Alright, here begins installment two of Recovery! To those who are first-time readers, this is the second part of a story series. The first story, Recovery: Birth, should be read first and can be found in my profile. I am not going to provide a synopsis; I do not believe in those. This isn't a television episode and I'm not wasting a precious chapter on it.
This, like the first story, was co-written with Laryna6.
Capcom owns the Mega Man franchise, not us, and we are not making any profit from it.
They say that there is a calm before the storm, an electric anxiety that pervades the atmosphere, putting man and beast alike on edge. Very few ever mention the calm afterthe storm, when all is quiet and everyone is just cringing, waiting for it to whip back into a fury once again. Even when everything is clear, it's not over. Because after a storm, everything has to be picked up and put back in order. The rebuilding process is even more draining than the fit itself because it is during that time that all pains must be addressed. Everything must be righted for a strong foundation for the future.
Maybe that's what was making this so hard.
It's not that he didn't want to be doing this: it was quite the opposite. For the last six months, he'd fought tooth and nail and his bioroids were still alive. They had a hard time looking at him with any degree of trust—some of them could barely stand his presence, their disgust was so overwhelming. But they were alive. The legal circus wasn't nearly over and his lawyer was profiting from his exposure in the media just as much as from Light's legal bills, but he'd managed to keep Rock, Roll, and the other six away from the commotion as much as he could. There were a few months, right after it ended, where there were half a dozen squad cars patrolling the stretch of road that led to his main lab complex. Police guards stationed at all hours to keep the zealous away.
There'd been death threats.
There'd been marriage proposals.
He felt like no one was even grasping the point of this whole thing.
The rights issues, the humane treatment issues, that the hospitals deliberately lied to him and his company. That this was an act of final desperation, that they'd been grasping at any chance they'd had to live. That they had no other choice.
All of that was blown over (or swept under the rug, depending on how you looked at it) with the media's sensationalist tendencies. They'd focused instead on how dangerous bioroids were, how irresponsible it was to arm them with such powers ("Who armed them?" Roll had yelled when she saw that on TV. Before capturing them, they'd had absolutely no data on the abilities. They weren't supposed to be able to do any of that.).
Then there was the matter of the doctors and medical staff that was infected. There was no way to cure them that Dr. Light could discern. The nanites were flawlessly integrated into every single system in their bodies. Removing them would be like trying to remove all their cells, or something equally nonsensical. They'd been irrevocably changed.
At least the scare about the idea of "rogue bioroids" on the loose had mostly died down. People were still aware that those children were unaccounted for, but no news meant no viewers, so the media stopped reporting on it in favor of something more scandalous. Something more shocking.
They'd spent their first few weeks in the Lab complex. Dr. Light was surprised that they'd come out almost immediately, even if it was only two of them, but none requested to see him, or to speak to him. They'd kept to themselves mostly at first. Roll had taken great care to prepare their room and the video feeds from Rock and Roll were fascinating to watch. A group of six humans, especially six same-gendered humans, would have separated into their own, private areas in the space. The beds would have been pulled apart and territories would have been claimed. The entire room remained communal. They didn't even necessarily sleep in the same spot every night.
Fascinating as it was, watching how closely they stuck together left Dr. Light with a bittersweet feeling. They didn't trust him, not at all, and some of them barely trusted Rock and Roll. Them joining together like that could be because they considered themselves centered in an enemy base rather than because it was how they preferred it.
But Blues hadn't liked sleeping alone, either.
Then of course, came the trial. The authorities came and moved the six to an "evidence locker" to be held in until the trial. They did not want Dr. Light tampering with the bioroids to make his company look better. Roll didn't know which to be angrier about, that they honestly thought Dr. Light might alter things or that her brothers, who are people, were being treated like a gun in a murder investigation!
Naturally, handling the bioroids like items, like Dr. Light's property, his weapons, was ethically much simpler than portraying them for what they were: a group of six people who'd been so abused, so tortured, that pushing back was the only way they could have survived.
The containment wasn't as comfortable as their accommodations in his labs. Their diet was restricted, kept to a bare minimum to keep them healthy, but not providing them with extra nutrients and minerals to activate their abilities. Even exposure to sunlight was rationed.
At least they were being allowed it, unlike the hospitals.
He felt terrible. He should be able to do something to protect them from this. He'd created them, they were his responsibility.
He'd failed them at every turn.
At least they were being kept in the same room, and they'd let Roll insist on providing the same blankets and pillows. At least they let Rock and Roll visit, even if the conversations were likely monitored. At least the joke about Roll smuggling in a key in a pie had only been a joke, and they'd let her bring food provided it was ordinary food.
Everything was scanned after that joke, though.
It couldn't have been good for their morale, but not one of them seemed surprised by this move. They all just accepted it. They'd allowed the soldiers to constrain them for contained transport, even though it must have been uncomfortable. Some of the soldiers were a bit antsy. They weren't the same ones that had come with from hospital to hospital. They wanted as little contact with the bioroids as possible. Misinformation was everywhere, especially online. Anyone with the 'net and five minutes could dig up a wealth of falsities. Fantastic lies. Saying the bioroids could infect with a touch, assimilate humans, turn them into mindless slaves. Saying the bioroids were vampires or zombies, masquerading as living beings that could feel, could care.
Every word of it undermined Dr. Light's efforts, every step of the way. It sickened him.
At least Roll still looked after him, and grumbled on his behalf as much as her brothers'. At least Rock tried to cheer him up, to comfort him, and he didn't know whether or not Rock knew.
He hoped he didn't know, about his accidental namesake, but what if he found out? The information was everywhere: Roll had to know.
Seeing that shock and horror on his face...
Dr. Light had to sit down. He could hear Roll in the kitchen, busying herself with dinner. Even if it hadn't been a conscious decision, wasn't that what both Rock and Roll were becoming? More than test subjects, more than people. Dr. Light couldn't deny that they'd become part of his family in the past year. And now, their own fates could very well be decided by the precedent set at the outcome of this trial.
He'd had Rock delete all of the borrowed weapon designs, even the armor design, although he'd kept a copy of that, and the disabling weapon. Those two were simple protection, and a weapon only useful against bioroids.
It was a wise move; he didn't want it to look like Rock or Roll was dangerous toward humans. Someone leaked photos of an exhausted Rock curled in a soldier's arms to the media, and the press went wild. It was some much-needed positive publicity. They needed to understand that despite being a bioroid, despite being the one that risked himself time and again to help everyone, he was still a child. Children were hard to hold to any blame, and he hoped that that sympathy would hold fast.
The visits with their brothers helped, too. They were concerned for them. They were worried, they wanted them to be safe and happy. Concern, humanness. Even if the media wasn't allowed anywhere near the containment center for the six, the fact that Rock and Roll were visiting like someone would visit normal prisoners….
You couldn't visit evidence in an evidence locker, but you could visit people.
Maintaining their personhood would be the hardest obstacle of all.
Since he himself had done so much to undermine it. If they could be reduced to things, tools, then they would be safe to use. Lives could be saved.
And, if they were things, tools, then they couldn't be blamed for what had happened, now could they? Even some people arguing not to destroy them were taking that approach. After all, they were designed to prioritize human health, and then their human bodies were stored in an unhealthy environment?
No one had said it—yet—but he was being hypocritical now. People didn't trust someone like that. He was the one who erected every obstacle standing in their way now. With every accusation against Blues, with every claim that he was dangerous, that he wasn't actually capable of emotion, that he wasn't something that could be trusted…he'd built the prosecution's case for them. They'd just have to look over the old court files. Everything was there, laid out for them.
The six had probably seen those documents, too. The mistrust in their eyes burned. They never brought it up with Rock and Roll, the subject was danced around or entirely avoided. Ignored, like an elephant in the room.
He could be thankful for that much, that the twins didn't know. It made him feel like a terrible person, to see a blessing in something like that.
He wanted to apologize to them, but what right had he to do that? What right had he to their forgiveness? It was Blues' forgiveness that mattered, and he was dead. If he could save them, then he might have the right to ask.
He won't have earned it then, but asking would at least let them know he really was sorry.
Arguing them as objects in court may legally seem like an easier win, but the laws wouldn't change to preserve their rights as people. They would only serve to further restrict them. It'd start over again, like a cycle.
He couldn't call them objects, especially not now, not when he finally realized that Albert had been right all along. He'd been right all along, and it was far too late.
Albert's only response to all contacts by the media had been a form letter, sometimes accompanied by a tape, a transcript of a speech. The letter: a photocopied, 'I told you so,' and a familiar signature with the Albert W mostly legible and then trailing off into a few fast loops after the "i".
It was honestly a little surprising that even at this point, Albert hadn't stepped forward. Not on Light's behalf, he wouldn't expect his once-friend to give him the time of day, but on the bioroids' behalf. Even if he was against their continued production, this was still something that should have caught Albert's interest. He'd obviously been following it…
Or perhaps he was just so sickened after Blues, he lost all taste for fighting it.
The phone's jarring ring shook Dr. Light from his thoughts and he jumped slightly before calling out to Roll not to worry, he'd pick it up.
"Tom! Turn on your TV!" It was Devon, one of his lawyers.
Light blinked and flicked the TV on and was about to ask what channel, but stopped. He dropped the remote. "This is…"
"Someone leaked this to the press, politicians, activists, anyone who had any say in this. Have you checked your email?"
Not since the previous night.
"How could they have decided this? The trial's not even over!"
"We've been calling, we're stonewalled at the police station. They say they're not at liberty to discuss it. Try going higher up, military says we don't have the security clearance."
Of course. They were trying to keep it hush-hush until the order was executed.
The order to end this entire ordeal, today.
The destruction order of the six hospital bioroids.
"What?" Roll exclaimed. Beside her, Rock had paled.
And turned, heading for the door.
"Rock, wait!" Roll cried, able to pick up his emotions.
He didn't stop, although he did grab his jacket from the hook by the door.
They hadn't been expecting any change of orders regarding the six bioroids, so when the call came down, it was a surprise. He was the highest ranked officer on duty, and it was his job to appear unruffled. He wasn't here to have an opinion, and he certainly wasn't here to express it.
But even so, with the orders here, he felt a bit uneasy. He understood that the only reason they'd taken to such measures was because they weren't being treated as people in the first place. But at the same time…they were made by animating corpses with technology. Surely machinery wasn't enough to complete a person. Besides, by law, they were objects, and like objects, they were to be destroyed.
Even without the trial.
It seemed a little more each day that the government was adhering to a "better to ask for forgiveness than permission" philosophy.
The order was still given, he knew the proper channels hadn't been gone through, but it was still his job, his duty, his livelihood on the line. And hurt feelings or no, they'd killed people.
He ended the call and turned to the others as he latched his radio back to his belt. He told them; it was time.
Was that a smirk he caught on that other guard's lips?
How completely inappropriate. It made his stomach twist, to think that there were people that would be celebrating this execution. Considering this tragedy's end a triumph. Mankind: 1; Bioroids: 0.
He would have glared at the man, told him to be professional, dammit, if he had any right to do that given what he was about to do. Yes, they were in the service, and it was other JSDF troops Elec had killed, but that didn't make that smirk any less inappropriate.
He felt like a complete hypocrite, because he honestly didn't know if he believed that the bioroids were what Dr. Light was claiming they were. He wasn't sure if they were really people or an eerily accurate facsimile, something cold and calculated, acting so as to evoke feelings from humans. It made him shudder.
He made his way to the controls regardless. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, tried not to let it become a blemish on his conscience. He entered in the code to fill the room housing the bioroids with a noxious gas. It was not something they could survive and they had no escape. It would be over, though not quickly for them. It was a painful way to go, but the only way to ensure they were completely destroyed. They'd probably incinerate the bodies and burn this place down to be safe.
The computer considered him for a moment, then returned with an error message. He did not have the proper access to initialize this function. Would he like to do something else? One of the other men came up to take a look.
His insides burned. Had…had he just been stabbed? He shivered and fell to his knees, even as the man behind him pulled the weapon from his back. That smirking soldier was standing over him, but he was outright smiling down at him now. He was holding a syringe in one hand, the last remnants of a chemical cocktail dripping from the needle.
The other guards opened fire, and some did hit him, but they didn't seem to do any damage. There was this strange noise whenever they hit him. A strange material was growing over his ears, metallic and golden. Antennae.
A bioroid.
He was a bioroid.
The guns were completely ineffective against his armor and as the soldier blacked out, he saw the bioroid lunge at one of the others with another syringe. His heart sank. None of them even stood a chance.
He tried to get out his sidearm, except he could already tell he didn't have the coordination to do that, let alone the strength to handle the recoil and fire it. He stopped when one of the ricocheting bullets hit him, dimly amazed that it barely hurt, lost in the burning sensation that had crept over his entire body, was letting him feel himself change.
The flow of blood stopped after half a second at most.
It should have made bile come to his throat, the knowledge that he was being changed into something alien, had been betrayed by someone he'd thought was one of his unit, even if a bit of a jerk... how long had he been a bioroid? Had they killed and replaced him?
A hand he didn't have the strength anymore to lift grasped at empty air, wanting to help his men, but the fight was already over. Here, at least. The guards from the rest of the building and troops from outside would be sent, he knew.
He tried to reach out again, and it was only after he had that he realized this new sense wasn't human, that it was a good thing he couldn't feel some of his troops this way.
Not yet, at least. One of them came online as he watched: the nanites did need a few seconds to work, after all.
The bioroid—Metal—stood in the center of the room, fallen troops and discarded syringes around him, and peeled off the tattered remains of his uniform, stretched tight over armor and shredded by saw wheels set into his shoulders. The soldier could feel it when the bioroid scanned them, one by one, to make sure that they were alright.
When he piled them all into a corner, out of the way of any more bullets, it was sickening to find that he was grateful, that his emotions already weren't his own.
It was almost a relief when the nanites, after an order from the bioroid, put him to sleep. He could hope the nightmare would wait until the morning to resume.
It was pouring rain. Which was actually fitting. It slowed traffic down, albeit harmlessly. At the rate it was coming down, though, there might be some flooding. He considered this to be a boon; even if it happened too late, leaving a nice reminder behind was good. A reminder of what they could do, what they commanded. They'd been patient long enough. They'd been nice long enough. It wasn't working. It should be working, it was the most effective strategy, but humans amazed them again and again with their capacity for cruelty, for illogic.
The humans had a saying, about fighting fire with fire. The idea, taken literally, was just ridiculous. But put into this context? When what should have been water to the fire extinguished nothing? They could have fire all they wanted, blasted right back at them. Let them choke on the taste of their own medicine.
He was on guard out here, in the middle of town, and he'd have been annoyed by the pouring rain if it wasn't for the fact that what he was guarding against was guaranteed to cross his path. All he had to do was wait.
There, footsteps, on the edge on even his hearing, even with the ability he had to filter out the rain's distortion. Footsteps too fast to be a human's. Nowhere near as fast as Quick's, though.
And a bioroids's aura, radiating distress.
Rock ran, as fast as he could without slipping, wishing he'd copied Time's ability, except not, because that would have meant fighting him, and that meant he'd be in danger now, too.
He had to stop them, at least long enough for Dr. Light, for someone to do something. Even if he got in trouble. Otherwise, what would he say to Roll? And Time, and Oil, and the other nephews and nieces?
Dr. Light would say it wasn't his fault, and look old, and that would perhaps be even worse.
Feeling that anxiety, that worry, that pain made Flash grimace. None of their kind liked witnessing pain, and the first impulse, the strongest desire, was to fix it. Right whatever was upsetting them. Except the only way to right this was to have to cause more pain first. Another sin to count against humanity for putting them in this position.
He moved like a ghost through the rain. It was an unnatural rain, of course, and the nanites causing it were carefully cloaking his movements. It was easy for him to dash out, use his ability to startle Rock, to knock him down. Not even that hard, just enough to stop him.
"Where are you going in such a rush?"
Rock stifled a cry as he landed: the blow itself wasn't hard, but the speed he'd been traveling at sent him half-skidding, half rolling, several feet before he was able to regain control. The sudden twisting wasn't good for his ankle, either, and he had to put it a little further out of alignment to get to his feet as fast as he could.
He'd been focusing almost all his attention on his body, the terrain and the water in order to safely travel that fast: it took him a moment to remember words, then another moment to remember what had just been said and decode it. "Ice, everyone..." He took another step, feeling woozy and realizing he must have retuned his balance without really noticing it, trying to run as fast as he could. He'd reached the city proper, but it was still so far to the special facility... Unless they'd moved them, he realized, and hoped not. He should use radio to call Roll, but Dr. Light would be worried and have to ask him to come back, and he couldn't. He'd call once he was there, so he'd know what to tell them, but he had to get there in time first.
Flash hesitated, almost winced when Rock went tumbling a bit harder than he'd anticipated. He'd seen video of his uncles fighting, but he hadn't taken the lack of armor into account. He was a lot lighter this way. He stepped in front of Rock, blocking his path. "You're surprised? Their fate was sealed the second you let the humans take them."
Rock shook his head, it was hard to find words. "You're one of," the children...Right, he wasn't supposed to talk with nanites or scan them, not when he was fighting them, but he didn't want to fight this one. "Please, let me go, I have to try..." He shifted, bracing himself, not to fight but to start running again.
"I'm afraid I can not let you pass," Flash shrugged and shook his head.
There wasn't time to argue, so Rock took off. He was smaller, which meant less mass, less friction: that would have been a bigger advantage if friction didn't also mean traction, and in this rain? Still, he had a map of these streets, and he wasn't armored, so he should be able to lose him. Since he couldn't spare the breath to talk, he supposed it would be okay to send, 'You have to stay away, they just let the information out like that, they must be hoping someone will come. At least there will be trouble if they hurt me, but if they're attacked by someone strange...' They couldn't be blamed for defending themselves, even if it was a trap.
For an instant, Flash disappeared from Rock's senses. Even his nanites returned with nothing. Then something was slamming into him from the side and the smaller bioroid went tumbling again and Flash was standing ahead of him again, about the same distance away, frowning. "I wasn't intending on heading there." This child seemed much more sure of himself than Time or Oil had been. He'd had much, much more time to learn and grow.
"Then why are you stopping me?" Rock cried, frustrated. "You can't want them to die!" Suddenly, he was so frustrated he was almost angry, and his hands curled into fists. "They're my brothers, and... I have to go!" Rock glared at him, demanding that he either give him an explanation for this or get out of his way.
Flash's countenance softened for a moment, but he did not stand down. "They're my family, too. Right now, it's most important that I delay you. It's nothing personal." Not revenge, nothing vindictive. He sounded like he was talking about a job.
"It's nothing... Of course it's personal! And even if it wasn't..." Rock shook his head, because he really was angry now, and he knew he'd never find good words when he was angry. 'Roll...' "Please," he said, looking up at him with big eyes (bioroids had those instincts too), "Can't..." Could Flash explain as they ran, maybe, and then if they had to fight at least they would be closer? No, that was no good, he wouldn't go for it when it was just to Rock's advantage.
Did one of his nephews really just expect him to wait here while his brothers were in danger, and maybe other nephews and soldiers were fighting and getting hurt?
"No, really, we can't." Flash shook his head. He'd remained closed off to Rock the entire encounter, not open to any sort of nanite communication. It was hard for Rock to even read his mood. "It's really better if we stay here." The longer, the better.
"No, I want to rescue them too, but when people are fighting, everyone's in danger. I can't let you do this." The download finished. 'Thanks,Roll.' The other bioroid was only a few feet away: he sprang forward, hard enough to knock him to the ground, gathering the disruption nanites he'd just made in his left hand and shoving them into the other bioroid's face.
Flash Stopper.
Oh, so it wasn't a speed ability: it sort of froze not just the nanites, but disrupted human brain waves a bit. That really wasn't good for them, but Flash was unconscious, so he guessed he'd leave lecturing him to Roll, when Flash woke up.
He'd already send his current location to Roll, when he requested the design of the nanites he'd used to take down the others, so he put Flash under the only overhang he could find and took off running again.
Roll was yelling at him to at least grow armor, but he didn't have enough minerals. And he needed to focus on hurrying.
He hoped he wasn't too late to save anyone: it wasn't just his brothers that were in danger anymore.
