It's easy for anyone to complain about the weather––and because of this, nearly everyone does.
It takes a special kind of person, however, to do something about it.
Furthermore, it takes the greatest mind the world has ever known to do something about it twice over.
In the early 21st Century, environmental manipulation and ecological decay led to an increase in worldwide storms and other forms of irregular weather. Many of these held the strength to tear through populated coasts of countries across the planet, and furthermore did their best to disrupt trade and transportation over domestic and international waters. The results proved devastating to people simply trying to lead peaceful or marginally profitable lives.
To combat this, at the request of the United Nations, Doctor Thomas Light spent months researching global weather patterns, and conducting a series of experiments and tests involving synthetic cloud forms. When he was done, he put all of his findings into a single robot, with the power to turn said findings and theories into reality by sheer force of will.
More importantly, this robot could reverse these realities as well.
A master at neutralizing malevolent weather, Tornado Man thus became the cornerstone of what would become the Weather Manipulation Office. Given its usefulness, the organization would quickly grow to have branches all over the world. Satellites dedicated to its operations would be built and launched, allowing those who worked there to pinpoint the source of storms both in the path of ships and planes, and on the way to mainlands. Those storms would then be nullified for safe voyages and living conditions.
The effects were better than anyone could have hoped. Homes and shipments were saved, and Dr. Light once again became a hero to millions. Safety on coasts and in the water began to be taken for granted, and the global economy flourished as a result.
In 90% of nautical cases, the efforts of Tornado Man and the WMO proved to be––ahem––just what the doctor ordered.
Insurance, however, is always appreciated––and because Dr. Light just happened to be the most thorough man ever, it was only a matter of time before it was officially provided...
–––
"Siren"
A Mega Man 9 Fan Fiction by Speedy Midori
Original: October 2008
Revision: July 2011
All characters are copyrighted and owned wholly by Capcom.
Used without permission, but solely for entertainment; never for profit.
–––
Pacific Ocean
September 9, 20X9, 8:08 P.M.
Roughly One Year Before The Thomas Light Robot Rebellion
They were to be the hottest gift of the holiday season.
The first shipment of the latest gaming system from Japan was poised to penetrate international markets. The viral ads had been all over the world for months, from television to cyberspace––this time, the controller consisted of a special sensory headband. When applied correctly, it would allow your on–screen avatar to be controlled with the power of sheer thought.
...in theory, anyway. Perfected or not, the anticipation for the machine and its unique, innovative control scheme had nonetheless reached a fever pitch.
However, the abilities of said system are unimportant to this account. What is important is that the captain of the cargo ship carrying these systems was sound asleep on the bridge, confident that this trip would be naught but routine and relaxing. This was a small shipment, merely meant to focus–test outside markets. Which meant that this was a small ship: light, speedy, and fragile.
Even so, all pre–voyage precautions had been taken. It should have been the safest, easiest trip ever.
"Captain! Captain! You've got to wake up!"
Fate, unfortunately, had a different plan in mind.
The ship's captain rose sleepily from his position. "What is it?"
Right after he asked the question of his chief mate, however, he had a very good hunch. He heard loud, rhythmic noises from outside, and the ship would occasionally rock from one side to the other quite hard. It took a few seconds for the captain to right himself to a standing state.
"Tropical storm, sir," said the crewman, to the tune of on–cue thunder. "Worsening by the minute!"
"But the WMO said there was clear sailing the whole way!"
"On our presently planned course, yes! But our on–board instruments must have malfunctioned! According to our portable navigational systems, we've been detouring for quite some time! We think it's due to the nature of the cargo..."
"Damn it. What's our status, then? Can we get through it?" he asked, as he quickly buttoned his jacket, grabbed his life vest and made for the steps.
"We're trying, sir! So far, we're holding, but just barel–"
Another gigantic thunderclap was heard just then, accompanied by a flash of light. The two men were thrown backwards.
"Son of a–... what just happened?"
That was when the two realized that they could no longer hear the hum of the ship's engines. The bridge's control panel went dark, its digital displays deactivated. They were officially free to be tossed about by the storm; and given their size, that was only if they were lucky.
He ran to the ship's PA system, praying it still functioned. "All hands on deck! Everyone to the lifecrafts!"
–––
Luck was not with them.
The trip to the deck was made interesting by repeated and unpredictable shifts in the ship's center of gravity. When the captain and the chief mate did arrive, they could already see others clinging to the railing for dear life; trying to reach the other side of the ship where the extra life vests and rafts were located, but forced to slide away from them every time they made something resembling headway.
The ship teetered from one side to another as the assembled crew fought the ever–worsening rain and wind, ever in danger of capsizing as it gained the momentum of a pendulum, until finally, the danger became a reality. Inside was no safer than outside. There was no way to win; no way to come out ahead––or alive. Those who didn't quickly drown would remain adrift until the inevitable happened.
Just when everyone was thrown overboard, when all hope was lost, when despair had not only invaded, but utterly conquered the souls of the parties involved...
...they heard it.
The song met their ears, and pierced their hearts. It drowned out the storm, as odd as that seemed––caused them to forget, if only for a precious few seconds, that they were all about to face imminent death.
It's easier to save the lives of those who haven't resigned themselves to the ultimate fate, after all.
It's easier to help those who are still willing to help themselves.
Less than a minute after the heavenly tune had begun, the vessel began to slowly rise from the waves. Light surrounded the ship and its sailors; water geysered around them as well.
Clearing their eyes, the sailors did their best to focus on the scene; this task was made all the easier with the help of the soothing, mind–clearing music that echoed throughout the area.
Their ship was now being held up by a robotic whale, and glowing fish circled the vicinity. Some pushed up the sailors who had gone under. The rest floated outward. Each one eventually made its way to each crew member, offering themselves; the sailors took hold, and were treated to warm buoys which refused to be swayed, even in waters rough as these.
With the panic having subsided, a figure below the depths nodded with satisfaction. She could finally do her true work.
Some distance away from the ship and its downed crew, one more geyser erupted, wider and higher than all of the others. Through the rain, aided by the flashes of light that every so often accompanied the storm, they could have sworn they saw a silhouette of true beauty inside the fluid column.
When those flashes became more frequent, emanating from the trident she wielded, the sailors were sure of it.
A gleaming, shining mermaid––straight out of the storybooks and movies they had all read and watched as children––leapt from the geyser's apex.
Shining as she may have been, she was also as blue as the ocean itself, save for a few golden markings, her trident, and a headdress that both resembled and symbolized the rushing waters.
With an expression that was one half determination, and one half amusement, she sailed upward, propelled by the geyser's momentum, towards the roughest part of the storm.
Her trident glowed once again, shooting beams of concentrated light into various positions of the darkened sky, projecting an image to the sailors of rogue bolts of lightning striking in reverse.
It only took a minute for the crew to realize that the rain was slowing, and that they no longer had to cling to the buoyant robot fish so tightly.
The clouds parted soon after, revealing a full moon, and showing off the elegant form of their savior once again as she fell from the sky in a graceful dive. In moments, she plunged back into the ocean, her tail being the last to disappear from view.
It would be the last time they saw her for the rest of their trip, but it would be years before her image would leave their minds––if it ever could.
–––
Only when the storm had passed did communications return, as she anticipated. First static, then a clear voice in her headdress's receivers:
"–lling Splash Woman! I repeat, calling Splash Woman! Dammit, Waves, if you can hear me, gimme a sign already––"
She chuckled. Tornado Man had always been a bit paranoid––this time was no exception, despite the mission she'd just undertaken having been on the easy side. She'd undone entire cruise liner mishaps before, after all.
Oh, well. Best to answer before he got a complex or something.
"I'm here, I'm here! And everyone's safe." She looked at the ship's former provisions, having fallen through a newly–made hole in the ship's hull, and now floating to the sea floor, rendered useless. "Can't say as much about their cargo, though..."
"Ahhh, they can make more. It's not like they don't sell 'em at a profit anyway." Splash Woman thought she heard something like a sigh on the other end. "Still, I guess I should send a supermagnet too, to make sure those things don't mess with the ocean. That and the hovercrafts are officially are on their way, so everything and everyone'll be fine. But... I'm glad you're all right, too."
"I was built to withstand triple gale forces, Tornado. You know that." With another chuckle––this time with the slightest hint of demurity––she added, "Heck, you've tried to blow me away and failed. Or don't you remember?"
"Y–yeah, well, I still worry. Don't work too hard out there. Hey, we still on for Friday? All the 'bots are hitting Yamada House for some much–needed recharge time."
"Yamada's?"
News took longer than usual to reach her so far out at sea, but she'd heard of the place in passing. Apparently Doctor Light had put forth enough capital to create the first social hotspot for robots. Energy drinks were served, miniature power stations were provided at no cost, and best of all, if any human (save the good Doctor himself) were to set foot inside it, they'd be the one getting strange glances for once.
It was an interesting proposition, even if Splash Woman was honestly just as at peace by her lonesome in the vast ocean, with only robotic and organic animal friends alike to keep her company. Still, the place had reportedly getting rave reviews for its utility and service.
"Hmm. Perhaps..." was her first response, before Tornado Man threw in the clincher:
"Oh yeah––and it'll be their first ever Karaoke Night. Ol' Jewelmeister says he can totally out–sing you this time."
That brought a smile to the robo–mermaid's face. "Well, if he wishes to bring it so bad, tell him to feel free. But he would do well to make sure he can handle what I've got. If I recall, last time I cracked one of his precious chest–gems without lifting a finger, and he ran off sobbing like a child!"
"Haha! Yeah, I remember that! He's still trying to play that off. Well, okay, I'll see you then. Contact us if anything else pops up, okay?"
"I will."
"Cool. Tornado out."
The feed was cut, and silence reigned over the ocean once more.
Thus, with a few flicks of her tail, Splash Woman proceeded to navigate the Pacific Ocean at a brisk 150 knots. She allowed herself a few high–speed underwater twirls and loop–de–loops as an expression of her currently jovial mood.
With her duty fulfilled once more, she was content. As long as humanity was safe in her waters, she could always rest easy.
Being a protector was what she was built for, and––as the express result of a subroutine of her emotional programming––it was the role she was happiest playing.
She could never imagine doing, or being, anything else.