D.N.A.
(Devil's Not an Android)
A severely A.U. 'fic by
Indigo X
Author Notes v. 1.0: This is my first crack at a true Alternate Universe 'fic. Seems like everybody else seems to go medieval on their AU's, so I decided to go sci-fi, so I can throw in my unabashed love of robots in. A LOT of people will have parts in this in one way or another, but mainly, this is my Undertaker 'fic. (I love Big Evil to death... no pun intended.)
'Takerbear, Paul Bearer, and everybody else's original selves belong to Vince and themselves. Rock on.
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Phase 1:
Left for Scrap
The cyborg, or what was left of it, had been laying amongst the scraps and unsalvageable parts of its brethren for God knows how long before Dr. Paul found it. While the body was mostly mangled beyond repair, the head and about 75% of the torso, plus the upper half of one arm, was still reparable. This was fortunate for the cyborg- after all, the main CPU and fuel circulation were contained in the head and torso, not to mention the battery unit and main engine. (As it stood, the engine needed work as it was partially mashed, but it wasn't a hopeless case for a skilled mechanic or robotics engineer.)
Its eyes were vivid emerald green, a startlingly bold color amongst the silver and black and brick-colored spots of rust that the rest of the junk heap seemed to be colored. They stared blankly ahead- whether its eyelid pistons were malfunctioning or whether its eyes were simply open when it was deactivated wasn't clear. Its hair was short but shaggy, and dark red with a highlight of gold here and there. It had a light, scruffy goatee as well, which brought to question its creator- many of the major manufacturers didn't bother with facial hair, and even most custom jobs didn't have it because realistic facial hair was a complex thing to add- at least, if the creator didn't want it to look fake. And among custom cyborg designers, realism was almost more important than efficiency or function. Aside from a few minute scraps of what appeared to be leather still clinging to its dented shoulders, the only thing the cyborg was wearing was a stained, tattered, and frayed blue bandanna, tied around its head just above its eyebrows.
When Dr. Paul found it, he'd been shuffling through the junk heap looking for a rare part- a ¾ tail piston for his robotic dog, whose tail had been severed quite nastily when the doctor had dropped a sawblade attachment for the battle sphere he was designing. The dog was obsolete, virtually an antique, and finding parts to repair it was always a chore. He never did find the piston... but he did find the cyborg.
The eyes, though vivid and attention grabbing, weren't the first thing that Dr. Paul noticed. Rather, he noticed the size of its shoulders. Though it was missing its body from the waist down, not to mention an arm and a half, Dr. Paul could tell by the shouder size, plus the proportions of the remaining torso, that the cyborg had been a behemoth- 7 feet at least. For all intents and purposes, he looked built in the image of some random heavy of some random Hyperbike gang. Dr. Paul rubbed his hands together and snickered.
"Well, well, well, look what we've got here... a little work, my friend, and I'd never have to worry about lab raids again. Hades, you see, isn't probably going to last me much longer, and besides, he's far too outdated to be an efficient guard dog anymore. Now, let's see..."
Now, Dr. Paul was a brilliant cybernetics technician. What he wasn't was physically inclined- rather, he was probably fatter than is healthy for anyone, and had all the muscular ability of a ten year old girl. So when he tried to lift the cyborg, he got it about five inches off the ground before it slipped out of his hands, sending the rotund scientist tumbling about a foot down the scrap hill. In retrospect, it's probably lucky that he did so. For not far away from where the cyborg lay, there lay a bent and twisted arm of such size that it could only belong to the giant. The arm itself was beyond repair, but clenched in its fist was a long pole of solid, construction-grade titanium, one end of which bore a very nasty spike, and the other end bearing a beautiful, deadly-looking curved blade, a spot of tarnish staining the gleaming metal here and there but apparently without rust. Not only that, but the blade still seemed honed to such precision that it could sever most anything- bone, steel, flesh both organic and synthetic.
Dr. Paul cackled in glee- not only was his new project piece huge, but it was armed as well. A fighting model, for only fighting models would bother to carry any weapon other than a basic MiniMine pistol for self defense. This cyborg had borne a scythe, and an elegantly efficient one at that. Dr. Paul rushed home as fast as he could, along with his Levi-van and a couple serverbots. The serverbots were merely drones, and no good for any sort of protection as they were built for labwork and not combat, but they were stronger than the scientist and managed to get the cyborg, as well as his scythe, into the hovering van.
"Ohhhh, yes. You'll see, you and I will get along just fine..."
Dr. Paul looked down at the cyborg, laying face down in the back of the van. The back of his neck bore no barcode, evidencing further that he was no factory model... but it did bear a simple legend. Four letters and a roman numeral.
"...Mark II."