The commander of the Maverick Hunters was held up by many of his unit, having taken a severe beating from his encounter. An arm was ripped off, his armor shredded to pieces and the fake skin torn from his face.
Cleanup crews hauled the body of the Maverick in a containment unit that held it under forced stasis, bringing it along for further studying.
In the time he was under, strange occurrences started to happen in the region. Reploids suddenly went Maverick out of the blue, their original coding still perfectly intact, no modification being done to them. It was found, months later, that those newer Mavericks were exposed to an extra line of coding that was vigilantly hiding, a sort of Trojan Horse. They were infected, emotions brought to an extreme never seen before.
Cases of Maverickism induced by the virus spread throughout the nation rapidly, spurring many crimes and attacks at much faster rates than before.
They now dubbed it the Maverick Virus.
Scientists studied it, finding a signature in the virus' coding that matched the coding in the Maverick they had under study.
"We should maybe wake him up…" Contemplated a Maverick Hunter scientist, working at his station.
"And then what? Let him tear this place apart?" replied another, not looking up from his work.
"What? No, we'll keep him sedated."
The other stopped working and looked at him, running through the idea as well. "Keep in mind he's patient zero, he may still have some of the virus in him, even if we did follow a quarantine procedure…"
"Don't worry, we'll just wake him up." said the first as he went up to the console in which the Maverick was hooked, typing away procedures to awaken the sleeping robot.
The first thing that occurred was that it started to slowly inhale, the robot taking its first breaths after his long time under stasis. The scientists stood there, watching him calmly breathe. After a while, the robot lifted its head up, eyes opening slowly. He looked at the personnel around him, all of them careful and staying far away.
The robot only shifted his turquoise eyes around the room, no harsh movements performed. His eyes were wide with confusion, the scientists in the white coats starting to buzz around the room after a while.
"Patient zero is awake, no signs of violence present." Said one. Another was simply looking at him, taking notes on a notepad. They could all tell, he had no idea what was going on.
A scientist carefully went up to him, mimicking a mouth with her hand. "English?" she asked. With the same dazed expression and minimal mouth movements, the robot replied "Yes."
The scientist readied her pen. "What is your name?" The robot searched his mind, but nothing could come up.
"When were you made?" No response.
"Do you know what you did?" Nothing still.
"Do you have any memories whatsoever?" The robot couldn't reply. His look seemed as if he was searching, holding eye contact with her, searching for answers he couldn't find.
The scientist turned around and walked away from him, writing her notes without even looking down at her note pad. "Patient zero is at a complete loss, he is suffering from amnesia. The finishing blow of that battle must've acted like a hard reset."
The robot was lost, he didn't know what was happening. In the reflection of the glass door in front of him, he saw what he looked like. Armor that had a modern-looking, red samurai look and golden hair that cascaded to the floor. The gem in the center of his helmet was broken, and messily at that. His chest armor was off, set to the side, giving way for multiple big wires to be hooked in his back. They stuck out, reaching into the surrounding consoles.
And he just stood there.
Standing among the buzz.
It continued for multiple days, the robot patiently looking at the ground, his head tilted down.
The routine was broken one day, when an imposing figure allowed himself into the laboratory. All scientists respected him, giving way as he walked around the room and interviewed each of them.
"Sigma, sir." Acknowledged the head scientist of the lab.
The massive reploid poised himself near the Maverick, looking down on him. The robot tilted his head back to look at him, a blank expression on his face.
"No signs of recognition." Narrated another scientist, jolting down the observation. The imposing reploid sneered.
"Is he a blank canvas?" he asked the scientist making the observation.
The scientist shrank a bit. "Not blank. He has a personality matrix, but he's acting as if he just came out of a workshop. We can't decipher the nitty gritty of his operating system either…"
Sigma looked at the scientist, a look that demanded explanations. "His mind is so complicated. The kind of nonsensical results our analytical machines are giving us resembles that from Father." He spewed out, a bit of panic and embarrassment mixed together.
Sigma looked back down at the robot, still looking up at him with open eyes. It slowly cocked its head sideways. Curiosity. "From Father, you say?" Sigma paused a bit, contemplating the robot. "Does he have a name?"
"We're calling him 'patient zero', for obvious reasons. But otherwise, he has none." A quick look at the notebook confirmed it.
The robot shifted his head to look directly at the scientist speaking with Sigma. "Zero."
The entire room halted. All of the scientists, including Sigma, looked at the robot that had just spoken. "E-excuse me?" he carefully asked back.
"Zero…" he said again, a deep, controlled voice resonating from him.
"Yes, what do you mean by it?" responded the scientist, readying his notebook.
The robot looked down, as if making sure, to then regain eye contact with the scientist.
"I want my name to be Zero…"
End.