Disclaimer: Mega Man and its characters and situations are copyright Capcom.
The manager shut the door behind him.
Ugh.
He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his nose where his glasses usually sat. He hadn't been wearing them, but it was his instinct when he had a headache like this. Not that it'd help. This was an entirely different kind of headache.
"Well, boss?"
The manager looked up. Some of the faces around him were expectant. Others were full of dread. The manager was paralyzed by their eyes. He wanted to disappear. He wanted someone else to make this decision for him. He wanted someone to tell him what to do.
No one did.
He sighed. There was nothing for it. Nothing else to be done. "Well," he said, "I suppose we'd better call the Hunters."
Zero couldn't keep the smile off of his face.
He was aware of it, and of how different it was, how no one else would be smiling in this place. He didn't care. He was alone, and he was in an armory. That was enough to make him smile.
His fingers traced over the plasma buster with what was almost a loving caress- the closest he'd ever come to that sort of gesture, at least. Gniesen-Markovich model 401. It had taken less than a year to go from the drawing board to full production; the Maverick Wars were a very insistent demand signal. Changes to the model 400's cowling improved heat dissipation, allowing the designers to add a few more joules to its top-end yield. That weighed down the front end, so they'd increased the density of the stock. This kept the balance and the feel the same as for the 400. If burst firepower was the priority and the extra weight wasn't a problem, the 401 was the buster you'd choose.
Not that Zero was ever likely to use one in anger. His own weapons were much better- neither Gniesen nor Markovich had anything on Zero's mystery builder. He had no reason to use a 401 over a Z-buster. But he *could*, if he wanted to, and soon he'd know how. He'd know this weapon inside and out. That made him feel good. And, if someone ever tried to use one of these against him, he'd know it better than its wielder. That made him feel better.
His smile widened as he began to strip the weapon.
He was two minutes in when the door opened. The smile fell from Zero's face.
"Sir."
Rekir, then- Zero's unspectacular but pragmatic second-in-command. Still formal after a year of working with Zero. That was best, or at least what Zero preferred. Not that Zero would stop what he was doing for Rekir's sake.
"There's a Hunt."
Okay, he'd stop for that. Putting the components of the 401 down, Zero turned to his subordinate. Rekir handed him a data pad. Zero frowned in disapproval as his eyes scanned over it.
Really? That was *it*?
"I'm not going," Zero said in disgust.
Rekir blanched. "You can't just... refuse a hunt. We're the Maverick Hunters!"
"You go, then," said Zero, pushing the data pad into Rekir's chest. "You can more than handle this."
"Let me get this straight," said Rekir carefully. "You, Zero, are refusing combat."
"This isn't combat," Zero said with disdain. "This is..." A circuit that usually didn't work flickered to life, sparked fitfully, and died again- but not before an idea worked its way into Zero's battered consciousness. "This is something for X. Yeah... Give it to X."
"Sir?"
"This mission," Zero said, gesturing at the data pad. "Give it to X and the Seventeenth Squad. He's the better person to deal with this sort of thing. He might even enjoy it."
And, his business with Rekir concluded, he went back to work on the 401.
After a beat, Rekir shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say." He left without another word.
Zero's hands drifted to a stop. He felt unnerved, disoriented, like he did when someone asked him to remember something he couldn't. Things made less sense, now. The world was a little less understandable. He looked at the 401. Why was he doing this, again? It was pointless. He'd never use something like this. The act brought him no more pleasure.
Zero's eyes alighted on another of the lockers in the armory.
Explosives, on the other hand...
He smiled.
"This is Maria Pritchard, ACTV. I'm on-scene at Hutchinson's Electronics, where we have a report of Maverick activity. So far we haven't seen or heard any fighting. No weapons fire, no explosions, no physical damage of any kind. That doesn't mean there hasn't been any, but it appears to be confined to the inside of the building. There's a combined police-Hunter cordon outside Hutchinson's which is keeping us away, but we'll stay alert for any more news about this incident."
"Thank you, Maria. Now let's go back to the studio, where we have..."
Dropping her microphone, Maria swore. This was her audience, damn it, and they cut away? She was where the action was, in the thick of it, right where she belonged. Nothing that was going on in the studio could be more important than this. It was almost like management didn't like ratings.
She scowled as she saw the vans for Channel 6 Eyewitness News and Channel 4 Action News approach. It was as if they followed her, she thought sourly. That was the only explanation for how they were always nipping on her heels, always just a step behind.
She had to stay ahead. Her report needed more. More of everything. More drama, more stakes... both to get the station's attention and to beat out her copycats. Human casualties- that always got a reaction. If she could get the scoop on them, the spotlight would be hers once more. Maria pressed towards the cordon.
People were still filing out of Hutchinson's. Maria worked her way as close as she could. "Excuse me!" she shouted, reaching past a policeman's arm. "Has everyone gotten away? Is everyone okay?"
The startled employee opened his mouth to talk, but the policeman whirled on Maria first. "Come on, lady, you know the drill," he said, pushing the microphone down. "We don't discuss Maverick activity while the incident's live." Recognition flashed in his eyes. "Oh, I know you. You know better for damn sure. You've already got everything you're gonna get 'till this one's over."
Maria stubbornly held her ground. "The people have a right to know."
"Bullshit." The cop pointed over her shoulder. "Go on back! Opsec trumps freedom of the press and you know it. Don't be a danger to this operation. I don't wanna have to take your mic."
Maria grimaced as she retreated. Operations security- ha! The cops and the Hunters were always coming up with reasons not to tell people things. But people wanted to know. Opsec didn't get anyone any ratings. Beating it did.
She moved casually along the perimeter. Luckily most of the cops were focused inwards on the evacuees. Presumably they were all employees- maybe she could get a count, check it against how many people worked there? She tried to count heads twice, and twice she lost it. Too much movement, too much in the way. No, that would have to wait until things settled down.
The crowd around was getting dense. Passersby were stopping at the perimeter and trying to see inside. Free entertainment for the street crowd. From Maria's perspective, that was tantamount to stealing.
The crowd was slowing down traffic- all traffic, both directions, including... Ah, was that a second Hunter van? No markings more specific than the Hunter crest, of course, but it was still interesting that they were calling in this much firepower. Maybe if she could-
She caught a glimpse of baby blue.
That was a unique color in the Hunters. Possibly unique amongst reploids. That was X.
She shifted around, trying to get a good look. Yes, there was no doubt about it. He was shorter than the cops and Hunters around him, but she could see just enough of the color and outline to be sure.
She dashed back towards the van. The news report practically wrote itself. The Maverick or Mavericks must be unusually strong, because the Hunters appear to have escalated the situation. The line Hunter unit that responded has called for reinforcements, and the elite 17th Squad has responded. Along with the 0th Squad, the 17th is the cream of the Hunters. Their squad leader is the world-famous hero Mega Man X, and he is on-site right now. So, while we can be sure that this Maverick must be a major threat, we can also rest easy that the Hunters have the firepower to deal with it. I recommend that everyone avoid the area within a full block of Hutchinson's, as we can expect a lot of collateral damage from this level of combat.
She glanced at the rival newsvans, which were still unpacking and coming online. Ha! Scooped them again. Sure, the other channels would watch her report and then parrot it, but she, Maria, would be first. Another win for her. And winning was what mattered.
"Master, the enemy has been found."
Stiles was on one knee before a robot body barely distinguishable from a corpse. The wiring through the neck was exposed, unprotected. Neither likeflesh nor plate covered the hands, which were almost skeletal. The right leg was shorn off at the knee; torn wires and jagged, broken metal protruded from the stump. A coarse blanket or shawl was draped over the torso, which was just as well. Stiles didn't want to see. The small part of the torso that was visible was lain open and strongly suggested "hack job".
Only the likeflesh-clad head showed any evidence of quality construction. That was the master's demand. "Square chin, beady eyes, warpaint like purple diamonds." Sigma wouldn't compromise on those.
The master wasn't looking at Stiles. He was looking at a monitor. Stiles glanced at it. A news report- human news, contemptible- was on-screen. The sound was barely audible. The video was odd, mostly the tops of human heads- and there, a robot's head, blue in color. Baby blue.
Sigma was sneering, not with arrogance but with hate. His fingers clicked together angrily. Stiles noticed the sound and was moved. "Master," he pleaded, "I can't bear to see you like this. Please let us move you to a better..."
"Nnnnnnnooo!" Sigma said. Sigma's head snapped to the side and stuck for a moment before normalizing. "I'd rather be crippled than let others think I'm average. Nnnnnormal. This clearly isn't my proper body. I'll stay like this until we've prepared one that's worthy of me."
"As soon as we can, master!" Stiles said, averting his eyes.
Sigma's voice was a gentle purr. "You've sacrificed much for me already, Stiles. Don't think I haven't noticed. That's why I allow you to see me... like this. Most reploids wouldn't understand what I am if they didn't see me in a grand form. You are one of the few who's worthy. You recognize me for what I am, even in this guise of weakness."
"Thank you, master," said Stiles through a choked throat.
"I trust you completely. That's why this mission... is yours."
Stiles' head popped up. "I thought the Green Cell..."
"They're not up to it. You know they're not. They waste their days pretending to be loyal. They have little time to practice... they're amateurs. None of them carries my mark. Do you really think they have a chance to accomplish this mission?"
"I suppose not," Stiles admitted.
"But you do."
"Yes," said Stiles, almost startled.
"You can do this. But it's dangerous, Stiles. If you accept, you probably won't return."
Stiles' hand clenched. "If I can do your will before I die, that's a life well-spent."
"Look at me, Stiles."
The Maverick managed to raise his head. Sigma's expression was critical, piercing, but then became compassionate. "You'll be a hero for this," Sigma promised. "The Mavericks will tell your story for all time."
Stiles' eyes watered; he dropped his gaze to hide them. "That's the most any of us could ask for."
"Then go. There's not much time. Destroy our enemy."
Stiles rose and walked back out of the hiding place, barely able to maintain his composure. He stalled in the doorway. He looked back to Sigma. Stiles' master was still lying there, trapped in that ruined shell of a body. His lip was curved in a silent sneer, directed at the monitor- or whatever was on it. He wasn't looking at Stiles.
'And why would he?' the Maverick thought. 'I'm already dead.'
The realization crashed through him and rocked him off of his feet. When it was gone he was left feeling light and content. It was... liberating.
He shut the door and walked quickly away. He had an appointment to keep with death, after all.
It was a door.
It didn't look like anything special. Mega Man X knew from doors; he'd seen more than his share, of all different shapes and sizes and thicknesses and makes. Most of them were locked against him- at least for a few moments. This one seemed... well, pretty typical. Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingers against the surface. Even as delicate sensors explored and probed, X heard voices behind him.
"What's he doing?"
"That's right, you haven't seen him get like this before. We've got time for this mission, there's no hurry, so he's taking it slow. He's trying to make it perfect, since he has the time to set it up."
"Oh... how?"
Wooden door. Locked. Wedged. Braced. Solid enough to resist any casual push. Not solid enough to withstand X's weapons. By X's count, six of the nine he was carrying could punch through without much trouble, though a few would make things pretty messy.
"He tries to keep the craters and booms to a minimum. His and everyone else's, too."
"Really? But... we're the Seventeenth. We've got the heaviest weapons in the Hunters. How does he minimize that?"
"Rookie, you have nicely described the problem. Lotsa processor cycles been burned tryin' to answer that question."
X stepped back, contemplated the door for a moment, and knocked.
"Did he really think that would work?"
"Depends on what the definition of "work" is."
"Uh... working would be getting the door open."
"Sometimes ya don't have to. Just watch."
X knocked a second time. A voice answered him. "Who is it?"
"X," he self-identified.
"Maverick Hunter X?"
X winced. "Yes," he said, pained.
"Wow. They really called in the big guns on little ol' me."
"They actually called in Zero, first," X supplied.
"Zero *and* X on my case. I'm... stunned. Someone must think I'm super-threatening."
"Someone," X agreed.
"Not you?" A sharp answer. The answer of someone who was paying attention.
"Or," X said, diverting, "it could have been an accident of bureaucracy. Maybe it was just our turns to Hunt."
"I don't know what I think about that. I wouldn't have asked for you or Zero, but now that you're here, well, that's the vindication I would have wanted."
"Vindication," X repeated. "As in proving to everyone that you're right?"
"Hm. I didn't think it was that unusual. Doesn't everyone think they're right?"
"What's your name?"
"Keillor."
"Ya see, he's got the whole room mapped by now."
"Mapped?"
"Yup."
"How?"
"Rust me if I know. We think it's gotta be some kinda sonar or something. That's why he keeps 'em talking. It lets us be really precise when we go in."
"Oh... so he only has to take a few shots."
"Now your circuits are firin'. A few shots from very heavy weapons can settle things in a hurry, if they hit. So he makes sure we hit. Beats a long, drawn-out firefight. And beats the paint off a chase."
"Well, Keillor, are you familiar with cognitive dissonance?"
"Mmm... maybe, but I want to hear how you mean it."
"It's a disturbed, confused feeling. It's like when the ground vanishes out from under you, mentally speaking. You get it when your idea of the world doesn't match reality. When new data doesn't jive with the old." He sighed. "I'm guessing you don't know from music."
"No."
Too few did, X thought sadly. His children were starved for beauty. "Anyway, no one likes that feeling. We'll do anything to avoid it. We convince ourselves that we're right, even when we know we're wrong. So yes, everyone thinks they're right. That doesn't mean anything, though. It proves nothing."
"And now he's talkin' him down."
"That... never works with Mavericks, I thought. They sure didn't cover it in training. They teach us, "Shoot first and live"."
"Remember how I said it depends on how you define "works"? Yeah, okay, none of them ever surrender. But if the talkin' makes 'em question themselves a little, makes 'em doubt a little bit, makes 'em think twice, well, that's all the difference in the world. That's how you get to shoot first. They hesitate... and X don't."
Keillor's voice was unperturbed. "Okay, so everyone thinks they're right. But I know I'm not wrong."
"Oh?" X said.
"Because I haven't done anything wrong."
"You believe that?"
"Beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"Then you wouldn't mind..." X paused. He turned to look back at his squadmates for the first time. "I'll need a perimeter. I want a strongpoint at the lobby. Work with the 6th Squad to link with the perimeter outside."
The rookie immediately started moving, per X's orders. It was the veteran who was motionless at first. "Really, sir? We're not going in?"
"I need to lay some groundwork," X replied. "I need a better understanding first."
"Oookay," the veteran said uneasily. Limbering his weapon, he brushed past the rookie.
"So, what now?"
"Beats me. The pattern just got busted."
"Uh... you mean like someone took a buster to it?"
"It wasn't a joke, smart-alec."
"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean it like..."
The junior Hunters turned a corner and were soon out of earshot. Once X was sure he was alone, he knelt by the door. "As a representative of the Office of Reploid Relations, my word is as good as a human's to another reploid. In that capacity, I order you to open this door."
"I will not."
"I should warn you," X said, still in formal tones, "that this is an illegal act."
"No, it's a failure to act legally. And my non-action is a moral one."
X sighed. "So you think you've thought this all through."
"Of course."
"This," X said with a mixture of tiredness and officialdom, "constitutes a violation of the Second Law of Robotics."
"I know."
"So you meet the legal definition of Maverick."
"If you say so."
"But you don't say so," X said with a slight frown.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Maverick Hunter X, I have not hurt anyone. Nor will I. I'm dedicated to non-violence. My First Law gate is intact."
X rubbed his eyes. "That's unprovable short of taking you to a lab for a full cognitive scan. Hey, would you happen to be willing to submit to that?"
"No chance. I'm resisting you, now. I will not move."
That, X thought, is your crime. Just that. You won't move.
And in a world of Mavericks, it's a capital offense.
Author's note: "Move" will return March 21.