of them at extremely high speed.

The cyborg avoids two, and then deflects one with his sword. When he puts his right foot up, I see as he pulls the incandescent blade from the curve of his cybernectic limb.

'I am here to kill you,' I say.

'Pretty simple thinking for such a mighty intellect,' he jokes.

'Irrelevant. I may analyse orders, but I may not disobey them. Should I disobey a direct order, my memory would be wiped. I must destroy you.'

'What good is an intellect…' He pokes his temple with a finger. 'If you can't use it?'

'Your taunting is pointless. Exterminate!'

I rush against him as fast as possible, reaching a velocity of around sixty miles per hour as he simply positions his sword, parrying the strong cut of the high-frequency saw with a loud Clang. The infamous Jack the Ripper then kicks me upwards and tries a cut, opening himself for a superheated knife that goes scratching through his chest, leaving an incandescent cut where it goes through. However, the cut still lands, bouncing on my shell and throwing me away.

'Unimpressive,' I comment.

'Let me amuse you, then, doggy!' He comes after me running, his speed leaving a track of electricity through the ground where he steps. I sidestep and cut him multiple times with the saw, at which he is surprisingly able to parry the last hit perfectly, answering with a powerful uppercut that throws me ten meters away.

'Interesting,' I say, before howling and calling a Metal Gear Gekko. Not that it makes a difference, as Raiden destroys it way too quickly by slashing it to ribbons and crushing its fuel cells on his hand.

I jump against him on a final tackle, and he parries it and throws me to the ground.

A fog covers my vision as the hardware stops responding correctly. The red visor on my eyes shows the message:

AI ERROR

I cannot do anything as a flood of pain pours down on me when the cyborg comes and cuts me into pieces with his sword.

'Directive…' I say, before being hit by the last cut, only my head left in the ground, finished and sentenced to death.

'Liberate nation… Ensure freedom…'

The man stares me with an arm fold as I speak my – at least so I imagined – last words.

'Obey directive… Must obey directive. No freedom…'

Even I hear a static sound as the unconscious part of my AI brain – No, not a CPU – decides to turn me off, and starts the process.

'Freedom… Undefined.'

Before all goes blank, I can hear his reaction.

'What would an AI know about freedom?'

I am unconscious, and then I am not. Force myself stand up, wondering on what just happened. A… dream? As my artificial intelligence was based off the human brain, having to sleep is inevitable. However, dreaming was a capacity I had not expected to have.

As I wonder about this phenomenon, someone knocks the door.

'Enter.'

Who enters the room is George, a brown-haired Indian boy.

'Hi Blade Wolf.'

Basically, after my defeat by Raiden, I was spared. The Private Military Company he worked for, Maverick, then developed a new robot body, different from the original LQ-84 exoskeleton, yet still very – if not more – similar to a wolf. As to thank him, I joint him as a scout on his mission to discover Desperado – the organisation that had killed one of Maverick's agents –'s plans. We found out they had kidnapped hundreds of kids and were separating their brains from their bodies and using the brains on cyborg bodies, using the fact that kids' brains were easier to control to transform them into cheap mindless cyborg soldiers. Among them was George, who we managed to rescue before anything happened to him. The others, though, did not have the same luck and later were rescued and – given their original bodies were dead – put into more human-like bodies so they'd likely have a better life.

The organisation collapsed when all their leaders were terminated by Jack Raiden, and we went through different ways.

I went to live with Sunny – a girl rescued by Raiden from a terrible past way before that – and George, working with the girl at Solis Space & Aeronautics. Later on, she decided to go work at the Solar Institution, where the rescued cyborg kids were taught and lived at, so George and I followed obediently. To better suit the harmless environment with kids, all weapons on my body were taken off, except for my claws.

At my side are over ten beds. This is one of the dormitories, where the kids sleep peacefully. The sun did not rise yet.

'Up so soon, George?' I ask him, and then glance at a digital clock. 05:17 AM of 23\09\2019.

'Oh… Can't sleep. And look what I found.' He shows me a newspaper.

'Lie. However, show me on the outside. You can wake them up with your loud voice.' I open the door with my tail and get on the corridor. George follows.

Outside the dormitory, he hands me the newspaper.

The first page news. It's impressive already on the headline.

THIRTY SIX MURDERED FRIDAY NIGHT

36 citizens were found mysteriously quartered on the Fifth Avenue at 03:00 AM, with a message written on a building wall with their blood. The case is still under investigation.

The news then drag on, explaining how the thirty six civilians were assassinated, with a message written on blood on the wall of a building at the side, etc. Interestingly, it shows no clues of suspects nor points this fact. Alongside with the article is a colourful picture, showing the said message.

The camera is very good. Even on a small paper, the quality is perceptible.

However, it is impossible to read whatever is written there. The angle was messed with so the letters are unreadable, too close and distorted to be even discerned.

The location of the avenue, although, is extremely close to the Solar Institute.

I give it back, holding with my tail.

'What does this have to do with my coffee?' I ask.

'You're a robot. You don't drink coffee,' he says. 'Actually, you don't drink anything,' he says with a strong Indian accent. About six months ago, he used to mix Indian words with English words. However, this seems to have changed. George's English is much more fluent, albeit he's still got a strong accent.

'Expression. Meaning: Where does this affect me? Or: What does this have to do with me?'

George rolls his eyes. 'Thirty six guys killed right close from here. You told me there are been many terrorism threats and attempts around here. Doesn't this sound familiar?'

Indeed. But, if I allow George to worry with this, he'll possibly stay awake from whenever he did wake up, until midnight. And certainly cause problems.

'I doubt so. And even if there was any chance, I am not police. Maverick has put enough UGs at our guard, me included. Success chance of a terrorist attempt against the institute tends to zero. Besides, these were, as the news said, civilians.'

The boy looks at nowhere in special for a few moments, before replying.

'Okay.' He conforms himself with a sigh. The boy then puts the newspaper he brought on the desk where, at day, a coordinator would stay, doing the job given to it and watching the kids, and walks off.

'Good night, George. Sleep a few more hours,' I say, although he's gonna have to wake up again in only two hours or so.

I look at a nearby clock. It's 05:23. The sun didn't rise yet.

After George leaves, I grab the newspaper. I factually do not think the killer was from the same group that, for religious and political views, has been angrily criticizing the cyborg prosthesis since they came out and went bat-shit insane when they got to know over five hundred cyborg kids were gathered at a same institute, starting with complaints, and later threats, against the philanthropic institute that saved lives, as they used to – And still do – with blood transfusion procedures, although likely right the opposite.

Although not at all worried – That's what I say for myself –, I decide it's in my duty to show it to the directors.

Only five minutes later, I leave the institute, merely to roam through the streets. Even though Unmanned Metal Gears are all around New York as substitutes of the original police, an unknown model would have been noticed and found weird. However, it's still 5:39 from Saturday, on winter. Virtually nobody walks through the street, and so I am not noticed. The UGs do already know me, and do not react either.

However, something does be different. A large – around twenty square meters – area of the fifth avenue has police lines, and a tall block that makes it difficult to see whatever is there from the middle of the street. There is blood on the ground.

A… murder?

No. It's a too large area.

Rather, it looks like over forty people were killed here.

I cut the lines with my claws and enter the area, stepping on the blood and looking at the message on the wall.

DEATH TO IGNORANCE

I walk to the middle of the crime scene to get a better look at it. The blood is just too fresh for that to be the same crime scene from yesterday.

I hear a sequence of heavy steps approaching me. When I turn around, an UG Gekko is right behind, being vertically bisected by a black-haired young man who falls cutting it with a… Light saber? As he lands, he presses a button on the hold cylinder, deactivating the beam.

'So, a great art masterpiece, isn't it? Whaddya think?' he asks.

'This was unnecessary,' I say, initially referring to the UG's destruction. 'The three things.' Now referring to the whole two rampages, plus the Gekko.

'C'mon, I'm at your side!' He offers me the hand for a shake. 'I am Travis Touchdown. What about you, Hachiko-san? Where I come from, there aren't many talking robots.' Travis smiles like there was nothing wrong with this. However, some coldness on his look makes me know he knows well the impact of what he's been doing.

I don't even look at his hand. 'I am IF Prototype LQ-84i, nicknamed Blade Wolf.'

'IF Prototype?' He seems confused.

'Interface Prototype. An additional prototype interface enables verbal communication.'

He then notices I do not shake his hand and crosses his arms, willing to keep the pose.

'Huh. Interesting.'

'I would prefer that you'd not kill any people. The Solar Institute is already infamous enough as it is, despite the philanthropy on its foundation. We do not need such kind of… Contributors.'

Travis shrugs, looking at the corpses and then proceeding to turn back to me with a somewhat snazzy look to his face.

'Well, too bad,' he says. 'What's done is done.'

'Still,' I respond. 'Do not kill anyone nearby. Things were already bad as they were.'

Travis sighs.

'Argh. What's your problem? If you don't like deaths, don't get fucking involved!'

'I am afraid this is impossible. I'll ask you for the last time: Stop killing people.'

Travis grabs his saber, reactivating it. 'Or else? What are you gonna do, eh?'

I stare him longly before answering.

'In this case, I would have to stop you by force.'

The young man smiles. 'This is getting interesting. Get over here, let me see the insides of a robot!' he grabs the sword and enters a fighting stance.

That's exactly when a blast of plasma comes and hits Travis on his back.

A.N.: Yeeeeah, I know. Travis stepped on three land mines, then survived quite a few concussion grenades, got barrage-shot by two overpowered revolvers and still killed the guy. But... We also have this little guy called Mister Sir Henry Motherfucker that manages to kill him "simply" by twice uppercutting him into a mind-blowing stomp with a lightsaber below the foot, opening a crater on the earth, so... I guess a blast of plasma that could likely destroy a tank... Is enough to get him unconscious or weak for a minute or two. :p

Besides that... This chapter was a pain to write. I took like three days, perhaps a bit more, writing, and finished it right now...

Well, I don't need to have you read my sorrows now. :p 'Till the next chapter, newfags! Go read some Blackdragon41 (I recommend his stories Hero's Bane and 57 Under) and Cloudhead (I recommend his stories Sea-Salt Stories and Heroics)! o/