MEGA MAN X: MAVERICK HUNTERS

By the Legacy of Metal Co-Authors

Chapter One: Reassignment

"I have known men of stone and mortar in my time, they who crumbled at the first hardship. But I have also known men of iron, who never stop marching forward. They are the ones who will outlive us all, in life and legacy."

-Marth Fehzim, Second Rainbow Geologist, 2069 C.E.


Maverick Hunter Headquarters (MHHQ)

New Tokyo, Japan

February 24th, 2128 C.E.

9:31 A.M.

Maverick Hunter Headquarters was located—strategically—six kilometers outside of the city center of New Tokyo. While that had once meant that it had been situated in an almost pastoral setting, much of that had been eaten away by development. Most noticeably, a bus depot, complete with its own row of fast food stalls and coffee shops stood a mere 100 meters from the fenced in grounds of the fabled institution.

An electric transport, powered by deep cycle hydrogen cells a year beyond their manufacturer's suggested service window, ground its way up the sloping highway away from New Tokyo with a whine of protest. It wasn't far from its stopoff, but the journey had worn it out, and it was sagging on its rear axles.

The reason for that was a reploid of goliath stature, standing seven feet tall. The barrel-chested reploid wore silver and gunmetal gray armor, and took up the space of three people on the back bench of the bus. Two middle-aged women, each taking an end, tried to edge away from him without much success. Their unease came largely from his size, but there was the matter of the shoulder-mounted cannon just off of the right side of his head as well, and that sort of hardware wasn't good for the nerves of housewives.

He had looked back at them when he'd first gotten aboard at the airport depot, but now it suited him more to simply ignore the glances and whispers from the seats in front of him, and smile to himself about the silly women he was sitting by. With his mouth hidden behind the retractable faceguard of his helmet, smiling came easily.

With a squeal of its brakes…a prolonged shriek that lasted from the highway off-ramp to the bus depot a quarter kilometer after…the transport finally came to a lurching halt.

"Maverikku Huntah Headqwahtah!" The bus driver called out in horribly garbled English.

The silver and gray reploid sighed and stood up, causing the whole bus to lurch from side to side. Amidst the voices of protest, he reached above him, more straight across at his height, and removed a single luggage bag from the overhead.

"Looks like this is my stop." He said, more for his own pleasure than the benefit of the crones who shrank away from him. With one footfall after another, shaking the bus with every step, the reploid moved to the front and stepped down from the stairs.

The vehicle literally sprang back to attention as soon as his weight was off of it, and the door slammed shut behind him. The much healthier sounding bus roared away from the station, leaving the silver reploid alone with his thoughts.

He walked at his own pace down the road, away from the bus stop and towards what many affectionately called the MHHQ. It wasn't so much of a run or a march as it was a steady, unhurried plodding. After all, he reasoned, MHHQ had been standing for 10 years now. It could manage another few minutes without him. And there was that old joke his former squadmates always teased him about.

Where does a bear sleep? Wherever it wants to.

Actually, he wasn't sure how that joke applied in this situation, but it had always done a fair job of summing him up. That sense of self, something so many reploids didn't have, was probably his most prized intangible possession.

On the other side of the fence, he could make out several buildings in the compound. The main one, a circular building many stories tall, was his ultimate destination. A minute or so later, he reached the front gates of the MHHQ. The road leading into the complex had a single guard station and a retractable spike strip. No gate and no keycard or RFID entry, which seemed strange to him. Strange, until he spotted a pair of telltale metal domes buried in the ground nearby. Automated defense turrets in standby mode.

Cautiously, he walked up to the guard shack and waved at its lone occupant. A somewhat bored looking reploid in violet armor glanced up from his perch and nodded once. "Yeah?"

"Okay if I go in?" The silver-armored reploid asked. "Those turrets won't open fire on me, right?"

"You a Maverick?"

"…No, last time I checked, I wasn't."

"Then they won't shoot at you." The guard smirked. "You joining up with the Hunters, then?"

The shoulder-cannon wielding reploid in silver gave his head a slow shake. "No…transferring."


The gate guard had waved him on ahead, and the towering reploid soon learned that his presence wasn't very welcome within the Maverick Hunter Headquarters. As soon as he'd explained to the receptionist in the front lobby that he was being transferred to the 18th Unit, the air had gone frosty in a hurry. After a long stare, the receptionist had keyed her headset and requested "Commander X" to report to the front lobby.

The silver-armored reploid was left to shuffle from one foot to the other, waiting for his escort to arrive. And what an escort. Mega Man X himself, the Blue Bomber. The hero of the Maverick Hunters.

Nervously, he glanced to the receptionist. "So, what's X like?"

The receptionist, a hardnosed human male, stared at him once before returning back to his work. The waiting reploid rolled his eyes. "Silent treatment it is, then."

Finally, the waiting ended as the turbolift doors ahead of him opened, and the azure Hunter stepped off. He was every inch the lean and capable Maverick Hunter he seemed in the holo newsreels. Blue-green eyes glanced around the room before settling on the figurative elephant in the room, and X took one measured stride after another until he was looking up into the face of their newest recruit. The difference in height was noticeable.

"You one of the GDC transfers, then?" X asked.

The large reploid nodded and held out a hand. "Sergeant Major Nils, 4th Battalion, GDC Eurobloc, Switzerland."

"Formerly, you mean." X corrected him, shaking the towering reploid's hamfist. "Now that you're in the Hunters, we go by a different ranking system."

"Yes, I figured." Nils looked around again. "Am I late reporting in? My bus was dragging on the drive out."

"Well, you're not the first to get here, if that's what you mean." X shrugged. He turned around and gestured to Nils. "Come on, I'll walk you up to the others."

"Yes, that would be terrific. I feel a little unwelcome."

"You'll get that." X mused. "The folks around here, they're not too keen on this whole notion of having GDC reploids working here."

"I don't suppose it would help if I told them I was just following orders?" Nils offered jokingly. He and X both stepped onto the freight-capable turbolift, and X punched their floor destination before looking up and raising an eyebrow. Nils' half smile died quickly. "I thought as much." The lift doors shut, and the motor hummed as they started to move.

"When I first started Maverick Hunting, politics was the farthest thing in my mind. It's become a necessity anymore, dealing with it." X offered. "You, and the others of Zephyr Team, are here by political pressure. So no, I wouldn't expect anybody to offer to buy you drinks for a while."

"We'll see about that." Nils folded his arms behind him. "So, in the meantime, who should I get to know first?"

"Well, there's myself and Zero, of course…Dr. Cain, who's turned into a curmudgeon in his old age. You'll want to stop by the Medical Bay and introduce yourself to Hazil and his staff soon; wouldn't do to have your first hello with him being when you get wheeled in for surgery."

"You inspire me with confidence." Nils winced.

Mega Man X grunted. "We lose a lot of Hunters around here on their first five missions. The ones that survive past that window are the ones worth paying attention to. This isn't a game, Nils. The Mavericks we go up against can run from the disaffected workers running protests to full bore, Virus-infected berserkers. You never know what you'll be going up against from one day to the next. We try to spread out the workload, but there are stretches where the work seems endless."

Nils blinked. X seemed to be waiting for an answer, and the Swiss reploid didn't give him one. X finally looked up. "Does that worry you?"

"If you're trying to scare me off, Commander, you'll have to try harder than that." Nils grunted. "I've seen my share of firefights."

X cracked a little smile. "Am I that transparent?"

"No, not really." Nils slapped X on the back lightly, which still sent the azure Hunter stumbling forward a step. "My orders just didn't leave a lot of room for argument."

"You're very sociable, you know that?"

"So people have told me." Nils chuckled. "I like to step into the local watering hole once I'm off duty. You know of any good spots here in the city?"

"We have our own bar right on base."

"No kidding?" Nils' eyes widened. "That's really thoughtful of you."

"Not so much. Dr. Cain just got tired of paying for the damages, so he put one in here, where we can keep an eye on things."

The turbolift slowed down, then stopped. The doors slid open, and X stepped off. "Fifth floor, Nils. You and the rest of Zephyr Team have been stationed in Beta Corridor."

"Uh, right." Nils rubbed the back of his helmet. "Remind me. This building has…"

X blinked. "The main building of the Maverick Hunter Headquarters has eleven floors, a basement, and a sub-basement. Underground passageways link it to the barracks annex, the hangar bay, main meeting hall, and our defense batteries." All of those structures, Nils remembered from his own very brief research, formed a six-way nexus like a lawman's badge from several hundred years ago, with the gate at the south point and their memorial garden to the north.

"So, Zephyr Team's the newest to join up. How come you're putting us here in the main building instead of housing us in the annex?"

X gave Nils another look, and the silver-armored reploid finally read between the lines.

Because they want to keep an eye on us.

"Come on." X said, pulling Nils back to reality. "Your new Commander wanted to start this meet and greet as soon as possible." Bidden by a reploid…no, no, X considered himself a robot, not a reploid…his superior by ability and experience, Nils nodded once and plodded along behind the cerulean warrior. His loud footfalls masked the quieter thump-thumps of X's boots.

5-B, as the signs on the walls indicated Beta Corridor on the fifth floor after they passed through a security scanner, was painted a pale blue, almost off-white. There was a momentary chime when Nils crouched down and sidestepped through the doorframed device, and X held up a hand.

"Hang on a second. I forgot we had to clear you." He reached down to a recessed panel in the scanner and punched in a button. "Command override 17-Alpha; cleared for this site."

"Authorization accepted." The machine replied. X nodded and looked to Nils. "It registered your warp signature. You now have access to 5-B and the general service areas of the MHHQ."

"I didn't warp, though." Nils protested. "How could it…" X started to put on a funny I know more than you do look, and Nils sighed. "Never mind."

Another seven meters took them to a nondescript doorway that lacked a sign. X knocked on the door, and a gruff, accented voice answered. "Enter!"

The door responded to the call and slid open. X stepped to the side and motioned to Nils. "Go on ahead."

The silver and gunmetal gray goliath shrugged once, then stepped inside. He came to attention and brought his arm up to a crisp salute. "Reporting for duty, Commander."

The "Commander" of Zephyr Team was standing with his back to the door, examining several documents laid out on the sparse office's metal desk. A thick, black, winterized longcoat covered him from his neck all the way down to a pair of conspicuous metallic boots at the floor. He stood six feet tall, and his black and pepper gray hair was trimmed in a short, spiked, military style.

The Commander seemed to tense up as Nils announced himself, and there was a long pause where neither moved. The more Nils thought, the more a strange sense of familiarity started to kick in.

Slowly, Zephyr Team's Commander turned, displaying his face. A dark black eyepatch secured to his ear demanded immediate attention, as did the faint scar that ran down from it. There was a hardness in his face, and the lines and artificial cheekbones of Slavic heritage. His one good eye, the right one, brown in color, blinked and squinted.

He and Nils both finally spoke at the same time, their words overlapping.

"Goat?" "Volya?"

Nils broke out into a wide smile. "By God, it is you! Volya, how've you been? I haven't seen you in two years!"

The cyclopean reploid stepped quickly over in front of his gargantuan counterpart and held out his hand. His voice came out thick and gravelly. "I've been better and worse, old friend."

Stunned, X finally joined the conversation. "You two know each other?"

"Of course!" Nils beamed, motioning to his new leader. "Volya…sorry, Commander Volya was with the Russian Spetsnaz when I met him. We worked together on some joint missions and training exercises before. How did you get him here?"

"Same way they got you, I would think." Volya chuckled, looking bemused. "I was given orders. So, Goat, it would seem that we shall be fighting together once more, eh? I see you still carry that ridiculous shoulder cannon of yours."

"Yes, and you still haven't gotten that eye replaced, old man." Nils slapped Volya on the shoulder, and the Russian reploid endured the punch with less sway than X had. Of course, X thought, Volya had braced himself before the hit; he'd expected it.

"Replacing it would be too much of a bother. I am not greatly hindered by its absence." Volya tucked his hands into the pockets of his longcoat. "So, then. I was told there would be one more team member arriving. Now that you are here, we are all accounted for, except for this…ah…" Volya frowned and walked back to his desk, looking at the papers before stabbing at a word. "Navigator. Da." He looked over to X. "Has this Navigator arrived?"

"Not yet, no." X shook his head. "We received word from the GDC that they're sending someone from New Amsterdam, but they won't get here until tomorrow."

"Hm." Volya didn't seem to take offense to the delay. "Very well. So, Goat, I think it would be best if you met the others on this team. I have had them all waiting down in the Commons Room of this wing for a while now."

"Absolutely. Maybe this won't be such a bad assignment after all." Nils smiled again.

Volya's face scrunched up for a moment, and the Muscovite stopped smiling. "We shall see."

With his black longcoat flaring out behind him, Volya walked crisply out of his office.

Chuckling, Goat followed, and X came after. The silver giant deduced that Volya really hadn't changed that much. He still liked to reserve judgment and avoid predictions.


The Commons Room apparently wasn't very far from Volya's office, which made the somewhat awkward trip to it short. X's body language spoke of a restrained hostility that Goat picked up on quickly. Volya, for his part, did not seem to care much about the famed hero. The Russian commander wondered how long this Hunters-wide animosity would continue. His guess was an indeterminate one; A while.

"I'm still not sure about your Chinese team member." X said, dropping his voice to just above a whisper.

"Neither am I." Volya sighed. "It is one thing to be shipped to your assignment in a box. It is another to cause a security alert within two minutes of it opening."

"Will I like him?" Goat asked, loudly enough that it startled the other two. "Because it sounds as if I will like him."

They stared at him for a moment, and Goat finally felt the need to seek an answer.

"What? Was it a big incident? A little one?"

X jerked his head towards the Commons Room door, trying to draw Goat's attention to the subject at hand. Nils followed the Azure Hunter's gaze and saw that the reploid in question was standing outside of the room. The Chinese reploid stared resolutely forward at the wall, as though by doing so he might eventually burn a hole through it and view the outside.

"Why are you outside of the Commons?" Volya asked, breaking stride from the others to march up to the new inductee. He seemed more upset than concerned. "Are you trying to cause trouble again?" The reploid, a rather blockish fellow, turned his head at the neck to look at his superior. Nils tried to get closer for a better look.

"Localized interference detected inside Commons Room. Made wireless connection with data nets difficult, calling "Home" nearly impossible. Moved outside. Better signal, no need to rewrite access protocols. Rest assured, I am no longer attempting to access local personnel databases, sir."

Volya shot a look at X, whose own expression was kept carefully neutral.

"So long as it's only that." X finally said.

Nils found himself wondering why the Hunters would have set up localized variable spectrum jammers just to stop one reploid, but wisely elected to keep quiet and watch.

"Well, since he is here." Volya cleared his throat. "Lu, this is Goat. Goat, meet Lu."

"And he's Chinese." Goat eyed Volya wonderingly. "Will that cause problems?"

"Only if he makes it one."

Lu was an interesting looking reploid, along with being interesting to listen to. He was shorter than Volya, and much shorter than Nils, with disproportionate limbs. His helmet seemed permanently attached, rather than simply locked on, as most modern reploids' were. Both his arms and his legs were oversized beyond usual specs, and his forearms in particular drew the eye. Both were equipped with an anachronistic melee weapons system; Pile-bunkers. Hydraulically driven pistons, pointed at the front end for puncturing through armor. In a world where plasma based weapons of varying strengths were the norm for combat oriented reploids, Lu's designers had thought to go for style rather than substance. Topping it all off was a questionable paint scheme. He'd been stripped down almost to the bare metal, with only bright orange and yellow markings that indicated clearly his internal access ports. Bright red warning labels in Chinese calligraphy marred his squarish forearms.

Stenciled across his chest, in both Chinese and English lettering was his designation: TEST-0001.

Lu turned to face Nils, who was surprised by the sudden attention and took two steps back. What had thrown him was how unnatural Lu appeared to be, eyes jerking back and forth rapidly as he took in Nils' massive form. Analyzing him.

"Nils. Sergeant Major. GDC Eurobloc. Demolitions expert, trained in all styles of heavy weaponry. An excellent addition to Zephyr Team. Before locked out of localized Electrosphere, was able to acquire personal data." He thrust out his right hand expectantly, and his mechanical tone took on a disturbing personal lilt. "Pleased to meet you! I am Lu." Even his smile is off, Goat thought.

Despite that, Nils didn't hesitate. He took the reploid's (If Lu was even a reploid) hand and shook it vigorously, noting that only his arm seemed to move while the rest of his body was as still as though he were bolted to the floor. For good measure, Goat attempted to slap Lu on the shoulder. Attempted, for Lu's other hand shot up and caught Goat by the wrist a foot before his hamfist could make impact.

"Well, that makes two friendly souls I know here." Goat announced. "Good to meet you too. I, uh, suppose you already know who I am."

"No. No no." Lu gave his head the barest shake back and forth. "I only read the first page of your file. Different from actually knowing someone."

Goat and Volya shared a look of concern. X only scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"That's kinda profound, actually."


The odd procession of four reploids made their way back inside the Commons Room, and X nodded to Volya. "I'd best see to my other duties."

"I understand." Volya nodded, giving X only half his attention. "And do we have anything planned for today?"

"You are currently assigned no missions. Dr. Cain figured you'd want the first day to get settled in." X stepped outside of the Commons and motioned a little further down the hall. "Your barracks are just around the bend, when you're ready to turn in. Tomorrow, we'll be putting you into a training rotation."

Volya nodded. "Very well. Good day, Commander."

"Commander." X said haltingly. He walked out of sight, and the door closed behind him.

Volya, Goat, and Lu turned to look back inside. Having met Lu, Goat found himself looking at the last two warriors of Zephyr Team. The first was a somewhat dodgy humanoid reploid in plain looking armor. At first glance, he seemed like any other of the vast multitudes who'd been produced in his size and configuration. By the band on his right forearm, he was equipped with a Buster. Most likely the Mark 17, the most basic model for military types. He might have been basic security, which would limit him to a stun buster, but that was unlikely. Very little stood out as noticeable; he wore a black helmet with a visor usually worn by pilots. His armor was a dark blue above the waist, and a softer blue below it.

The other stranger in the room was much more imposing to look at. Goat couldn't help inhaling in wonder as he found himself looking at an animal reploid. They weren't rare, as most of the non-humanoid reploids built served in special capacities, but it was also true that more animal reploids went Maverick…or at the least, caught the public's attention more when they did. This one resembled a brown fox, and stood at just a hair over five and a half feet tall. His red and white armor seemed well maintained, and before the vulpinoid turned around, Nils noticed that the armor covering the small of his back had a unique set of vents in them. What exactly they vented was something he couldn't venture. Attached to a charging pack between his shoulder blades were a pair of wicked looking shortaxes, the style of which Goat couldn't quite place.

"All right, everyone. It's time for some more introductions." Volya announced. Hesitantly, the two reploids inside the Commons Room walked to the center to meet the others. Volya stood between the four warriors under his command and held up his right arm The other, he kept out of its sleeve and hidden within his black overcoat. "Everybody, this is Nils of the Eurobloc. He also answers to Goat."

"I prefer it, really." Goat added with a smile.

The human reploid with the pilot's helmet laughed under his breath a little. "Of course he does. And there's probably a reason for that strange little name, but we'll save that for another time, yes we will." If Volya was disturbed by the fellow's strange pattern of speech, he kept it to himself and pressed on.

"Goat, this is Morgan, formerly of the New Denver Tactical MSWAT division. He's a pilot, from what I've read on him, and he also has a nickname."

"Oh?" Goat folded his arms and looked to the blue and black-colored Morgan. "What should I call you?"

"Huey." The pilot said, and blinked. "I'm a pilot?"

"Uh…" Goat began to say, cutting himself off when Volya raised his hand. "Sure."

"Hm." Volya turned to the other. "And this is Hawkins, or Tomahawk Foxfire."

The vulpine reploid glanced over Goat, not in the same clinical fashion as Lu had. He seemed to be searching for something else, and failing to find it, gave one short nod of his head. "A pleasure."

"Foxfire has some experience as a Maverick Hunter already." Volya went on, nodding to Hawkins to elaborate.

"Regional Maverick Hunters, out of Wyoming." The fox explained.

"And so you have all met each other." Volya spoke up again, allowing the various reploids in the room to look at each other and begin to puzzle out, curiously, what made them all worthy of being on Zephyr Team. "Now. In the days to come, I will take my measurement of all of you. I do not know why you have been selected for this assignment, only that you have. So long as you are here, you are my responsibility, and I will do my best to keep you all alive."

Out of his one good eye, Volya affixed each member of his team with an even, warning glance. "In return, I expect you all to listen, to follow my orders, and to do so without complaint. I will not waste your time expecting you to agree with my decisions."

"Good." Hawkins muttered, earning stares from Lu and Goat. Huey didn't seem to even register the remark. Unperturbed, for he had certainly heard it, Volya kept going.

"I am Russian in manufacture. You hail from China, Switzerland, and the United States. As of now, those distinctions mean nothing. So long as we are here as members of this…Zephyr Team…we are simply GDC." Volya's voice came out smooth, his accent giving the English syllables an almost romantic quality. "Perhaps some of you feel that I am unqualified for the position of Commander." This time, he looked sharply at Tomahawk Foxfire, and the vulpinoid's whiskers twitched slightly in what might have been a flinch. "While I am unable to share the bulk of my accomplishments with you, what you may know is that I have been fighting and training Spetsnaz soldiers for longer than most of you have been alive." The way he said unable came out oonayble, another quirk from his primary language carrier. He blinked, and again his eyepatch and the scar and wound caught their attentions. "I have fought, I have survived, I have endured. Listen, and I will teach you. Follow my orders, and you may stay alive."

"You forgot not complaining." Lu ventured, with his detachment infuriatingly on high.

Inside his longcoat, there was a hint of movement, and then Volya's left arm snapped forth like a snake. A metal cylinder gripped in his hand hissed, and a short blade of plasma ignited, forming to its tapered point just shy of Lu's face. Instinctively, the other three recoiled backwards from the sudden aggressive move, but Lu merely blinked before looking at Volya through the haze of green particles.

"Beam saber. Shortblade class; one meter length, improved charge time. Weapon catalogued."

"Meaning you will expect it next time." Volya spoke lowly, not as a question.

"Affirmative."

Volya's thumb moved imperceptibly, and the beam shortblade extinguished, the plasma retreating to its storage bottle in the hilt. "As for not complaining, my advice is simple. Don't."

He pulled the flap of his longcoat back and stowed the shortblade into a small charging scabbard at his hip. Then the coat was closed back up, and he was once more himself.

"Any questions?"

"One, Commander." Huey said, having found his voice again. "Why's the GDC putting us here with the Maverick Hunters?"

The door to the hallway opened up as Volya was just about to speak, and an elderly human in a blue kimono with red trim hobbled in by use of a walking stick. All the hair from his head seemed to have melted down and frozen on his chin in a drooping fountain, but wrinkled skin and shock white hair didn't change the glint of light in his eyes.

Before them stood Doctor James T. Cain, the creator of the reploid race.

"I may be able to answer that, son." Cain said. "But first, you're wanted downstairs."


Briefing Room Gamma

MHHQ Main Building

Dr. Cain was a wiry old bastard, or so his detractors gruffly admitted. In truth, the former archaeologist turned robotic engineer turned private military organizer didn't think of himself as anything but a grandfather always presiding over a fluctuating family reunion. After all, every reploid was descended from Mega Man X, starting with the first, a yellow waif of a thing called Cancer, up to the impersonally manufactured models being produced by the hour. He didn't relish sending the few humans and the many reploids under his command out to kill his errant progeny, but the world never operated by his wishes, and so the intolerance of it went bitterly noted and then forgotten, a footnote of a glossed over reality. For the sake of everyone who worked for the Maverick Hunters, he always put up a brave face. For X especially. He tried to protect X from the world as much as possible, but the years brought their own cynical wisdom in spite of his efforts, and the days when X was a bright-eyed rookie working under Sigma alongside Zero were long gone. How far from Light's vision had Cain let the world drive itself?

He pondered that question anew as he stepped into the conference room with the reploids of Zephyr Team in tow. Zero was already sitting down alongside two other visiting dignitaries, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table and tuning out the droning conversation. A camera crew stationed in the corner of the room was keeping track of the proceedings, and spent a long time keeping their holoscanner on Zero's aloof posture. Cain allowed himself a twitch of a smile before he smoothed out his face to a blank pose. Zero had never needed protecting from the world. It didn't matter if it was politics, combat, or just the world spinning. He faced it all with unblinking ferocity, and though that cast him in the public eye as a slightly feral and incredibly dangerous Maverick Hunter, it certainly suited the reploid's needs.

He had command of his own Special Forces Unit, but all the paperwork required for it fell on the shoulders of his team. Last Cain had heard, they were on a rotating shift to keep the reports up to date. Zero kept to combat and deadly efficiency. Everything else was beneath him. Especially entertaining guests.

The two dignitaries rose as Cain came closer. The first was a sadly semiannual presence within the MHHQ's corridors; GDC Liaison Officer Lionel Gervais, of Gascony, France. In his late thirties, Gervais had been assigned to his posting shortly before the World Trial, and had somehow stuck it out longer than any of his predecessors; years longer. The Frenchman had a thinning pate of brown hair he kept combed over, and a mustache that he could hang bells from, if he'd wanted to. He wore his usual conservatively gray suit and striped tie.

The second, Cain had to pause and think on before recognition finished sneaking through the crevices of his tired old brain. It was an older gentleman with Mediterranean features, and given Gervais, had to be involved with the GDC as well. Finally, it clicked. A Representative, from…Greece, wasn't it? Yes. The man's name escaped him, but he was Greek, and he was GDC.

"James, good to see you again." Gervais shook Cain's hand vigorously.

"Mm hm." Cain nodded. He looked to the uncomfortable babysitting Hunter. "Zero, thanks for entertaining our guests."

"Don't mention it." Zero replied, getting up quickly. The unspoken gleam in his green eyes added EVER to the end of the sentence. He looked behind Cain as the new reploids filtered in, blinking when he tried to categorize the sight of a goliath, a half-blind cripple, a vulpinoid, a screwoff, and a…whatever Lu was. "These the new guys we got today?"

"Zephyr Team." Volya clarified, giving a respectful nod to Zero. Due deference was always given to the specter of death, after all. "Commander Volya, at your service."

"Commander." Zero's lips pursed, but he said nothing else after thinking better of it. "Well, I'll leave you all to it, then. Doc, call me if you need something."

"I'll try not to." Cain joked, patting Zero on the back as the Crimson Hunter escaped the room.

Alone with the cameras, Zephyr Team, and the two guests, Cain glanced to the representative. "I feel like I should know you, sir."

"Oh, forgive me." Gervais apologized. "Dr. Cain, allow me to introduce Representative Theron Olyndicus of Greece, chairman of the Special Military Oversight Committee."

"We have not met." Olyndicus smiled. He was in his fifties or sixties, but outside of the wrinkles time had put on his face and the gray of his hair, Olyndicus looked to be in remarkable shape. "I spend a lot of my time these days working on projects involving Repliforce, but the Maverick Hunters also fall under my Committee's purview, to a lesser extent."

"So you're with the SMOC, then?" Cain put on his best false smile. "We haven't always seen eye to eye."

"Something that my predecessors were left to answer for during the most recent triannual elections." Olyndicus chuckled. "Of course, I have my own problems now. But enough about that. The reports by Officer Gervais indicate you've had a rough go putting this place back together after the Doppler Rebellion."

"We prefer the term Third Maverick Uprising." Cain noted. "And sure, we lost some people, got a lot of holes punched into the walls, but we're taking care of it. When you came in, how did the place look?"

"Pristine."

"There you go, then." Cain cleared his throat. "So, what brings you to our little corner of the world, Mr. Olyndicus?"

"Please, call me Theron." The representative insisted, making sure to raise his voice so the recording equipment could pick his jovial mood up easily. "I came to take a look at your newest Maverick Hunters in person. When I heard that the GDC was sending personnel to be members of your organization, I couldn't help but smile."

"Oh? Why, exactly?" Cain asked, carefully neutral.

"Although the Maverick Hunters are technically under the GDC's dominion, our two organizations have never quite gotten along with one another. But now, this new batch of Maverick Hunters represents a bridge between us, a pathway to understanding and cooperation. The Doppler Rebellion's aftershocks still haunt the world, and the Hunters are still running at diminished capacity. Now, more than ever, our unity will help to guide the world down the right path." He held out a hand expectantly, and Cain shook it, if only to keep from looking the fool on the holocameras.

Olyndicus gave Cain two beats before turning to the five reploids in the room. "And now, look at you! Brave warriors of the Global Defense Council, taken from all corners of the world. Come here, let me look at you!"

"He lays it on awful thick." Goat whispered to Volya, covering his mouth.

"Hm." Volya acknowledged the remark with a grunt, but stepped up to the GDC Representative all the same. Olyndicus clapped his hands on Volya's shoulders and beamed at the cameras.

"Smile, son, smile!"

"I do not smile often." Volya admitted, and kept a straight face. Somehow, he kept his poise even when Representative Olyndicus hugged him to his side and smiled at the cameras.

"These boys represent the future of our two great organizations." Olyndicus explained. "I am sure that they are the best our member nations had to offer. They will be a truly international coalition, fighting for peace in our troubled world. I expect to hear great things about them in the weeks to come. Let's get all of them in here, I think a group shot would be terrific."

Begrudgingly, Volya gestured to the others, and the team uncomfortably shuffled in. They formed an odd semicircle, with Goat standing behind them and Olyndicus holding Volya's hand in congratulations. The photographers lined up for the shot, struggling to do so.

"Could you pull it in a little closer, please?" One recorder asked. "I'm having trouble getting you all in the picture."

"Wait!" Olyndicus exclaimed. "Before you do, let's get Doctor Cain and Officer Gervais in here as well. They, too, are a part of this after all."

With the other two men crowding in, the reploids of Zephyr Team started to look even more miserable than they'd been before. It was bad enough that one photographer looked up, glanced to the other, and remarked that, "It looks like a prison photo."

They snapped the shots regardless, and Olyndicus pulled away from Volya. "There, that should keep the press happy for a while. They love a feel-good story."

"Hm." Volya offered in reply.

"Pardon? Did you say something, lad?"

"No, not really." Volya shrugged.

Olyndicus unsurely nodded, and then gestured to his GDC counterpart. "Well, Mr. Gervais, why don't we head down to the cafeteria and try some of the local fare?"

"Oh, excellent idea, sir." Gervais brightened up. "They do have some excellent cooks here at the base." He followed Olyndicus out of the room, and the cameramen followed. "Why, the last time I was here…"

With relief, the door shut behind them, leaving Dr. Cain and Zephyr Team alone in the room.

Volya glanced over to Lu. "Lu, scan for transmitters."

The Chinese reploid started. "Commander, you previously advised me not to…"

"You're not datamining the MHHQ servers, you're checking for bugs."

"Oh." Lu reached up to the side of his helmet and slowly swept the room with his eyes. A few seconds later, he nodded. "The room is secure."

"Sure as Hell should be, our techs sweep this and every other section of the base daily." Cain complained. "Why would you even worry about that?"

"Politicians play by their own strange rules. The Fourth Estate keeps to even stranger guidelines." Volya crisply replied. "I have very few rules."

"Three. He has three." Morgan confided.

"That you know of." Goat corrected the pilot.

Cain looked them over. "So this wasn't your idea?"

"No." Volya gave his head a shake. "I was not informed of this distraction."

"Well, that explains why you didn't say a whole lot to Olyndicus."

"Politicians rarely require a response." Volya brought his hands out and cracked his knuckles loudly; a human gesture that his physiology took to a painful extreme. "They never listen to the ones they get anyway."

"True." Cain leaned both hands on his walking stick and sized them up again. "Now. To answer your original question, Morgan, why did the GDC send you here to be Maverick Hunters?" The old man exhaled in disgust. "I've got my guesses, but mostly I think they just wanted a presence here. Of course, that doesn't mean you'll be going on missions anytime soon. What I've seen so far hasn't been very promising."

"I will reserve my own judgments for the time being." Volya said, not shrinking away from Cain's staredown. "But you are correct in one regard, Doctor. Zephyr Team has not yet been measured. With your permission, I would like to remedy that."

"Oh? Going to do some training?"

"Do you have an obstacle course on the grounds we might use? Access to a weapons range?"

"Something like that." Cain nodded, a sudden devilish twinkle of an idea taking hold. "Yes, I think we have a facility here that will do quite nicely. Have you ever been in holographic simulations?"

Volya made a face. "I would prefer our training regimen to be real."

Cain turned for the door, chuckling. "Well, I'll tell X to meet us down there. You see, Commander, our simulators are probably the best in the world. Once we put you in the box and turn it on…it can be as real as you want it to be."


MHHQ

Sub-Basement Secondary Annex

From the surface, nobody would have ever expected that the MHHQ housed such a spacious facility belowground. The design made a lot of sense, though; you wouldn't want people popping off live rounds next to sensitive facilities or the living quarters.

"We have ten holo-simulator rooms. Two of those are large enough to house full units of twenty-one individuals. The others have a capacity for five each." Cain explained. Zephyr Team followed the old man down a hallways bracketed by stairwells on either side in the middle of the corridor. "Each room can run an independent simulation, or when the need calls for it, link up for joint operations."

At the end of the hallway, an unmarked metal door halted their progress. Cain knocked on it twice, and then it unlocked and split open to reveal a very futuristic control center. In the control chair sat Mega Man X, who waved at them all.

"Welcome to the bridge." X announced. "Come on in, you'll want a look in here before we get started."

"Well, now I know where all our money went." Tomahawk Foxfire looked around with jealousy. The remark earned him an odd look from Cain until Lu said, "Hunter Hawkins served in the Regional Wyoming patrol."

"Ah." Cain nodded. "Now I get you."

"Most of this was actually home-built." X pointed out with a frown. "We're not exactly made of money, either."

"Perhaps we can stay focused, gentlemen?" Volya growled. He ran his hand over the Bridge consoles without touching anything, and took note of the angled transparisteel windows that jutted above and away from the room on all sides. "You watch the simulations from here?"

"And control them." X clarified. "We always have someone in the booth when there are sessions active; it's a precautionary measure, just in case things get out of hand."

"Does that happen often?" Goat cut in uneasily.

"If the Hunters that are training turn off the safety features, yes." Cain gruffly admitted. "I wasn't joking about it being real as you want it to, son. We've carted Hunters out of here that got locked into auto-stasis after taking a beating."

"We've never had a simulation that screwed up the mainframe and couldn't be shut down, though." X joked. "This isn't Star Trek."

"Pain can be helpful during training." Volya suggested, seeming to respect the facility's power, if not its purpose. "It can be a most effective teaching aid."

"Boy, you were all sunshine and rainbows back in Russia, weren't you, Comrade?" Huey mused. Volya looked over, and the pilot raised a hand. "Hey, that wasn't a complaint, that was a veiled insult."

Volya's left eyebrow arched over his eyepatch. "Hm."

"You like to muse aloud a lot, don't you?" X inferred.

"It is better than the alternative." Volya reasoned.

Goat laughed nervously. "Yeah…gutting people who irritate him."

"Heh! Ha ha!" Huey cackled. "Nice one!" Volya and Goat both gave the former MSWAT officer a blank stare, and Huey's grin died. "Oh."

"Hm." Volya grunted. He turned to X. "Perhaps we should begin. I would like to see what my men are capable of."

"All right. Did you have a training program in mind? An obstacle course, maybe?" X asked, reaching for the main keypad.

"I wish to see them fight, not run through old tires." Volya responded firmly. "Can you simulate a sizable enemy force for individual assessment?"

"Easily." X said. He glanced over at Dr. Cain, then nodded. "As a matter of fact, we have a pretty basic simulation we use to gauge the first-timers. I could set it up for you if you like."

"That will be fine." Volya folded his arms and angled his chin at the windows. "May I watch from here?"

"You sure can." Cain tapped his stick on the floor. "Go ahead and walk these new guys down to Room 4, X. I'll start setting up the parameters."

"Right, then." X got up and gestured to the rest of Volya's team. "If you'll all follow me?"

Zephyr Team filtered out of the Bridge, leaving Volya and Cain alone. The old man sat down and started to punch in commands for the simulator, and Volya cleared his throat. "So, who designed this simulation?"

"The run that X referred to wasn't an original composition, Commander." Cain explained, reaching for a dial. "We took it from mission recordings. A lot of our simulator programs use past missions as their source."

"Very strategic." Volya said agreeably. "We must learn from the past. So, what mission did this one come from?"

"June 4th, 2118." Cain answered coldly. A specter rose up behind his eyes, slowing his movements. "Nightfall of Reploid Independence Day. Pursuing the hijacked airship Death Rogumer, Commander X fought his way through legions of Mavericks and almost didn't make it out alive. It culminated with a faceoff against Vile in the shambles of New Tokyo's Vinkus Memorial Park." He looked up at Volya, deadly serious. "We call it The Meat Grinder."


"I don't think I've ever done holo-training before." Tomahawk Foxfire said.

"It was pretty rudimentary when we first started. Thanks to our tech crews, we have very complex algorithms nowadays. Aside from running the program as is, we can modify obstacle layout, number of targets, and AI ferocity. That's not counting how much more or less we can make damage hurt." The Blue Bomber of 21XX guided them down the left stairway and into a lower, curving corridor. Thankfully, it accommodated Goat's size.

"You mentioned earlier that our previous military ranks didn't mean anything, Commander." Goat ventured. "What did you mean by that?"

"Easy. I imagine Mr. Foxfire here could explain it, seeing as he's a Hunter himself." X paused outside the doorway of the fourth simulator and brought the procession to a halt. "Care to try?"

The brown vulpinoid shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the added attention on him. "The Maverick Hunters don't use named ranks, outside of Commander, and at one time, Supreme Commander. They go by a letter ranking system instead."

"Greek letters?" Lu asked, with his usual naiveté.

"No, just regular ones." Foxfire shook his head. "Your lowest Hunters are ranked D. They're the ones who are more liable to hurt themselves than the Mavericks they're supposed to fight. Rank C Hunters get the job done, but get banged up a lot. Rank B Hunters are a little bit better, Rank A Hunters are terrific, and Rank SA Hunters are the upper echelon. Rank SA Hunters can sometimes even perform better than expected, going as high as GA, PA, or UH. I think UH is a little bit like a perpetual motion machine; everybody shoots for it, but nobody gets it. To be UH, you have to be perfect."

"Maybe." X reasoned. "Of course, Zero scored a UH once in a training session, and despite what he tells the girls around here, he isn't perfect."

"Unbelievable." Foxfire looked skyward and rolled his eyes. "Of course he would."

"Oh, before we get started, does anybody here require some munitions?" X tapped the side of his arm. "I carry my own weapons system, but I know that others aren't so lucky."

"I could use a few things." Goat drawled.

Lu stepped forward beside the goliath. "I, too, would like to request some magpistols."

"Okay, so that's two magpistols with some extra magazines, and…Yeah. You." X looked at Goat and shook his head. He reached to a communications panel on the wall opposite of Room 4's doorway and tapped it. "Commander X here. I've got some people doing a simulator run. Put me through to the weapons depot."

"Onemoment,Commander." Came the delayed response from the MHHQ operator. There was a momentary click, and then the line picked up.

"Weapons depot.Whaddya need,X?"

"Standby for a weapons request. Teleport the supplies to Locker Holo-Alpha."

"Roger that."

X stepped back and motioned to Goat and Lu. "Go ahead and tell the man what you need. Trust me, we'll have it."

"You carry ATA-7 Galavine Bazookas?" Goat blinked.

X stumbled forward a bit. "Er…well, sure. Maybe. You can ask him." He motioned to a recessed panel five meters away from them on the outer wall. "They'll teleport your weapons into this locker; a chime will sound when they're done transferring."

X left the two recruits alone and walked over to rejoin Morgan and Foxfire at the door. "Okay, then. That leaves you two, and I assume you're ready to go. So who wants to go first? Huey? Or you, Hawkins?"

The pilot and the patroller looked at one another, and Tomahawk Foxfire finally shrugged his shoulders. "Fine, I'll go." The fox reploid sighed. "Just to get it out of the way." He stepped towards the door, and it opened to let him in.

"Oh, Hawkins. I forgot to ask." X suddenly said, stopping him. "When you were a Regional Hunter, what were you ranked as?"

Tomahawk "Hawkins" Foxfire paused, straightened up a bit, and considered the question.

"You know," he finally said, "I never thought to ask."

He stepped inside the room, and the door shut behind him.


For a while, Tomahawk Foxfire just kind of stood there.

It wasn't so much that he was impressed by the historic event he was about to reenact—where were you when Sigma awakened that highway, he'd been asked by one too many wide-eyed nostalgics; Well, pal, I was still just a glimmer in some furry's eye—but rather it was the fact that in order to complete this glorified obstacle course, he'd need to move his limbs, and he wasn't entirely certain that those limbs still belonged to him.

Since skulking into Maverick Hunter Headquarters, Foxfire had felt as though his mind was floating above his body like a kite, attached only by the thinnest of strings. He himself hadn't shaken hands with his new colleagues, he himself hadn't taken pictures with the well-spritzed GDC figures (the Frenchman had smelt vaguely like baby powder)—no, he'd merely watched himself do these things, wondering why he couldn't feel the hands he clasped, or why he heard bitterness in his voice when talking to Volya even though he had no true opinion one way or another about the man. It was as if Foxfire was no longer the one controlling which words left his own mouth. He'd even started thinking of himself as "Foxfire" rather than the more humanized "Hawkins" moniker that his old friends had bestowed upon him like a war medal. He remembered a time when any one of these things would have disturbed him enough to take action.

But today, Foxfire's first steps were toward a pit in the broken highway, where he planned to drop into a crater and "die" just to test how Volya the One-Eyed Snowman would react. Halfway there, he picked up on an acrid scent, and the kite-string suddenly went taut.

Jesus Christ, he realized, his fur actually standing on end. I can smell this city dying.

He'd been in holo-sims before—though not for combat—but they were all somewhat artificial, failing to properly engage all of the senses. Foxfire was, first and foremost, a creature of sensation. This sim was indeed different, however. Foxfire picked up on the warmth of rampant fires, the choking odor of melting vehicles, even the soft tinny buzzing of the streetlamps that were still active. Ambient heat painted his face like a ritual.

Limb by limb, he felt his body coming back to life, the weight in his bones displaced by something ravenous. His spine curled of its own volition, so that Foxfire crouched slightly in a stalking position. He heard the approaching propellers of two ground-pounding aerial mechaniloids, along with the spokes of a thorned wheel ticking closer and closer to his position.

His tomahawks were in his hands, then, and he was moving—dancing, really—one foot forward with claws digging into the pavement and his whole body pivoting to one side while his blade bit into the spiked wheel's harmless flank. Not stopping, Foxfire twisted the tomahawk just enough to embed it in the wheel, and he pivoted again, swinging 360-degrees and extending his arm at just the right moment. The wheel broke off of the tomahawk and like a boomerang it scythed through the air toward the flying mechaniloids, biting one in half with its spikes and then crashing bodily into the second so that both targets tumbled off the side of the highway.

Foxfire didn't even stop moving to watch them fall.

Ahead, he could see several squat, hulking blue forms, each of them sparking with electricity. And ahead of them would be—well, Foxfire was a student of history, and he knew what awaited him. Without much internal debate, the vulpinoid tossed himself over the edge of the highway.

However, to the relief of the migraine that Commander Volya had probably spent the day fending off with ten-foot pikes, Foxfire did not pull a Wile E. Coyote. Instead, his tomahawks lashed out again, anchoring the Hunter in the highway's damaged side. He ripped out one blade and caught it against some loose steel, then freed the other and swung himself toward the steel cables lining the highway's underbelly. He latched on with the potent claws on his feet, dangling like a bat just long enough to sheathe his tomahawks. Then he doubled over and crawled, upside down, along the many cables and beams that were still intact, completely bypassing all of the enemies above.

Then he grabbed a loose cable, and Foxfire felt his upper half tumbling gracelessly toward oblivion.

His feet held, despite the lurch of his upper weight against his knees. Ankles sore and jolted, Foxfire stared wide-eyed at the abyss, marveling again at the realism of this sim, the believable death that would follow the unclenching of his toes. For a moment he allowed himself to dangle there, in the space between fake life and fake death, just to see how it felt. His immediate conclusion was that it felt disturbingly like freedom.

And that's when he heard it—the thrumming rotors of the Mitsubatchi "Bee Blader."

Foxfire sighed, his mind returning to the mission. The thought of taking on a Bee Blader seemed somehow counterproductive. He'd been making such good time. Good time, he thought—Good time toward what, exactly? What's the objective, here?

Death Rogumer, he remembered, and things became clearer.

The insectoid helicopter was above him, on the road—but the road ahead was too badly damaged to continue along the underbelly. Foxfire looked up and saw that the cable that had betrayed him was not the only one in a state of disrepair. The road itself looked ready to crumble. A smile grew on Foxfire's face as the vulpinoid began hatching a plan. He again pulled himself up to all fours, the vents along his armor beginning to release a curious golden shimmer into the air around him.

Like most combat feraloids, Tomahawk Foxfire came equipped with a unique ability. In his case it was the "Aether Flare," a glistening cloud of energy not unlike the garlands Morph Moth once left in his wake. In fact, this "cloud" was composed of nano-operated cells containing pyrotechnics and compressed kinetic energy. Foxfire crawled along a ten-foot stretch of highway, lingering on the weakest pylons, leaving that will-o-wisp behind him until the bottom of the road seemed to be on fire. Then the fox made his way down toward the hole in the road, well clear of the cloud he'd created, listening carefully to the Bee Blader's machine guns as they tore apart empty cars. Foxfire held his breath, sent the command, and the actual Aether Flare occurred.

All the micro-explosives contained in Foxfire's energy curtain ignited at once, a solar wink that echoed like thunder. No one would ever have called the resulting explosion insanely powerful, but it was more than enough to destroy what support the highway had left, and that twenty-foot stretch of road sank like a burning stone. Foxfire watched it go, clinging to a pylon beneath what was now a small and swaying piece of suspended highway.

Within seconds, the Bee Blader descended to investigate. His heart leaping, Foxfire watched the distracted behemoth as it began investigating the ruined road, and without wasting any more time he scaled the side of the highway. He'd left himself just enough road for the running start he'd need to cross the upcoming chasm, and with his limbs fluid one more, Foxfire took his great leap. The Mitsubatchi never knew he was there.

But when he landed on the other side, the rest of the history lesson kicked in: wasn't there supposed to be more than one Bee Bla—

Why yes there was!


Up above, watching from the safety of the holographic bridge, Dr. Cain, Commander X, and Commander Volya kept their opinions to themselves for the most part. Cain would nod every so often as Hawkins scurried along without engaging, X glanced back to Volya approvingly, and the Muscovite merely stared. He did so out of great interest; Tomahawk Foxfire, or "Hawkins" as his nickname had been, was the only former Hunter among them. Regional Hunter or no, he had lived and worked by the same code that powered this institution. Hawkins' maneuvers avoided direct contact with overwhelming enemy forces-namely, the Bee Blader-while continuing towards his main goal. That indicated he knew his strengths and weaknesses.

The physical ones, at least.

Remembering what he'd read of Hawkins in the vulpinoid's records, Volya harrumphed and finally spoke. "He will need some work."

"Are you serious?" X blinked at the suggestion. "He's doing great so far. Most people would just try to charge through it. He's working the course."

Volya, who had meant something else entirely, kept his own counsel after that and watched.


Foxfire danced around the bullets and ran like hell. He navigated the fractured road, dodging the torpedoes the Bee Blader sent his way by timing their whistles with his steps, dodging the strange purple mechaniloids that now swarmed above him like gnats, dodging even the soldiers in their weaponized convertibles who found that their cars couldn't quite keep up with a fox in full sprint. And all the while he kept trailing his molten energy behind him.

Foxfire could remotely activate the Aether Flare cells for up to ten minutes after they left his body, depending on his power reserves, though the cells themselves lost power the longer they were deployed. Still at full power, he thought he'd have pretty good range, and so he waited. He would only have one shot at this, and there ahead was the final objective, Death Rogumer itself.

Only when he was in the airship's literal shadow did Foxfire spin in mid-stride, grin toothily at the small army that was still shooting at him, and set the air on fire.

The purple flyers never had a chance—the Aether Flare burst them like fireworks. The drivers vanished in a confusion of light, crashing into one another and into the median and guardrails. It was the Bee Blader, though, that gave Foxfire the most pleasure. Like an experienced maestro, Foxfire burst one cloud at a time, patterning the thunder he unleashed around the furious Mitsubatchi so that one blast hit the copter from the right, sending it pitching to the left where another flare sent it back to the right, and back again, juggling the imposing enemy between hell's coals until finally two of its generators blew out in a satisfying crunch. Foxfire watched his flaming wave dissipate and felt his chest swell at the sight of his enemies either broken or in retreat, led by the smoking Mitsubatchi, which limped back toward the main highway where another Hunter would have been able to finish it off with ease.

"Boom!" Foxfire erupted, leaping once into the air and pumping his fist. "BOOM! How about that, suckas? Tell me that wasn't fucking awesome!"

Behind him—an earthquake.

Just the one tremor.

Then the hiss of the Death Rogumer's cargo arm retreating into its belly.

Tomahawk Foxfire turned around slowly, more out of resignation than curiosity. Sure as hell, there it was, the Chimera's broad chest looking to Foxfire more like the hull of an aircraft carrier than the frame of a robot ride armor. At the top sat the fiend himself, one bloody eye peering from the shadows of his medieval visor.

"Boom indeed," quoth Vile, his voice feeling not unlike spiders at the nape of one's neck. The cruel smile behind his visor was invisible, though it might as well have glowed neon. "So, then..."

The Chimera jetted toward Foxfire, one fist already in mid-flight, Vile's words echoing like a demonic choir:

"What now, bitch?"

Foxfire did not immediately have that answer. He managed to bolt the hell out of the way, pivoting stiffly and bringing his tomahawks up to bear. He thought he'd wait for Vile to dash toward him again and then clip the side of the—

Pain.

Air.

Faceplant.

Foxfire pulled himself up quickly, shocked at how fast Vile's bulky mecha had managed to turn itself around. Now here it came again, and the vulpinoid rolled to the side, and then to his feet, and then dodged again, shaking his head to clear away the remaining stars. Vile's laughter punched through Foxfire's headache like a drumbeat, and that elusive adrenaline flowed into the Hunter's veins once more.

Holy shit, he consciously acknowledged for perhaps the first time since his reassignment, I'm a Hunter again.

With that thought came any number of unpleasant memories, but also a double-dose of pride and energy. Hawkins leapt away from Vile once more, but this time he began venting his Aether. The shimmering cloud began filling up the patch of highway that was their arena as Vile struck and Foxfire retreated.

Finally Vile stopped dashing, leaping backward instead and opening fire with a spray of energy from his shoulder cannon. Hawkins—he was "Hawkins" again, the vulpinoid thought with an inner grin—saw it coming and was clear of ground zero mostly in time, raising his tomahawks to deflect one shot that came too close to home. He looked toward Vile in challenge, but now the Maverick had moved out of range of the Aether. "Come on, Vava," the fox murmured, watching and waiting. Hoping. "Vava, Vava, Vava," he whispered, paying attention to the way his mouth worked to form the words, a sort of meditative metronome.

"Aren't you bored yet, Foxy?" Vile chirped, his cannon glowing with the threat of plasma, but not its actuality. "I'm sick of dancing with you." Vile leaned forward in his cockpit, meeting Hawkins's eyes. "I want to wear you, Foxy. I want to wrap your shoulders around my shoulders, and I want to smell your wet blood on your own bristles, and then PETA will sue my ass, and then I'll wear them, too!"

"Come and get me," Hawkins growled—but Vile was already on the way. He wasn't coming gently, either; his shoulder cannon crackled with a golden curtain not unlike Hawkins's own, but the Hunter knew it would have a decidedly different effect. "Come get some java, Vava," he murmured, tensing, watching the Ride Armor closing in, waiting for exactly the right millisecond. "Splash some guava on your balaclava—"

Now.

Hawkins faked right; Vile steered for him, but the fox cartwheeled another direction—not left, but directly backwards, so that Vile missed him but was still within striking distance, and Maverick's trademark electrical cage bounced uselessly off the street.

Hawkins now had one last trick up his sleeve. The Aether Flare ability ran not just to his external vents, but also into his tomahawks, and in that case the flare ignited by force of impact. His blades aglow, Hawkins launched himself at the Chimera. One tomahawk sliced at an exposed flank while Vile tried to recover from his miss, creating a burst of energy that tore open some of the machine's flimsier protection. But it didn't bite in too deeply, so that Hawkins could spin all the way around and slam the other blade hard into the Chimera's waist. This time the explosion was bigger, carrying the tomahawk—and Hawkins's arm with it—back past his shoulder with kinetic force, and sending the Chimera sidling toward the edge of the highway. Then Hawkins detonated the greater Aether Flare, and, much as he'd juggled the Bee Blader, he blasted Vile closer and closer to the abyss.

That, at any rate, was the plan. Yet there Vile stood once the smoke cleared, still on the highway. The Ride Armor appeared damaged, but disappointingly intact and surefooted.

"You stupid bastard!" the Maverick roared. "Did you think your little faerie fire was gonna work on me?"

There was no time for a new plan. Hawkins simply acted. He dashed forward. Not to the side, not around a flank. Directly forward. And Vile did as well, but not before Hawkins was too close for him to build up enough speed for his punches to cripple. Hawkins brought both tomahawks down in an overhead chop, embedding them in the Mech's chest. He huddled as close to the torso as he could, too close for the fists pumping like pistons past his ears to land a hit, too close for Vile even to fire a shot down at him. But the Chimera pressed forward, and Hawkins's foothold wasn't much by comparison.

It felt like many things. It felt like pushing against a wall that wouldn't budge, of course, but that was the obvious metaphor. Really it felt like the truncheons in Cheyenne, like Vantica's bloodied skull and like Wren's frightened protests as they dragged her to the armored humvee, like all of those disgusted MSWAT faces, like the humans full of hate, all of them shouting that word in his face—Maverick! Maverick! Maverick! It felt like prison, like demotion, like disgrace. Like a door that would never open again.

He didn't know when he started doing it. He just knew that all of a sudden he was pummeling Vile blow for blow, his tomahawks exploding against the Chimera's chest while the mecha's fists glanced off of Hawkins's chest, sides, and shoulders, Vile's war machine giving ground inch by inch only due to the higher rapidity of Hawkins's slices and close-quarter Aether Flares. The vulpinoid felt wild—truly, utterly wild. He slammed his blades into the prison's door, knowing it wouldn't give, but enjoying the sound anyway.

Then the Chimera caught against the edge of the highway, and Hawkins felt it. Vile's cannon crackled again with its paralytic, but Hawkins was faster. He jumped high, spinning again, one tomahawk in the Ride Armor's upper torso, the kinetic reaction twisting Hawkins around the other way and the second blade exploding into the mecha in much the same fashion. The two final hits did the trick: the top-heavy mecha pitched backward and Vile lost his footing. With a primal scream of frustration, the Maverick fell down, down, down, a shrinking dot amidst the burning city below.

Hawkins stood there for a while, staring after Vile, unable to quite believe that this had worked. For just a second, then, he had the urge to savor his triumph, but then the constricting pain in his chest finally registered. He stepped away from the edge, realizing how many hits Vile had landed—enough damage that Hawkins's armor was plenty fractured, and his breath came both heavy and bloody. He crouched on one knee, concentrating on that breath, asking for it one inhalation at a time. His chest rattled like one of the snakes in the Big Horns, like broken teeth grinding together in a dark holding cell. "We should have killed them all," Vantica kept saying to him that first night, weeping blood, delirious with pain. "We should have killed them all." Hawkins didn't even remember the simulated Vile's blows landing. He didn't even remember the last things Vantica or Wren had ever said to him.

"Simulation complete." The computer guiding the facsimile of the world announced. "Rank:A."

His last thought, as the simulated world began to fade, as Goat's jovial voice began filling his receptors with congratulations, was that the chasm below the highway still looked far too appealing.


A few moments later, the exit door reappeared and slid open. Tomahawk Foxfire walked outside into the corridor and rejoined Lu, Huey, and Nils.

"Well, how did you do?" Goat asked eagerly. He glanced over the vulpinoid's injuries with a touch of concern. "My god, what happened?"

"He finished the test." Volya's voice cut in, above over the hallway's intercom. "I would ask that you refrain from talking about it. I do not wish to invalidate the results. Decide amongst yourselves who is going next."

Goat, Lu, and Huey appraised one another, and it was the Chinese reploid, Lu, who finally nodded. "I shall attempt this simulation."

"Be careful." Foxfire warned him. "It'll get the best of you if you aren't."

"Your injuries are noted." Lu said, checking his magweapons one last time. "Am designed to handle worse. No offense intended."

The door closed after him, and Huey chuckled.

"Friendly guy, isn't he?"


Standing in the middle of one of the many raised roads that made up the New Tokyo Superhighway Interchange, Lu was impressed by the simulator's ability to come as close as it did to reality. Were he less perceptive, he might actually have believed that it was truly June 4th, 2118. He imagined the realism would assist newer, less experienced combatants to acquire some semblance of control for when the real fighting began. He'd never had any reservations about fighting, so the risk the simulator presented was lost on him, viewing it as a chance to test his current configuration under similar circumstances to those the progenitor of his kind faced on that fateful day. The world around him was frozen in time, just as it appeared in X's memories the moment he'd warped directly to the highway to begin the counter attack against Sigma's forces. Broken and burning vehicles, civilians trapped within or fleeing with feat, they too lined the roads.

Like an open wound in the sky, the Death Rogumer hung in the distance, like it had appeared to X those many years ago, like it had for so many other Hunters of the establishment.

Lu found the scene technically impressive, but remained unmoved by the suffering all around him, focusing instead on the words of the training program. He did not profess to have things he 'liked', but the words 'by any means necessary' gave him an odd sensation, similar to the feeling he experienced back at the lab, when the safety locks released and he was allowed to leave the maintenance bed or stasis capsule.

"Commander Volya. Mag weaponry not standard issue Hunter equipment in 2118. Reconfirm: Allowed for this scenario?"

"It is a test of your current capability, not a historical reenactment." Volya's voice reached him via the radio in his helmet, as it would on a real field operation.

"Civilians a factor to be considered? Cannot save them all. Foolish to try. Historical records indicated over sixteen hundred casualties within a three mile radius of this very location. Ninety percent fatal. Would be faster, more efficient to ignore-"

Volya drew in a sharp breath, giving Lu a moment's pause. "Their lives, even virtually, come before our own. Remember that."

"Yes, Commander."

He considered the weapons picked for the simulation. The twin Type 76 mag pistols he'd chosen would be satisfactory at clearing smaller threats, and the 'Golgotha' M-13 15 mm anti-material mag rifle. The scenario, and his new parameters made the use of these weapons a dicey proposition.

A common misconception about most solid objects, such as the concrete and assorted metals that made up the highway span, was that they could be considered 'hard cover' against weapons like his rifle. That simply was not true. Even should the bullet fail to completely penetrate the road or dividing wall, fragments from the shot would be just as lethal to people and the vehicles they hid behind. A missed shot could travel far, and Lu was uncertain civilian deaths would be counted if one round strayed beyond his ability to account for.

The scenario had more or less become standardized training material for the Hunters, but Lu's own experience had been almost entirely based around the methodical killing of human soldiers under various circumstances, with any number of restrictions placed upon him. His placement in the Hunters did not strike him as a particularly logical use of his abilities, and the idea of having greater restrictions to his usual rules of engagement was a foreign concept to him. He considered Volya's words for a several long seconds before finally coming to a conclusion.

Human life must be preserved at all cost, therefore Mission Priority: Destroy all hostile targets as they appear within range of scenario grounds. Failure conditions: Hostile target survives, human casualty confirmed through action/inaction.

"To confirm, simulator safety functions are disabled?"

"Any damage that would result in auto-stasis or destruction will trigger an automatic mission failure. You will otherwise incur damage as in real life."

"Beginning test in thirty seconds." And Lu stared into the virtual distance with the same blank expression he usually maintained. As soon as the simulation began, Lu began to jog purposely forward, his eyes snapping between targets as they closed in.

Lu brought up both of his arms as his jog became a sprint. His footfalls dug small craters in the road with each step, as the first target came into range, a 'Spiky'-type mechaniloid. His upper body seemed to weave back and forth, like that of a boxer trying to throw off his opponent, trying to build momentum for the upcoming assault.

"Engaging." He brought back his right arm as he continued to accelerate at his target, the pilebunker shifting on his right arm, preparing to fire in reverse, while the one on his left remained in its standard configuration. He leapt forward, spinning in mid-air as he closed in on the mechaniloid.

Pilebunkers did not have the same high tech charm in the media. Hardly flashy; the layman was less impressed by it based on appearances alone. A plasma saber or buster, these were weapons that displayed their power with little confusion about the extent of their capabilities. It was easier to visualize raw energy burning holes through the composite armor plating found on Main Battle Tanks. It was more difficult to picture the three inch wide spiked shafts built into Lu's arms being capable weapons in their own right.

The impact of his right elbow all but crushed the spikes and armor that made up much of the center treads of the small mech, turning it from a wheel into a misshapen metal croissant, shattering as the pile fired from underneath his elbow, shrapnel peppering much of his backside and the road around him. If he'd been affected by any of this, he did not let it show. Slowly, he stood from what remained of the mechaniloid, bits and pieces of it decorating his frame.


"Melee only?" X leaned forward, surprised by Lu's opening move. "He asked for magpistols earlier. I heard it myself. Even looks like he picked up a mag-rifle."

"I'm not really feeling his choice in melee weapons," Dr. Cain added. "It's not that it's old fashioned, it just seems not really meant for this kind of work."

"Lu himself is not meant for hunting Mavericks," Volya corrected. "He was created for different game altogether." Though the Russian tried to disguise it, X and Cain knew what he meant. Volya, in whatever classified capacity, had been Spetsnaz. Lu had likely been built in a mirrored fashion.

Both, when the mission called for it, were capable of attacking soft targets.

They were pulled from the action momentarily as the door opened, and Zero Omega stepped in. The Crimson Hunter glanced around. "What did I miss?"

"That fox reploid's run. He got an A." X explained. "Devilish use of delayed explosives."

"Lu is currently on his own run." Volya said, turning back to the action. "I assume you wish to watch."


Crushing another Spiky into the roadway, Lu vaulted forward towards the next set of obstacles: a 'Gunbolt' mobile weapon platform, and in the air racing ahead of the platform, two 'Crushers' pulled their spike-laden flails from the road, dragging them a fair distance before they finally were yanked back into their ready position.

The Gunbolt's missile racks spat their first pair of rockets at Lu. He drew a mag-pistol, sighted on the missiles...and hesitated, scanning for humans near his line of fire, near the incoming warheads, and then finally opened fire. Two shots dead center on each warhead, before holstering the weapon. Bits of debris and shrapnel rained on him, a larger jagged piece sticking through his right eye.

One of the Crushers finally slipped into position overhead, unceremoniously dropping its cargo onto Lu's head…

Except it never made contact with anything but his right fist, the honed spike of the pilebunker buried deep inside the crushing mace. His knees buckled under the added weight, but otherwise, Lu remained upright. Neither the Crushers or the Gunbolts had the ability to be surprised by this sudden change of events, they just recognized that a target had not ceased to function. The Crusher tried to pull the mace free, but found itself unable to do so. Its brother circled around, unsure of what angle it should attack its target from.

The pilebunker fired, pushing the spiked weight off and into the Crusher with such force its frame crumpled from the impact, rising up a several meters before crashing back down towards the highway. The second Crusher did not get the same opportunity, ripped apart by a single fifteen millimeter round from the rifle.

The Gunbolt considered Lu for a moment, squatted lower, and fired its secondary weapon. Twin electroplasmic shocks ripped free from a set of emitters beneath the micromissile arrays, arcs of electricity passing from the main bolts into anything conductive as they raced into Lu's feet. He staggered, the armor on his legs glowing dangerously hot, and his body twitched spasmodically from the shocks, but he remained standing.

Lu stalked forward, fighting the body spasms as he tried to take aim at the Gunbolt, just as another pair of micromissiles streaked away from it. Lu continued to hesitate, the his arm refusing to steady until the missiles were too close.

He pulled the trigger just as the warheads kissed his chest plating, his eyes still locked firmly onto the Gunbolt.


"Christ, what the Hell is he thinking?" X demanded shrilly. "He can't take kind of abuse! Why isn't he dodging any of that?"

Not answering, Volya leaned in on the overlooking window, smushing his nose against the transparisteel. Whatever was playing out in his mind, he kept to himself.

He did watch without blinking.


Lu's expression remained blank once the smoke faded from the rocket strike, as though he'd never felt any of it. His armor was blackened and mauled at the point of impact, directly on his chest, and part of the synthskin on his face had been blown cleanly away. The rest was badly burnt, parts of it bubbling up, others charred black. His right eye was also completely gone, with cracks spreading from that part of his skull across his helmet. The crystal cover to his control chip also suffered damage, the circuitry within exposed. His jaw hung loosely by one of its hinges, flapping in the artificial wind in a grim display.

Lu was still, as though he stood dead on his feet.

"Can you continue?" Volya's voice crackled over his helmet's receiver, and that was when Lu finally reacted, looking through the illusion surrounding him, at the faint impression of the observation deck hovering high in the clouds above.

"Damage superficial. Parts easily replaceable, per design." He paused for emphasis. "Am still combat capable."

Lu continued swatting Crushers out of the sky with disturbing precision, swinging the rifle around and shooting without even looking at his targets. He charged at Gunbolts with both mag pistols blazing, downing their missiles with massed fire, running through their electroplasmic bolts without care, ending them with his pilebunkers aimed directly where he knew their electronic brains were kept. The occasional Spiky rolled toward him, only to be met with a pilebunker or vicious kick, sending them flying into others of their kind. He spared nothing in his path, pausing on each kill, confirming them.

A thousand feet above the carnage, the first of two Bee Bladers descended upon Lu, who ignored it in favor of concentrating on reloading his weapons first before addressing the threat.

Modern Bee Bladers, also known by their military designation 'Mitsubatchi', were the culmination of years of development surrounding a light polycraft originally sold to the JSDF in the 2080's, and had proven a successful VTOL design for the armed forces of numerous countries. The Hunters had adopted them as a combination of physical transport and gunships meant to cordon off particularly nasty Mavericks if a situation escalated beyond control. On June 4th, 2118, many of the units at MHHQ had been subverted by Sigma's forces, turning parts of New Tokyo into bloodbaths. X managed to destroy two of the units before continuing onward toward his first confrontation with Vile. It was expected that any reploid Hunter worth the money spent on bringing them up to speed to be able to match or exceed that performance.

Compared to Lu, it was a massive machine, the rotor and jet wash from its three different propulsion systems actually pushing him back several feet before he braced himself into place. The six bipedal scouting drones it disgorged from its abdomen, 'Deerballs', did not rate to him as a threat, but the Blader itself was a ceramic-metal composite nightmare given form, demanding his respect. The twenty millimeter chain gun was only one of his concerns: the anti-tank missiles it carried were far more dangerous than the rockets fired by the Gunbolts. He could not survive that level of punishment.

Lu stood his ground, reaching for his mag pistols as the scout mecha drew closer, unloading both weapons as fast as they could be fired. The last of them collapsed at Lu's feet just as the Mitsubatchi's chain gun barked a response, drowning out everything else, walking a thin line through the concrete directly toward Lu.

With no time to reload the pistols or prepare his rifle, Lu kicked the remains of the closest scout as hard as he could, sending it flying directly into the 'eyes' of the Blader, effectively blinding it as the Deerball buried itself in the head of the unit, its legs comically hanging from the face in twisted angles. This caused it to spray wildly into the air for a moment, several rounds striking Lu in the chest and left shoulder before he could react, spinning him half way around and dropping him to one knee. With his right arm, he reached back for his magrifle and leveled it at the blinded machine, determining that the Blader presented enough of a threat that the weapon could be justified in use. That, and it was less likely the rounds would pass completely through the mechaniloid.

Ten shots later, the Blader sputtered in mid-air, then crashed into the highway, the whole span quaking under Lu's feet as he ran forward, leaping over the burning wreck just as the section folded in on itself, collapsing onto the lower deck dozens of feet below. His landing was rough, rolling several times before righting himself. His left arm now hung useless at his side, and part of his neck had been torn open by a near miss. A gaping wound spreading out across a his chest exposed his innards for all to see. Dark purple blood streamed from his wounds, pooling quickly at his feet.

Trembling, Lu detached the box-like magazine from his rifle, reaching for a fresh one on his thigh. The blood on his hands caused him to drop it twice before he managed to slap it into the receiver. He clawed around himself, looking for his mag pistols, but only found one in working order. Three messages of importance flashed across his HUD.

AUTO-STASIS WARNING: 5:00 BEGIN FINAL UPLOAD Y/N?

Y CONFIRM UPLOAD COMMENCE- TIME TO COMPLETION 2:32

AUTO-DISTRESS ACTIVE


"God. We've gotta stop this." X muttered. The Azure Hunter began to reach for the simulator killswitch.

"Do not shut it down." Volya ordered woodenly, his back turned to the others at the window. The demand caught the two senior Hunters and their surrogate father off guard.

"Are you serious?" Zero demanded. "Your guy's dying down there. Hell, even I tell my unit to pack it in when it gets this bad!"

Volya looked back over his shoulder with his blind eye, letting his eyepatch glare at them. "I have asked him once already if he wished to stop. He intends on finishing this, and I wish to know why."

"At the rate he's going, he won't be ready for a mission for weeks!" Dr. Cain protested.

"As he is now, mentally, he is not ready." Volya countered. The Russian turned his back on them. "But there is something coming alive in him. Let him finish what he starts."


Lu continued forward, disabling Crushers and Gunvolts with his feet and remaining pilebunker as necessary, occasionally using his remaining mag-pistol, though sparingly. With one arm, his options had become limited. Despite this, he continued to hunt down everything in his path, flowing from kill to kill with greater urgency than before.

The second Blader did not have a chance to settle in close to the highway as the first unit had. Returning to a full sprint, Lu jumped off an overturned cargo trailer, through incoming fire from the chain gun, onto its face, leading with the pilebunker. The spike drove only partway through its green eye lenses. A second firing sent spiderwebs of cracks across the glass, and he shoved his right arm all the way in, grabbing a hold what felt like a set of cables. Emitting a high pitched whine, the mechaniloid bucked once, trying to throw Lu off, still firing the chain gun as it did so. Though mostly blind, it could tell it failed removing the reploid from its face, so it began to spin wildly.

Rearing back, Lu brought his head against the glass once, twice, three times, until finally he had shattered it, creating enough space to use his head, remaining arm, and legs to try and rip the face wide open, but quickly lost his grip and footing on the machine, falling back toward the highway. Landing hard, but upright, he did not skip a beat, immediately pulling the mag rifle from his back and taking aim on the Blader. Another ten shots later, and the machine began a deceptively graceful spiral toward the city below, trailing smoke the whole way.

His right ankle had sustained a glancing hit from the chain gun, exacerbated by the long fall and rough landing. Lu did not seem to notice even as he continued to run towards his objective, occasionally landing on the foot wrong, causing him to stumble, yet he did not complain once.

Finally taking notice of the Hunter rampaging below, the Death Rogumer curved around a set of burning skyscrapers in the distance. Lu kept going, waiting for it to meet him.

The airship completed turning its long turn, bringing itself to bear directing in front and above Lu, its bay doors, dropping off a squadron of Road Attackers in a final attempt to bring the Hunter down. Each driver was systematically picked off by the mag rifle, Lu continuing to march forward towards the Death Rogumer as it hovered in place, the cargo bay doors yawning open.

Kneeling down, Lu worked on reloading the mag rifle, having more trouble with it this time. The fingers of his right hand refused to cooperate, repeatedly failing to maintain a grip on his final box magazine as he struggled to jam it into place. Even when the sound of Vile's Goliath heavy ride armor rolled through the air, parting smoke from the burning Road Attackers, he did not look away from his present task.

"You're new." Vile's head tilted to one side. "You're definitely not any Hunter I recognize."

Lu finally managed to fit the magazine in place, working the bolt once to chamber a round. He staggered to his feet, finally looking at the Maverick, the same blank stare on what was left of his face.

"Then again, with how hard you've gotten your ass kicked, it probably explains why I don't recognize you." The Maverick laughed at this. "One of X's buddies? His kinda are all a bit soft in the head when it comes to combat, is that a good explanation?"

The Hunter leveled his rifle at Vile, aiming for his head, his arm twitching with each spark of electricity coursing through his body. He was running out of time, but patiently waited for his arm to stabilize.

"Can I get a name? Something?" The Goliath launched forward, tearing up the concrete behind it as it dashed, one massive fist raised high. "Oh, now I see, you can't talk, you don't even have a proper mouth anymore. How bout THAT?"

The first round passed an inch from Vile's head, causing him to swerve the armor to one side, through the dividing wall, trying to flank the Hunter.

"That's new..." Vile drove one of the fists into the road to help the machine corner, making another beeline back towards Lu. "Hey short-stuff, where you'd get the hand cannon-"

The rifle barked nine more times, the shots all hitting the chest plating of the Goliath as it drew closer, denting the armor and almost throwing the machine off balance, but Vile retained control. None had penetrated the Goliath.

"HEY! BAD HUNTER! BAD!" The Goliath had lost a portion of its forward momentum from Lu's final vollet, but there was no way the incoming punch wouldn't seriously hurt the silent Hunter. He twisted his body to meet the oncoming fist with his left side,trying to keep his working arm in one piece, and was blasted clean off of his feet, through an abandoned sedan, into one of the retaining walls on the highway.

"That had to hurt." Vile sounded pleased with himself. "You know, I was hoping X would be here. We killed his buddy, after all. Remind me, what was his name again?" The Goliath slid up to Lu, ripping him free from the wall, pulling him up closer to the Maverick, close enough that they could get a good look at one another. Lu's head lolled to one side, but still he remained focus on Vile as he spoke, still showing no concern for his predicament. "Maybe he figured if he sent a good punching bag like you, we'd play nice."

The pilebunker spike on his right arm drove through the massive hand holding onto Lu, loosening the grip enough that the smaller reploid slipped out of its grasp and onto the highway. He barely made contact with the ground before springing at Vile, right arm outstretched for his head.

The pilebunker shifted itself to fire from below his hand.

"What the hell?" Vile managed to cry out in surprise as Lu's fingers slipped off of his helmet, slick with his own blood. The spike fired, missing the control chip by inches as Vile managed to pull himself and the Goliath back just enough.

"TRY THAT AGAIN!" The Maverick roared as he leveled his shoulder cannon, firing the now iconic paralytic blasts that had brought X to his knees.

Lu flipped back once, landing on his bad foot and crushing it, but still retaining his balance, even as he twisted his body wildly. There was a gentle click, and his left arm was flung free, absorbing the incoming blasts before impacting against the Goliath's armor.

"Are you kidding me?" The ride armor launched forward once more, leading with its left hand, a straight on shot, intent on mashing Lu into a metal paste-

It was a glancing blow to where his left arm had been connected, sending Lu spinning in place…

The pilebunker spike burst through the elbow joint on the Goliath's arm, severing the forearm cleanly away. The fist carried its momentum off the side off the highway. The odds had somehow been evened

"ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME?" Vile spun the Goliath around, trying to backhand the pesky Hunter with the remaining fist, only managing to tear through air and concrete. Lu slid back from evading the second swipe, taking a knee once more once he'd stopped, looking around rapidly.

Vile was no longer in the Ride Armor.

Lu looked upward just an electroplasmic burst took him full on the face. He shook violently, unable to struggle even as Vile landed in front of him, picking him up by his neck with one hand. The fingertips on his other hand slid open, revealing a set of microbusters, all aimed at his face. It was over.

Lu had lost.

"You." Vile growled. "YOU. You know what YOU have done? DO YOU?" Vile slammed the Hunter against the ground. "YOU have managed to piss me off MORE than anyone else I've ever met. That's an accomplishment."

Lu's response was to rest his right hand onto Vile's head, the pilebunker aimed directly at his forehead sliding back, preparing to fire.

"Lets see who's faster, huh?" Vile snarled. "Come on Silent Bob, lets see some guts. I dare you. Do it. Come on. COME ON!" His fingers flashed with light just as the spike drove forward…

Passing harmlessly through Vile's helmet as the Maverick began to vanish, the entire world disintegrating line by line. The sky, the highway, the buildings surrounding them, the fires that had burned seemingly for hours, even the smells of battle and slaughter, all dissolving into pixels and nothing.

Vile staggered back several steps, looking around while taking wild swings at the disappearing environment. Even as parts of his body winked out of existence, he raged at the powers that be.

"COME ON I WAS SO CLOSE, I HAD HIM, HE WAS GONNA BE SO-"

And then he was gone, leaving Lu alone on the floor of the simulation hall, in a rapidly expanding pool of reploid blood. He heard footsteps and voices, and was confused by the concern in them.

A final message flashed across his HUD.

UPLOAD COMPLETE.

He wanted to smile, but couldn't.


The simulation was still shutting itself down when Goat and the others, urged by a frantic Dr. Cain, rushed into holoroom 4.

"Simulation failed. Rank: C minus."

"Jesus, he's more scrap than standing." Foxfire uttered. "Lu, Lu, can you hear me?"

What was left of Lu sparked as it tried to turn its head. "Major system errors. Beginning shutdown." He slumped into auto-stasis, earning a fresh curse from the vulpinoid.

"Bugger took a beating." Huey murmured.

"Yes, he did." Dr. Cain agreed, walking into their midst. The old man was joined by Volya and a pair of orderlies. "We should have stopped it sooner." He gave Volya a hard look, but the Russian was unaffected. "Don't worry. We'll get Lu up to the Medical Bay and have Hazil start piecing him back together."

Soundlessly, the medical reploids hoisted Lu's body onto a gurney and hauled him away.

Huey and Nils both looked worried, and Cain snapped his fingers to get their attention. "Hey. You two. He'll be fine, trust me. We take care of our own here. I'm going with him. Once you're all done, come up and check on him. All right?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Doctor Cain." Nils nodded.

"Just call me Doc." The MHHQ's leader smiled, and hobbled after Lu.

Volya gave them five seconds to worry about Lu's condition, and only just. "Commanders X and Zero are up in the Bridge. Once you have decided who is going next, we will continue."

"Hey, show a little respect. One of your "men" just got hauled off half dead." Hawkins snapped. Volya's glacial personality grated on his nerves.

"By his own actions." Volya retorted, and walked away with his coat shuffling around him. "Decide quickly."

"That smug, self-important…" Hawkins muttered under his breath.

"Easy, easy." Nils warned him. He walked into the holoroom and picked up Lu's abandoned magweaponry. He took it out and shoved it back into the weapons locker in the corridor. "Volya has his reasons, I'm sure of it. He wouldn't have let things get that bad just to see Lu get hurt."

"Says you." Huey chimed in. The pilot walked into the chamber. "I'll go next, then. You can bring up the rear, big fella."

"How thoughtful of you." Goat said dryly.


The world tore itself apart, bit by bit, iota by iota. For an unnerving fraction of a second, Huey felt himself plunged into the featureless grey in between of simulspace as the program loaded. A galaxy of swirling motes coalesced into ghost-shapes, suddenly snapped into solid forms. Huey blinked twice to readjust his optic intake, and flipped his visor into safety position. The simulation had begun. He shivered—and not as an autonomic response to temperature variance.

A road. I'm on a road. He recognized it, of course. Any reploid who had either lived through the Day of Sigma or experienced it during Basic Indoctrination would instantly—almost instinctively—identify the snarled ruins of the Shintokyo Superhighway Interchange with the epicenter of the most infamous Maverick strike in history. Tattered shreds of smoke drifted from the steel skeletons of slaughtered mechaniloids and personal transport vehicles alike to meld with the bruised clouds above.

Something whined in his ear—instructions, he thought. Something about the simulation hadn't quite synched with his system yet. A needling headache had begun to build in his prefrontal circuitry, though whether that was a result of the advanced holography or his chronic problems was impossible to tell. He slapped the side of his helmet with the heel of a gauntleted hand, and the keening vanished.

"…by any means necessary," the voice concluded.

"Wait, what?" Huey frowned. "I didn't copy that. Can you repeat?" The artificially neutral voice began to list the course objectives again. As soon as the first toneless syllables had spoken through Huey's comm circuit, a deafening roar drowned them out. Falling into a crouch and pointing his buster high, he gazed at a massive carrier swooping low over the highway, close enough for him to make out the outlines of a "7" underneath a newly-painted stylized wolf-and-sigma emblem.

His momentary surprise soon gave way to awe as the mobile air base passed him by and receded into the distance, dropping dozens of mechaniloids and automated seek-and-destroy modules into the beleaguered city beneath. Though he had seen Rogumer-class airships from a distance before, this was totally different.

"Oh hell yes." A ferine grin had somehow worked its way onto his face. "I want one."

The voice finished speaking. Huey grimaced. "Uh . . . sorry. I was looking at the attack carrier. Do you suppose you could—you know what? Never mind. I think I get the gist of it. You want to whip me up an Ixion Kappa?" An impatient second passed, and he gestured at the fleeing airship. "C'mon, it's getting away! Any sort of attack helicopter would do."

"Negative. Parameter mismatch."

His jaw dropped in stupefied disbelief. "Wait, are you kidding? This is an infantry exercise?" He waved in the general direction of the observation deck—at least, where he assumed it was. "Hey, guys! I've discovered a problem with the program!" He folded his arms. Several moments passed, the mournful wind and the distant kroom of explosions his only reply. He gritted his teeth. "Well, that's just tops. What a swell idea—let's test the combat pilot's experience by throwing him into an infantry meat grinder! No wonder you guys have such a sterling rep for forward thinking! I can't believe this! Did you interview the surgeons by having them do interpretive dance for you?"

He took a bracing breath, reactivated his buster, and glared at the rubble-strewn highway ahead. "Well, fine. If that's the way it is, no time like the present, I guess."

A few cars passed by him as he worked his way towards the objective area indicated by his HUD. The drivers' faces had taken a pale, frantic cast, and Huey fought the urge to leap atop their hoods and scream like a madman, just to see their reactions. Just like that time we chased the organ traffickers into Pueblo. Man, that was a good time! The traffic grew thicker and more congested as he drew closer to the first break in the highway's structure, and he had to weave back and forth. A giant spiked wheel ground towards him, a standard scout-class drone. He leaped atop a passing car and let it pass.

"Wait, really?" He chuckled. "It's just gonna let me go? Man, this is gonna be a breeze!"

An electrified globe sizzled into his chest, leaving angry scorch marks scarred into the burnished midnight blue of his thoracic chassis. His smile gone, he stumbled backwards and struggled to focus on his unseen attacker. There it hulked, a miniature arsenal of electroplasma weapons and guided-missile banks piled atop one another and held up by legs that looked woefully unequal to the task.

Altair Microsystems Model 4-Omicron-4: Gunbolt, read his HUD.

"I know what it is," he growled. "Fifty of these things held the I-25 corridor all up and down the front range for a day and a half back in '23." He used the battered remains of a blasted tanker truck to shield his advance, and kept a steady stream of plasma fire concentrated on his enemy's optical array. At least, he intended to; somehow, his aim kept drifting to the left, and his shots ricocheted harmlessly off the burst-proof armor. Meanwhile, a micromissile whistled past his head, exploding into the concrete of the already-broken freeway.

"It's like damn Basic all over again," he muttered. He let a slow trickle of energy build in his buster until he had achieved a full charge, and dodged around the truck. The actinic blast took the Gunbolt out at the knee and sent it reeling over the edge of the elevated highway into the wreckage below. He found himself leaning over the edge, cackling with glee and throwing bits of debris at the flaming wreck. After a moment, he straightened and cleared his throat. Come on, let's try to keep it together for this.

"Eh," he said aloud, and shrugged. "I was going for the face, but whatever." Smooth.

The carrier had swung wide around the city, and its smoke-hazed silhouette grew more defined as it moved back towards Huey. He kicked his dash module on and blasted forward, intent on his prey. If I can just get into that, I'll rock this simulation into the freakin' ground! His chase brought him closer, leaping over torn gaps in the road and dodging around the assault of the repurposed transport 'droids that attempted to drop their heavy spiked cargo on his head. Even further encounters with the Gunbolt sentinels left him unfazed.

Not so bad. Guess I haven't forgotten as much as I thought. A burst of gunfire pulled him up short, and he found himself frantically jerking his head back and forth looking for cover as a massive aerial mechaniloid hovered into view from within the penumbral canopy afforded by the smoky clouds.

Mitsubachi Insectoid Line: Bee Blader.

"Yeah, thanks," he griped at his HUD. Bullets rattled from the concrete and snapped at his feet. "You know what, if you don't have anything helpful to say, I'm shutting you off." And he did, as he finally ducked behind a half-shattered column. A few errant micromissiles exploded around him, the shrapnel shooting into his visor with jarring violence.

"Hey, let's negotiate!" Huey called. "I'm a pilot, you're a helicopter—sort of. We should work something out!"

A spray of bullets peppered the column, sending shards of slicing concrete rocketing in all directions. Huey sighed, and let a manic grin jerk the corners of his mouth. "Well, when diplomacy has failed, there's only one answer! Load the cannon with grapeshot and shoot into the crowd!" Howling, he dashed around the corner, his buster blazing in a syncopated shriek of ionized air. Sliding beneath the hovering monstrosity, he loosed blast after blast of plasma into its underbelly. A telltale groan and sudden listing of its trajectory suddenly made Huey question the wisdom of standing directly beneath the mechaniloid.

"Okay, bad call," he panted as he dashed from beneath the crashing drone. A clumsy, stumbling roll took him out from under its falling bulk, and he allowed himself a chuckle. However, just as he was about to move around it, the supporting beams of the freeway snarled like a wounded beast and buckled.

Without even the chance to swear, Huey found himself falling, along with everything else nearby. Luckily, the descent was as short as it was rapid—barely a dozen meters. He took a few gasping breaths, flipped a middle finger to the destroyed bee 'bot, and began the arduous process of leapfrogging up another supporting column to continue his pursuit of the airship.


Volya was watching Huey's progress so intently that he'd tuned out the other two presences in the room. With a loud smack of his lips, Zero Omega pulled Volya's eye away from the downward looking window. Volya blinked when he saw that the Crimson Hunter was noshing away at a bucket of…popcorn?

"I tell you, after Lu's run, I was beginning to have my doubts about this group." Zero said. He swallowed and held out the bucket. "It's double butter. Want some?"

Volya's face scrunched up a little tighter, and Zero shrugged and pulled the bucket back. "More for me, then."

"Well, hey, give me some." X complained, yanking the popcorn away from his friend. "Huey likes to talk a lot, I notice."

"So would you, if you had not been able to move or say a word for the last year and a half." Volya crisply retorted.

"Come again?" Zero came to attention.

Volya gave his head a shake and looked down at Huey. The Bridge of the holographic training center afforded him a high-definition view of the action below, letting him see every twitch of his pilot as he fought in a simulation so heavily geared against his specialties.

"Morgan was imprisoned in active stasis these last eighteen months, for the crime of black marketeering. He was dishonorably discharged by the New Denver Police Department, lost his rank, lost everything."

Both X and Zero shivered at the sentence Huey had existed under: Active stasis differed from the normal stasis that reploids slept in, and the full unconscious auto-stasis that they dropped into when low on energy or in need of critical repairs. Active stasis meant paralyzing a reploid while keeping their mind fully intact…not allowing it to rest, not allowing it to defragment. Trapping them within their body, a double prison that rendered most insane. Those in active stasis were usually found unfit for socialization after their time was served, and destroyed. The humans responsible for their deaths preferred the term euthanized.

Volya grunted again, watching Huey, searching his posture and frantic approach for every sign of instability. He had seen plenty already.

"I do not know why the GDC assigned him to me, but so long as he is here, I must know all I can. If we are lucky, he has not lost his mind."

Volya's grim mood finally forced Zero to put the bucket of salty snack to the side. The Commander of Zephyr Team sighed again.

"Unfortunately, luck never travels with me."


The second Bee Blader came as less of a surprise, and troubled Huey less than the first. With his HUD disabled, he dubbed the walking spherical robots the dropped from its abdominal chassis "Dumballs." His progress was fairly steady after that, notwithstanding a few close calls. A few sphecoid scout 'droids harried him as he drew closer to the Rogumer, which hung invitingly in the sky only a kilometer away.

The sound of a fusion engine made Huey smile—somewhere nearby, a personal transport vehicle was still operating. If he could commandeer it, maybe he could reach the airship before it moved again. For now, the gargantuan swordfish-shaped carrier seemed content to maintain its low altitude hover while it fired missiles and plasma blasts at the city beneath it.

The basso growl of an overcharged fusion engine preceded a single-occupant armored car as it screeched around the corner. Huey caught a brief impression of a centrally-mounted light-caliber plasma cannon before the vehicle was bearing down on him, its barrel spitting luminous death.

Laughing, he dashed towards it at an oblique angle, coming alongside the open cockpit. With a well-timed jump, he had landed atop the hapless pilot—an early-generation cyclopean reploid—and bodily hurled him from its seat.

It was like coming home.

The seat felt molded to his exact contours, the weathered grip of the steering apparatus perfectly spaced for his hands. Even the weapons control array had been thoughtfully arranged in an intuitive, instinctive manner. Huey took a deep breath of satisfaction, and let it out, savoring the moment.

Nowtime to show these turkeys what I can do.

A dozen armored attack cars fell prey to his quick maneuvering and relentless cannon fire. Though equipped identically, there was no way the standard-issue early models could possibly compete with Huey's prowess. A pair of them tried to capture him in a pincer maneuver, which ended with both enemies consumed in a fireball of twisted metal and Huey roaring with elation. After a few minutes, he had dispatched enough of the other drivers that whatever agency guided the Death Rogumer took notice. The great airship glided towards him with a roar, dozens of the armored cars falling from its undercarriage like seed pods.

"More!" he shouted. "I can do this all day!" His hands played over the buttons and levers of his stolen car, deftly sliding between his attackers, leaving smoking ruin in his wake and the sound of maddened laughter. Man, if this doesn't get me an SA rating, nothing will!

A shadow appeared on the hood of his car, and Huey glanced skyward just in time to see the outline of a Chimera-type ride armor rapidly descending from the egress hatch of the departing aircraft. Well, dropping, more like. An inchoate oath formed on his lips as tons of mechanized steel landed on the hood of his car, flipping it end-over-end like a coin. The ace pilot part of him coolly calculated trajectories, survival probability, and evacuation protocol.

The part in charge of his mouth repeated, "Shitshitshitshitshit!"

The car landed on its side, ground to a precarious halt overhanging the edge of the freeway. Huey admired the terrifying, seemingly endless drop as he scrabbled from the cockpit onto solid ground. The susurration of hydraulic pistons accompanied the grinding advance of the armored mech as it approached. Its pilot—a custom-upgraded combat model in violet and black—sneered through his fixed visor.

"Poor decision, Hunter. I thought HQ would send its best to face me."

Huey sidled away from the edge, his buster slowly charging. "Yeah, well. Its best is busy watching. You got its craziest." He cocked his head. "Sweet ride, by the way. I'm a pilot myself. Why don't we siddown and share some stories? I mean, I know this is just a simulation, but I bet you've got some—" An iron first the size of his head took him off his feet, launching him half a dozen meters. His thoracic chassis cracked.

"Fine," he coughed. Blood flecked his lips. For a simulation, this sure hurts like hell.

His plasma shots soared over the reploid's helmet in stuttering bursts and disappeared into the moiled clouds, leaving ragged puncture wounds behind. What the hell is wrong with my aim? A desperate game of tag ensued, with Huey just barely avoiding the plasma and fists of the power armor, and frantically shooting a stream of distracting projectiles at its pilot. All the while, his mind raced.

There. His mind rapidly constructed a gridwork of intersecting parabolas and balanced them with projected damage sustained and velocity calculation. It'll be close, but if it works, I'll be sitting pretty. Well, less ugly, at least. Throwing his arms wide, he shouted, "All right, you got me. Fair's fair! Blow the crap outta me!"

Huey had been punched countless times in his career, ranging from the drunken assault of angry human malcontents to the crippling, crushing blows of disgruntled giant mining mechaniloids. He figured he knew how to take a punch, especially if he was expecting it.

This one still hurt like crazy. The ride-armor's fist crunched into his chest, right above the central node of his costal understructure. As he coughed blood, he grinned. Like prophecy, his calculations unfolded before him. He slammed up and backwards into the supporting streetlight behind him, and bounced forward with just enough momentum to carry him above the surprised pilot…

"Surprise, asshat." His charged plasma blast took the combat 'roid in the face of its helmet, and his hands gripped the rim of its cheekplate assembly. Recollection of his submission combat training from Basic flashed through his head as he tore the shocked pilot from its seat and hurled him in an airborne somersault from his perch.

It took seconds after that. Though coughing alarmingly, and ignoring a dozen shrill warnings from his auto-repair system queue, he slid into the vacated seat of the ride armor, and began to chuckle. Though obviously skilled and durable, his enemy was no match for Huey now that he had taken control of the armored exoskeleton. Huey's fists rocketed into the violet Maverick again and again. When Vile had fallen to his knees, Huey jammed the button to activate the dash function, and crushed him beneath the armored tread of the power chassis.

"Damn straight!" he crowed, flipping his hinged visor back up to the top of his helmet. "That's how we do things in D-town!"

"Objective complete," the computer answered. "B-plus combat rating."

"Huh. B for bullshit. That was A-list material or nothing," Huey sulked. And the world tore itself apart.


For the first time in a long while, Zero watched X perform an action that was so against his normal emotive responses that it could only mean something, "Had done broke up in his poor ole' head," as Pugs liked to drawl. X's left eye was twitching.

"That…Was…" The Azure Hunter tried to voice his opinion. Zero rolled his eyes and picked up his popcorn bucket, tossing it into the wastebin.

"X, just be quiet, you're embarrassing me."

"His ground combat is subpar; accuracy with his standard weapons is sorely lacking." Volya catalogued. "But in a vehicle…well. His performance was something else. And that move at the end, hijacking that Maverick's own 'Mech to use against him…innovative. Very risky, though. He took a lot of damage to lull Vile into a false sense of security."

"Yeah." X sourly folded his arms. "We're going to have to rewrite the program again."

"Joy. More headaches for the Tech crews." Zero chuckled. "I gotta tell you, Volya, Huey sure seems crazy to me. Only an insane person would try to 'jack Vile's ride like that."

"Perhaps. I believe Morgan simply acted how he knew best: Lacking a vehicle, he commandeered whatever he could. If we were to put him into an armored VTOL transport in combat…well, this has confirmed that it would be something to see." Volya blinked his one good eye. "It also tells me he is in desperate need of target practice. We do not always have the luxury of equipment, da?"

"There's the truth." X agreed. "The way some of our guys burn through Landchasers, I've been trying to get Cain to approve a statute on their use. But. To summarize, Commander, you have one A rank Hunter, one B rank Hunter, and one C…maybe even D ranked Hunter under your command so far. That's a pretty wide disparity in ability there."

"And now you've got the big guy coming up last." Zero motioned, directing their attention to the lower corridor as Huey stepped out of the simulator with his scars and nodded to Goat and Foxfire. "How do you think he'll do, X?"

"Hard to say. I try not to make predictions about Hunter performance." X said cautiously.

"Hm." Volya smiled at the two veteran Hunters and winked. "I will make one. Goat has a…loud personality. His test will not be one of stealth, speed, or cunning. He will simply charge through it." The Russian reploid couldn't prevent the chuckle. "There is a reason he has his nickname, after all."


"Hey, you be careful in there, big fella." Huey warned Goat. "One of us walked out of there mostly busted up, and I took a beating myself."

The silver and gunmetal reploid checked his shoulder cannon's feedline into the munitions backpack one last time and hoisted his favorite model Bazooka over his other shoulder. "Any advice?"

"Don't hesitate in the end." Tomahawk Foxfire warned. "Give it everything."

Goat winked at the other two. "Hey, I plan on having a little fun. I always give it everything."

The door opened for him, and Goat stepped inside the room. After a few seconds, the walls dissolved away…


"Well, then," Nils muttered to himself as the holographic simulation appeared around him. "Time to party." Looking ahead of him, he grimaced at the amount of distance between him and the Death Rogumer up ahead. "This is going to take forever. I hate these point-A-to-point-B-missions. A situation like this requires a definitive plan of action." Thinking for a moment, he nodded sharply. "Don't stop. Ruin everything. The usual." Recalling his guesswork on how his comrades had been doing so far; he grimaced. "Still, it could use something special, to put a little spin on things..."

While he pondered the situation, his eyes gravitated to the Rogumer again, and after a moment, his frown disappeared as he wondered if anybody had ever actually tried boarding the damn thing during this particular simulation. There was a healthy chance that it wasn't programmed to handle that possibility, but even if it wasn't, shorting out the program would be memorable enough to be a satisfactory result for him. And if it was... Nils chuckled. "This will be excellent."

Cracking his knuckles, he began plodding on ahead, reaching his miserable top speed in only a few seconds. Not for the first time, he grumbled a few curses under his breath directed towards whatever idiot had decided that somebody as massive as him wouldn't need dash boots. Of course, there were advantages to being so huge; namely, the amount of armament he could carry. When spiked wheel drones began threatening him, he simply blew them away with the heavy buster on his left arm without even slowing his advance.

Heavy "Gun Volt" missile batteries would have been more problematic, were it not for the variable demolitions cannon on his right shoulder, Nils' pride and joy. It was capable of launching both old-fashioned mortars and more high-tech plasmic explosives; in this case, he selected the latter, blowing each Gun Volt out of his way with a single shot. Striding past the smoking debris, his eyes lit up when he saw the MC-85 "Crusher" drones approaching.

Waiting for the first one to get within arm's distance before blowing it away, he reached out and snatched it out of the sky before employing his last weapon of choice; his own natural, massive strength. Even ordinary reploids were ten times as strong as any human, and Nils' designers had packed even more cybernetic "muscle" into his massive frame, more than enough to rip the drone in half with his bare hands. Discarding the upper portion, he seized the dangling cable attached to its heavy spiked weight in his right hand.

"Okay!" Nils beamed, twirling it experimentally while he continued to walk forward. "Now we're talking!" As the rest of the Crushers encroached, he lashed out with his makeshift chain mace, and smashed another one out of the sky. "Yes! I am Iron Man!" Grinning like a six-year-old, he demolished the rest of the enemy with buster and mace and continued onward, bursting into song as he advanced down the highway. "Has he lost his mind? Can he see or is he blind?"


"Is he singing?" Zero asked in disbelief, staring at the screen as Goat continued crashing along the highway, shooting, clubbing and in some cases kicking anything that got in his way. "Why is he singing?"

"And surprisingly on key, too," Volya noted calmly; he was the only one in the room who seemed to be taking his old friend's antics in stride. Presumably, he was used to it. "He must have been practicing."

X slowly lowered his face into his hand.

"Okay, here comes one of the Bee Bladers," Zero muttered with a hint of nasty amusement. "Let's see how this joker does against those... oh, comeon!" Goat had whirled his morningstar around his head before launching it into the propeller blades holding the massive assault mech aloft, entangling them and reducing them to twisted metal nearly instantly. Crashing to the highway, the Blader brought down the section below it, bearing it and Goat down onto a pair of backup support pillars. "Are you kidding me?Now what's he doing?"

"Looks like he's trying to pull the chaingun off the front," X said, raising an eyebrow. "Can't say I've seen that before."

"Won't work," Zero grunted with a certain satisfaction. "He might be able to get it off, but it'll be useless without the ammo belts and power supply." Onscreen, Goat had come to the same conclusion, and was now throwing the chaingun's barrel to the ground and stomping on it. This turned out to be a mistake; the highway began creaking alarmingly again, and Goat's head jerked up before he turned and scrambled for the column behind the Bee Blader. He barely managed to slam himself into it before the highway cracked in half, and both sections fell onto the city below, along with the wreckage of the Bee Blader.

"Boy, am I glad I didn't do that," X said, deadpan.

"He does this sort of thing a lot," Volya admitted. "It is one of the reasons he eventually started getting assigned to less... enviable positions."

"How long is this gonna take him?" Zero muttered, ignoring the subtext of that particular comment as he watched Goat slowly clamber up the column. "He climbs even slower than he runs."

"That would be another reason." Volya shook his head. "I must confess, I have never met a slower reploid. Even civilians can outrun him easily."

Goat continued to make his way up, eventually pulling himself back onto the highway with a grunt, only for the column to creak alarmingly and start falling away towards the chasm. Now yelling curses at the top of his lungs, the huge reploid leaped into the next section of highway and ran along it as it, too, began to fall away beneath his feet. Jumping off of it as it fell, he slammed into the next column just like he had the previous one, though thankfully much higher up this time. This didn't prevent it from pulling loose as well, and the chain of disaster continued.

"Five bucks says he falls," Zero growled.

"Save your money." X shook his head. "I looked him up. He's been in active service for five years. If this kind of thing was going to catch up to him, it would have by now."

"Exactly." Volya nodded. "Nils may be stupid, and he may be slow... but I have yet to see anything in this world that could actually stop him." This was proven as soon as the reploid finally managed to get ahead of the collapsing highway and regain a stable footing, at which point the second Bee Blader descended. Unimpressed, Goat finally leveled the bazooka he'd not yet fired at all in the run and let loose with both barrels. The powerful rockets screamed in and shredded the head of the mechaniloid, hurling chunks of debris up into its rotors with lethal effect. Again, the highway collapsed, and again, he went through his routine of prying off the chaingun, stomping on it, and running for his life.

"He's screwing with us," Zero said flatly as they watched him accidentally demolish the highway beneath him again. "He's doing it on purpose. He has to be."

"I thought the same, the first time I worked with him," Volya told him, shrugging. "I've never managed to... how do you say... catch him at it, though. At this point, I believe it is genuine."

"Then how the hell is he still alive?" X asked dubiously. "I don't care how tough you are, there's got to be some point where acting like that catches up to you."

Volya just chuckled.


"Excellent!" Nils smiled as he saw the Road Attackers blazing down the highway towards him, deployed by the DeathRogumer now that he was finally near it. "These things are terrific!" He aimed for the driver on the first one that approached, and as the car continued past blindly, he reached over and wrenched the heavy cannon off of its hood. Tucking it under one arm, he continued onward, blowing the vehicles away with their own armament until he reached the Rogumer. Staring up at the aerial dreadnought, he made a few jumps towards it, left hand waving in the air.

"So, that won't work," he grumbled as the lift on the Rogumer's underside began deploying more Road Attackers. "There has to be some way I can get up there. Maybe if I just fired some mortars in when it launches those vehicles?" Shaking his head, he sidestepped an onrushing Attacker. "Maybe if I jump really high, I can grab onto the bottom of the lift and pull myself up? No, that's stupid." Another Attacker charged, and he stepped around both it and the first one as it barreled towards him from behind. "Maybe if I..."

A plasma shot from the second one's hood cannon hit him in the back, and he whirled around, driving his fist through its roof into the engine. "Will you cut that out, already? I'm trying to think here!" Staring down at the now-immobile vehicle, he slowly smiled. "Hey... I just got a great idea." Bending over, he grabbed the sides of the car, and with a roar, pulled it off the ground and flipped it overhead, smashing it down onto the top of the first Attacker like a sandwich. "Yes! Now I just need a few more!"

When more Road Attackers were deployed, he added them to the pile, and once he had four of them, he climbed on top and waited for the lift to deploy once more. "Come on, come on... Damn. Figures." Vile was standing on it, in his specialized Chimera ride armor. Jumping down to the ground, he took in the sight before him. Nils stared back without a word, still standing atop the pile of crushed cars.

"I..." Vile eventually said. "You... look, just what the hell are you doing?"

"Well..." Nils shrugged. "I was goingto jump off of there onto that lift of yours, board the Rogumer, rampage through it until I could find the controls, try to figure out how to work them, give up and just start kicking them until they did something, end up plowing it into the ground in a perfect swan dive, and jump through the windshield just in time to escape the explosion, albeit in a highly painful manner."

"How very precise." Vile's voice was flat. "All of that, by yourself?"

"It's what I do." Shrugging, Nils jumped off of the pile and landed in front of him, sizing his enemy up. As if prompted by the same cue, both of their gazes traveled towards each others' shoulder cannons. After a moment, Nils broke the silence. "Mine's bigger."

"And did you want to run that joke into the ground?" Vile asked sardonically. "Perhaps we could quote Spaceballs."

"No thanks, I'm on a time limit." Nils winced. "Even if I've probably blown that already. No sense making it worse, though. Let's get on with it, shall we?"

"You know what?" Vile said slowly. "I've known you for less than a minute, and I already hate you, so I'm not going to even try to make any sense of that. Die." The Ride Armor shot forward, and its right arm slammed into Nils, driving him several feet back with a pained grunt. However, he remained on his feet, and Vile was forced to adjust his path at the last moment to avoid a collision that would have cost both of them their footing. It would have been much more costly for the Chimera than for Nils.

"Your right hook isn't bad." Nils told him cheerfully as Vile passed him. "My turn!" As the mech turned around, he aimed his bazooka and loosed two more fragmenting rockets straight into its chest. The massive mech had been built to withstand enough plasma to blow a hole through a mountain, but old-fashioned demolitions were another story. Vile's charge was halted, and cracks appeared in the mech's hull. Growling, he attempted to rush the massive reploid again, only for his ride armor to be rocked by another explosion from Goat's shoulder-fired mortars, and then another.

"Why, you..." Desperate now, the Maverick dropped the bubble canopy protecting his cockpit and opened fire with his own shoulder cannon. Completely stationary, Nils was unable to dodge the blast of paralyzing energy, and froze in his tracks, allowing Vile to clip him again. "Ha! What do you think about that?"

"Cheap shot," Nils grunted, turning and firing more mortars. "Come on. You can do better than that. You used to be with the 1st Unit, right? The best the Maverick Hunters ever put out. This can't be all you've got."

"Shut up!" Vile roared, stunning him again and landing another punch, this time aiming for the gut; Nils' head was too high for the mech's arm to reach. A third round of mortars did the trick before he could repeat the process again, however; groaning, the proud Ride Armor froze, smoking and sparking, before exploding. Swearing, Vile jumped out just in time, landing right before Nils. "My Goliath! You'll pay for..." He trailed off as Nils grabbed his helmet in one massive hand, pulling the other back with his fist clenched. "Oh, this is going to suck."

"Pretty much." Nils agreed before proceeding to methodically bash him into scrap metal. Only when the simulation faded out around him, taking Vile with it, did he stop, waiting a moment with his fist still raised for another punch before standing up and dusting his hands off. "It seems I'm done here."

"Simulation complete," the computer said. "Rank: A."

"Not bad!" Nils grinned, then paused. "I think." After a moment, he shrugged and walked back out to join the rest of the team.


"Damn." Zero cringed as Goat stepped away from the empty air where Vile had been effectively decapitated. "Just damn. Who made him again?"

"He is Swiss in manufacture." Volya uncrossed his arms and nodded. Goat had performed as he'd expected. "They did not believe in leaving him short of tactics."

"He's a living Swiss Army Knife." X muttered. "And the way he was swinging that spiked mace around…" The Azure Hunter blinked twice and rubbed at his eyes, as if trying to dismiss some past memory. "I'd say he wasn't taking it seriously there."

"No, he was serious." Volya assured the two commanders, turning for the Bridge exit door. "Goat simply masks his determination with humor. Send all the recordings to my office, if you would. I would like to review their performances tomorrow with the team."

"Yeah, we can do that." X agreed. "We'll be up here for a while longer, in case you or your boys have any questions."

"Understood."


Below in the corridor outside of Holoroom 4, the three standing members of Zephyr Team glanced over one another's injuries. Goat had only some scarring on his upper torso, Hawkins had his share of battle damage, and Huey was the worst off, with cracked armor plating and definite wear.

"I would say we all came through with flying colors." Goat observed with a smile. He set his expended bazooka to the side and cracked his knuckles.

"You would think that, Nils, but you would be wrong." Volya's stern voice cut into their victorious moment. The squadmates turned as their commander strolled towards them, his black overcoat flaring around his legs. Volya looked displeased. "Tomorrow, we will examine your performances in detail. For now, though, I want you to know something. Two of you ranked as A class. One of you ranked B. Lu, who is even now being seen to in the Medical Bay, scored a C minus. In my opinion, he should have ranked lower. Your individual performances are varied, and though some were impressive, on the whole, you are a liability."

Foxfire's eyes thinned at the berating evaluation. "Excuse me?"

Volya went on, ignoring the remark. "I wished to see how you operated on your own so I could compare your combat styles. To put you together now and expect you to work in the field cohesively would be to sign your death certificates. You formulate plans without thought, you act without thinking, you lose yourself in the melee. It makes your aim wrong and your arm untrue to the strike. You all became so consumed with this ranking system that these Hunters use that you put out everything else from your mind. Lu, in particular. This isn't a game, gentlemen. The injuries you have sustained here are real, as I had X program them to be so. You must always keep aware of your surroundings, and you must never lose sight of what's important. Your life." Volya pointed a jagged finger at the three. "Your lives are important."

"Yeah, okay." Goat numbly agreed. "I guess I could've…"

"No. No, don't apologize to this clown." Foxfire snapped, having finally taken enough. "What's your problem, Russkie? We got the job done, we did as we were asked. And I don't know how the other two did, but I ranked A. I watched my neck, I bided my time, and I smoked this course. Where do you get off telling me what to do?"

Volya's singular eye darkened as Tomahawk Foxfire rambled on. "You are coming dangerously close to complaining, Hawkins." He offered softly at the end.

"I'm just saying, old man. You think you can do better? Prove it, and maybe I'll listen to you."

"Volya, he's just spouting off. He doesn't mean it." Goat hastily tried to step in.

Volya held a hand up, silencing the Swiss reploid. "The three of you will report to the Bridge. Now." The ice in his voice brooked no retort, and wilting under the cyclopean gaze, Zephyr Team did as they were ordered.

Volya watched them depart, then reached into the weapons locker and withdrew one of the pistols that Lu had been using. He checked the clip, slammed it back home, and loaded the firing chamber.

"You will listen, pup." Volya mumbled, stepping into Room 4.


Bridge

The door hissed open, and X and Zero were stunned to see the three test-takers sidling into the room.

"What the…what are you guys doing here?"

"Volya's orders." Goat explained meekly. "Foxfire went off on him, and he went quiet and angry."

A glimmer of movement caught in Zero's peripheral, and the Crimson Hunter turned as Volya stepped into the fourth holoroom. The Russian glanced up, death in his eye. "X, have my men arrived at the Bridge?"

From the window, X hit the intercom. "They're here, Volya. What are you planning?"

"I intend to prove a point." Volya declared with a growl. "And I intend to have them watch."

"You want me to load up The Meat Grinder again?"

"Not as it is." Volya shook his head. He removed his black coat and threw it out into the corridor behind him. The door hissed shut, closing him off from his favored garment. Now revealed, his warrior's armor finally showed off the black and red of his past, with white trim that only sharpened his edges. The hard, squarish angle of his jaw and the scar running down from his leftside eyepatch jutted out more, demanding attention. "It would not do for me to repeat a run I have seen done four times. It would ruin the test. Do you have additional levels of difficulty in thissimulation?"

X and Zero warily looked at each other.

"A few." X replied. "Why?"

Volya put in another question of his own, brushing the dust off of his arms. "What is the most dangerous level?"

"Nightmare." Zero answered. "But that program is limited to Rank SA plus Hunters only."

Volya extended his right arm out and summoned his Buster, shifting his wrist and hand up and out of the way of the menacing bulbous weapon. "Load the program."

"Are you sure?" X asked evenly. "That level of difficulty has a much more dangerous potential. If you fail…die…you'll come out of it worse off than Lu."

Volya stared up again, chilling his observers with what went unspoken. He gave X three seconds to regret speaking, then opened his mouth. "Load. The. Program."

Zero gave his head a shake. "God help you then." Killing the intercom, he looked at X. "I don't even let my guys solo this one. What is he thinking?"

X looked to Goat. "You've worked with Volya before, Nils. You know him better than anyone. What is he thinking?"

Goat made a face. "Honestly, every time he got this mad, I found someplace else to be."


New Tokyo Superhighway Exchange

June 4th, 2118 C.E.

Simulation: Nightmare Mode

The calm of the empty room disappeared, and the nightmarish evening of Reploid Independence Day manifested in the void. Around him, the acrid sting of spent explosives and burning cars wafted from every direction.

Volya flexed the fingers of his left hand, sizing up the pathway ahead of him. Gone were the drones, the Gunbolts, the Crushers. The Road Attackers drove larger vehicles with double mounted plasma turrets, and they fired them more often and more accurately. Below the upraised expressways, New Tokyo burned hotter and brighter, making the concrete underneath his feet blistering to the touch.

Above and ahead of him, the Death Rogumer operated with impunity, laying waste to everything in its path. A full squadron, ten Bee Bladers in all, buzzed in the skies to provide support and covering fire.

This was not what had happened; the situation on the highways that night had not been so dire, the Maverick forces had not been so condensed. None of that mattered, for in this altered reality, the consolidated forces under Sigma sought annihilation of all who traveled the roads to evacuate.

The computer started to list off the objectives, but Volya cut it off with a shake of his head. "Begin."

The formerly occupied Mavericks nearest to him reacted to the word, and turned towards him at first notice. Wordlessly, they circled around him, cutting off any route of escape.

Volya reached up to the side of his head with his left hand and blinked. In a flash of light, his trimmed pepper gray hair disappeared under a black helmet with white running stripes and an inverted red control chip heatsink cover. He kept his Buster arm low, and began building up a charge. The whine of the particle condenser was unmistakable, even amidst the screams and explosions.

The closest of the Mavericks, a helmeted and faceless security patroller gone rogue under Sigma's mantle, sneered and approached Volya with his stun baton raised high. "Traitor to your own kind, eh? Any last words before I fry you?"

Volya raised his Buster up, his face a blank. "No." He fired, and the supershot vaporized the entire right side of the Maverick's torso. What was left collapsed in a heap, and the other clustered Mavericks bellowed and charged as one.

Without hesitation or remorse, Volya rotated about, firing one well-placed plasma bullet after another into their chests and faces. Some went down, others staggered backwards before charging again. Volya jumped up as they reached for him, and kicked his dash boots behind him.

The jets ignited, betraying his EAS/DASH system's true functionality: Air-dash. To the surprise and consternation of the survivor of that opening band, Volya hurtled out of their huddle and rolled five meters away. He came to a stop with one knee on the concrete and his Buster pointed at the clustered group. The whine of a charge he'd built during the maneuver reached a keening wail, and he fired off the supershot. The ball of brilliant blue plasma ignited and dispersed, destroying two outright and hurling the others off of the highway altogether. The Mavericks' screams faded as they plummeted to their deaths, and Volya put them out of his mind. He stood back up and turned to face the Rogumer.

Registering the threat, the airship that had been the pride of the Maverick Hunters turned towards him, and flares of light cued its attack.

No smile of satisfaction graced his lips. No quick witticism borne of ego or bravado escaped him. He merely blinked once, then dashed ahead.

Behind him, the highway exploded as a full salvo of plasma rounds and missiles gouged out its surface. The smoldering wreckage fell away, cutting off a retreat. Only one way was left to go. Forward, into the abyss, into death.

Three Bee Bladers moved in all at once, seeking to follow up the mothership's barrage. They settled into position ahead of him, blocking the highway and raising their chainguns and missile port doors.

Volya's left hand went down to his thigh, and he pulled his beam shortblade out, igniting it. He held the potent elongated dagger of green plasma in reverse, thumb on the hilt.

The world wasn't real, but the sounds of the Bee Blader's chainguns, pulsing a staccato deathbeat, were. With three of them bringing their weapons to bear, and much quicker than they had in the simulations of his teammates, it would only be a matter of time before they caught him in the crossfire. Volya considered his options, of which there were few good ones, and selected the most palatable. True, he could have relied on his agility and his dash thrusters to blaze through their convergent fields of fire. He might have taken some glancing hits, he might have not. The risk was there, though, and so he went for a different task.

He blinked…his entire body did. In a blip of light, he vanished just as the first wave of cannon bullets ripped through the air where he'd been, confusing the Bladers. They had little time to wonder where he'd gotten off to before he reappeared between the left and center attackers. Before they could react, Volya jerked his arm about and sliced through the leftmost Blader's rotor mount. Deprived of the weight on it, the rotor screamed up into the air, and the Bee Blader collapsed onto the side of the highway, crushing the guardrail before rolling off to drop to the ground far below.

The center Blader started to rise, sensing the immediate threat. It went straight up, as to not crash into its wingmate, and kept its head down to stay locked on. The more immediate threat was the third Blader, who turned as the second gained altitude, and wildly fired off a stream of missiles that Volya had no chance of neutralizing.

Volya blinked out again, and reappeared after his second short teleport directly in front of the rising Blader. His Buster disappeared out for his hand, and he dashed into it, using the speed to power the punch of his greave-protected fist. His hand tore through its right optical array, and he dug his fingers in deep, gaining a critical handhold. Frantically, the Blader threw itself into a dizzying downwards loop, trying to shake Volya off. The Russian held on like a crocodile and slashed his beam shortblade through the armor plating of its head with one swipe after another. The successive strikes sent smoke and sparks gushing towards him, and the mechaniloid finally started to power down, having taken critical damage. Volya grunted and jerked the disabled Blader about, using his air-dash thrusters to force it into an angle of his choosing…directly for the last of the three.

It retreated away, backpedaling so fast that its main rotor turned to a 45 degree angle and raised its nose towards Volya. Knowing it had nothing more to lose, it opened fire with its chaingun at Volya and his unwelcome delivery. The Muscovite hurled himself away from the Blader as it was chewed apart by cannonfire and freefell towards his attacker. He summoned up his Buster and fired a storm of shots at it, making the Blader give up the attack for a quicker retreat. It still held that same high angle of its rotor, though, and that gave Volya all the room he needed. He would not be sliced to ribbons in the drop, and with one last well-applied burst of synthesized hydrogen from his boot thrusters, he nestled into the small space between the Blader's cumbersome, armored body and its whirling, reinforced rotor. The rotor mount was such a small target that the designers had seen no reason to armor it; it freed up room for additional payload.

Of course, that meant, as with the first one, all it took was one deliberate and well-placed slice of a cutting weapon to rip the wings off of the aerodynamically unsound metallic bee.

Volya jumped back to the side of the highway and pulled himself up as the last of the three Bladers that had accosted him became a low-atmospheric meteorite. He turned his eye towards the DeathRogumer when he was back on his feet, and wasn't the least bit surprised to see an entire legion of Road Attackers flying for him, guns blazing. There would be no surprising the second group with quickwarps; his warp generator needed time to recharge its capacitors.

Which meant, of course…he was now forced to take on the third line of defense as it was intended. Head-on, with little chance of emerging unscathed. And that was fine. It was like a knife-fight. You always bled in a knife-fight.

The trick was keeping your own cuts shallow.


Zero blinked. "That was clean."

"Eh? What do you mean?" Huey prodded the foreboding Hunter.

"He's right." X agreed, bringing up a replay of the feverish assault Volya had laid against the Bee Bladers. "There's lots of ways to take down a Blader, but the most direct one is to sever their rotor mounts. Of course, to do that, you've gotta get in close. The rotors and their armor make it impossible for a straight shot, and Bladers never let melee types reach their weak spots."

"Quick warping." Zero crossed his arms, a new fear and respect for the Russian rising up in him. "It doesn't always work, and it takes a lot out of you."

"Uh, remind me again?" Goat tilted his head slightly.

"Teleportation, big fella." Tomahawk Foxfire answered dully. "Not every reploid gets a warp generator, and most aren't advanced enough for the kind of tweaking needed for short hops. He basically traded off his ability to make a quick escape for the tactical advantage."

"And here I thought quickwarps were a myth." Huey sighed.

"Oh, no." Foxfire gave his head a shake. "I've gone up against Mavericks that used it. Quickwarping is real enough. I'm just glad that faintwarping isn't real."

X stifled a small chuckle, and Hawkins looked at him. "Something funny?"

"No." The Azure Hunter carefully corrected himself. He canceled the replay and pulled up the run, with Volya swarmed by Road Attackers from all sides. "There's nothing funny at all about this."

"He won't survive this." Hawkins muttered. "I don't care how many tricks he's got, you said it yourself, Zero. Nobody can solo this one."

"Nobody's tried." Zero shook his head. "Big difference."


The Road Attackers had been heavily modified in the nightmare simulation: It wasn't just a matter of their improved armament, their armor was thicker as well. A fully charged supershot melted off the front fender of a vehicle trying to run him over, but he still had to dodge out of the way. There would be no rapid kills, and worse, when he tried to slash its tires, a hiss of electricity snaked its way up the blade from the hubcap. Volya gnashed his teeth and extinguished the blade.

"Electrified." He muttered, shoving the beam shortblade back into its hip sheath. That was all he could get out before a double burst of plasma sent him tumbling away, and only a quick leap upwards spared him the grisly fate of being turned into roadkill. They were swarming him, keeping him totally on the defensive.

A lucky shot against the back of his helmet finally sent him over the edge. "Enough, then." He snarled, jumping up into the air. His dash boots exploded with power, pushing him straight up and out of reach of the Road Attacker's weapons. Most importantly, the altitude bought him time.

Volya's Buster began to glow as he started a rapid charge. The motes of light around it went from green in its initial collection, to yellow…

And then, frighteningly, to a holocaust purple. It came none too soon, for his dash thrusters finally gave out after a push that had exhausted the bulk of his stored synthesized hydrogen. Sixty meters below, the Road Attackers lined up on the slab of highway he was falling towards, readying their cannons to catch him in a terminal crossfire.

Volya pointed his Buster straight down, gave it two more beats of charging time until his weapons capacitors began to reach critical, and fired. The blast wave hurled him backwards, and the shot, a drilling beam of turquoise light with three violet spheres twisting around it in a tight helix, screamed down for the highway below.

Initial impact drilled a hole two and a half meters wide clean through the highway, causing the entire platform to shudder. The real damage came shortly after; the trio of plasma balls detached from the main shot, scattered away in opposite directions, and after bouncing twice, exploded in heat, light, and a concussive pressure wave.

The concrete slab of highway cracked under the strain, the rebar within it doing nothing to prevent its fate. The weight of the massed Road Attackers finished what Volya had started, and the road crumbled underneath them, splitting apart and dropping at the middle and drawing every last Maverick rider towards the abyss. Frantically, those on the edges tried to drive away. It did them little good, and the smell of burned rubber drifted up towards Volya as they skidded backwards. Vehicles, Mavericks, and shards of concrete all rained down.

Amidst the screams, Volya triggered one last dash and hurled himself over the pit of his own making. He landed hard on the Rogumer side of the road and tumbled to lessen the impact.

A thin line of smoke curled up from his Buster's nozzle, and Volya let the end of it cool before he rose up to his feet. The park that served as the battleground against Vile was just ahead now, past an obstacle course of sentry drones perched precariously over dilapidated roadway. The Rogumer held position above the park, and turned its guns towards the leader of Zephyr Team.

Volya smiled, and pulled out his beam shortblade again. "I'd hate to think you would make this easy."

The Death Rogumer fired, and Volya ran.


"Well, shit." Hawkins muttered.

"Don't tell me you're disappointed?" Goat nudged his new teammate. The vulpinoid took the poke as well as he could, sulking. "I told you, Volya's good."

"Sure as Hell looks like it." Huey whistled appreciatively. "This guy's terrific. Gruff as Hell, but…damn. Izzat why he's our commander?"

"No." X answered, for the curious. "He's been online since 2120; that makes him, with the exception of Lu, the longest-lived reploid on your team. His career, according to the Russian Federation's records, has been "Distinguished." At least, that's what they told the GDC."

"And that makes him qualified to lead a team of Maverick Hunters?" Hawkins demanded, refusing to let go of the bone he was chewing on. "His age?"

"No." Zero gave his head a shake. "We don't go by tenure here. We go by ability."

"You had a clean run yourself, right until the end." X tried to calm Tomahawk Foxfire down. "From what Goat tells me, the only reason Volya is down there is to prove a point to you." X offered a very disappointed gaze. "Seems the least you could do is pay attention."

"And stop complaining." Goat added.

Still fidgeting, Hawkins stepped up to the window overlooking Holoroom 4 and stared down.

"Come on then." He whispered against the pane. "Show me something."


Compared to a mob of unruly Mavericks, a simultaneous assault by armored Polycraft, and a ground ambush by Road Attackers, the gauntlet of collapsed roads and wasp-like stinger drones was almost too easy. Each section of the run was dedicated to a different focus: This last one before the showdown was one of agility, response time, and level-headedness. Volya hesitated when he had to, avoiding that one fatal misstep that would cause a drone to crash into him and send him on the final plunge. In spite of his imperfect vision, the grizzled warrior rushed forward without hesitation. Drones were shot out of the sky by his Buster, and the ones that came too close for comfort were sliced apart by his saber. Perhaps his other sensory systems had been improved by the loss of an eye, because he seemed untouchable to distraction.

And that was all that the rushing drones were: A distraction. Sacrifices to slow Volya down so the looming dreadnaught above the park could fire one earth-shaking blast after another on top of him. The shriek of the plasma rounds burning through the air was enough of a giveaway: He dodged, dashed, and tumbled clear before impact each time. His refusal to be struck had to be frustrating to the ship's gunners, who succeeded only in blasting apart a highway already on its last legs.

No goading taunt, no self-satisfying boast left him. Lips closed tight, Volya kept pressing ahead. In desperation, the Death Rogumer fired at a section of highway well ahead of him, just prior to the turnoff into the park. Volya held his fire and started to charge his Buster again, making a mad dash for it.

The stricken highway ahead of him started to collapse from the mortal blow, and Volya's first foothold fell out from underneath him.

"Niechevo!" Volya swore. Refusing to give in, he leapt from one falling piece of concrete to another, steadily crossing the gap and regaining lost altitude. He kicked off of concrete and reinforced bars, and with one final boost of his dash thrusters, flew up and landed on solid ground. He dropped down with his left hand and the hilt of his beam shortblade pressed flat against the roadway in a perfect three point stance.

The aura around his Buster turned purple again, and Volya stood and aimed his right arm in one smooth gesture. The penetrating beam warped and burned the side of the lingering airship, and the three plasma spheres exploded with even more damage.

The Death Rogumer rocked under the assault, with smoking holes exposed after the light died down. The Rogumer limped away, but not before its cargo doors opened and Vile dropped out from the lift. But he wasn't driving a Chimera, Volya realized. This time, he was in a hovercapable, spike-fisted Rabbit.

Behind his oddly slotted visor, Vile's eyes flared a brilliant red. Volya stowed his shortblade and nodded back.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Vile hissed.

"Getting your attention." Volya answered, raising his Buster up to fire again.

A sudden gale force wind blew Volya off his feet and smashed him into the ground. When it died, Volya scrambled and looked behind him.

A livid blue and purple eagle reploid kept his wind-generating Buster trained on Volya, hovering overhead. "You have it, Maverick Hunter." Storm Eagle declared.

A loud, rumbling thud by Vile caused Volya to turn again. This time, a primate-based reploid stood up after his jump down from the wounded airship. It slammed its fists together, and electricity sparked off from the brief contact.

"All of it." Spark Mandrill growled.

Volya gave his head a disbelieving shake at his situation, and started to charge up another supershot.


"Oh, shit." Goat whispered. Huey recoiled, and even Hawkins made a face.

"You put him up against three of the Maverick generals? Is that even based in reality?" Hawkins asked.

"Little known fact." Zero grunted. "Storm Eagle was driving the Rogumer that night, and Spark Mandrill was in the cargo bay, prepping drones and Road Attackers. They didn't come out to play when X attacked."

"Thank Christ." X muttered, rolling his eyes.

"We found that out later when we reviewed the data from the DeathRogumer's black box; it was about the only thing that survived the crash into the old nuclear fission power plant. So, did it really happen? No. But it could have." Zero allowed himself a satisfied smile. "Now you know why this is Nightmare Mode."

"And why you don't let your Special Unit 0 do solo runs." Goat accused him.

"Hey, I warned him." Zero protested. "Hell, X warned him. It's not my problem if that lunk-headed Russian doesn't want to listen to common sense. Besides, it isn't impossible."

"Why? Because you could do it?" Hawkins asked.

"Yeah." Zero snorted.

Of course, it went without saying that Commander Volya wasn't Zero. And there was the rub. There was little else to do except wait and hope that the Muscovite ended the simulation before the Mavericks used him as a football.


"I don't think I've ever seen you before, Hunter." Storm Eagle remarked, hurling another hurricane strength tornado down at Volya. "You must be new."

Volya jumped out of the way, only to be electrocuted by a thunderball that slid across the ground and up through his foot.

"They must be getting desperate." Spark Mandrill taunted him. "They're hiring cripples now? Poor bastard can't even see right."

"Be careful, you moron." Vile snarled at the ape. "That poor bastard just took out our entire highway suppression force. Don't go underestimating him."

Grunting, Volya fought off the last wave of paralyzing shorts and shook his head. "All right." He pointed to Mandrill. "You die first."

"Oh ho, look at the little man, making declarations." Mandrill grinned, stretching his blue-striped cheeks. "Come on. Let's kill him and get out of here. The boss wants us at the ready."

"Hm." Volya kept them talking, slowing the charge rate of his Buster as to not attract attention. "I see. You all get to run around and cause havoc and mayhem, while Sigma gets to rest on Hokkaido Island and build his little fortress. Is that it?"

Storm Eagle screeched, eyes wide. "How do you know that?" He glanced to Vile. "How in the devil's name does he knowthat? Have the Hunters penetrated our communications already?"

"Bullshit." Vile scoffed. "Mandrill programmed our encryptions himself. Ain't no way that Hunter Base is capable of breaking it, especially since we kicked the shit out of that place before we left."

"Perhaps your little revolution is not as secure as you thought." Volya wagered. "Have you given thought that perhaps we have an agent amongst you?"

Mandrill's eyes narrowed. "Impossible. Everybody in this Uprising is committed to Lord Sigma's vision of a world where reploids rule our subjugators."

Volya shrugged, raising his Buster and right arm up into the air. "Ah, well. It was worth a try." Before Mandrill could react, he snapped his weapon to bear and fired a level 3 blue supershot. Howling, Mandrill tried to fall clear of the blast, but the edge of it caught on his torso and burned away his outer layer of abdominal armor.

Storm Eagle hurled down another tornadic blast, tossing Volya around in punishment. "Bad show, going for a sneak attack like that!"

"Ah, I forgot only Mavericks can shoot people in back." Volya picked himself back up again, and tensed up. The ground was vibrating underneath him.

He dashed backwards, narrowly avoiding being skewered on the spiked fist of Vile's Ride Armor. The Rabbit blazed past and skidded sideways to begin its turnaround. "Damnit, you moved!"

A crackling hiss got Volya's attention, and he jumped upwards to avoid another sphere of electroplasma sent out by Spark Mandrill. The simioid let out an angry set of hoots and pulled his fist up from the ground. "He's quick, I'll give him that."

Airborne, Volya turned to address the next threat, and was abruptly slammed back down to terra firma by another punishing cyclone from Storm Eagle. Spark Mandrill was on top of him before he could pull himself back up, and the Maverick squeezed Volya hard between his hamfists.

Arms pinned to his sides, Volya could only grunt and cringe when Spark Mandrill sent a painful current through his body. The simioid bared his teeth, clearly ready for vengeance after his injury. "You don't understand the righteousness of our Lord Sigma's cause. Well, if you won't help, then you may as well die."

"Not on my list." Volya snapped in return. Spark Mandrill squeezed him harder, and Volya hissed when he felt his armor begin to crack under the strain.

Mandrill allowed himself a few more enjoyable seconds, then hurled Volya out like a rag doll at Vile. The helmeted Maverick swung his spiked fist forward and smashed Volya at center mass. The Russian coughed up a copious mouthful of purple blood and crumpled to the ground after rolling to a stop.

The thudding footsteps of Vile came closer, while Storm Eagle and Spark Mandrill remained stationary.

"End of the line, Maverick Hunter." Vile sneered. His Rabbit lifted its foot up into the air and positioned it over Volya's body. "Thanks for playing."

Volya tilted his head up, looking at Vile with his pain-glazed brown eye. In spite of his injuries, he smiled.

Vile smashed the foot of his enhanced 'Mech down, putting cracks into the concrete underneath. But Volya was not lying there.

A sudden pained cry from Spark Mandrill pulled Vile from his state of confusion. He and Storm Eagle turned in time to see Volya, crouched behind the simioid, digging his green beam shortblade up deeper through the weakened section of Mandrill's armor into the Maverick's body.

Paralyzed in pain, his spinal connection severed to his legs, Spark Mandrill feebly tried to grasp behind him to pull Volya away. The Russian dug his blade in deeper, finally locating his target.

"Do you know what happens to reploid that loses microfusion containment?" Volya asked aloud.

"You…ba..stard…" Mandrill wheezed. Volya's right arm reached up and touched Mandrill's fist, and the white lines of his armor glowed brilliantly. He shoved his blade in all the way, and a very loud alarm screamed from inside of the Maverick.

Volya quickwarped clear of Mandrill just before the damaged microfusion generator of the simioid went into overload and blew him apart.

Aghast at the fate of their comrade, Vile and Storm Eagle tried to collect their bearings.

And Volya warped down behind them, calmly wiping the purple blood off of his lips as he drained his Sub-Tank and pulled himself back to full health. They turned, and Volya pointed to Storm Eagle. "Ty umresh 'vtorym."

You die second.


"Bastard!" Storm Eagle howled, hurling another tornado. Volya dashed out of its path, and none too soon: A horrific gash was cut into the ground where the howling winds scraped it. Volya came up, whirling clear of another dash punch from Vile.

"Adding plasma to your tornadoes, Storm?" Vile posed. "It's about time you started getting serious."

"How the devil was I supposed to know that he could disappear like Boomer?" Storm snapped back.

A witticism came to mind, and Volya broke with his pattern of stoic composure to let it loose. "We can stop if you two need time to sort things out." Of course, he neglected to mention that Boomer—likely Boomer Kuwanger, another Maverick General in the First Uprising—had a different means of instantaneous transport altogether, but he wasn't about to clue them into it. Holographs or not, an advantage was an advantage, and a thing that was named could be countered.

"You know what?" Vile turned his Rabbit 'Mech to face Volya. "I'd thought that I'd christen this beauty of mine by bleeding X dry over its fists, but you just got put up at the top of my hit list. Storm!"

The Rabbit Ride Armor crouched down and pulled its arms in tight. After locking into place, the drills on the ends of its arms began to spin, slowly at first, then gaining RPMs rapidly thereafter.

Volya ignored the delayed threat and aimed upwards. Sure enough, Storm Eagle was diving straight for him. The white lines along Volya's Buster glowed for a moment, and a ball of electroplasma exploded out of it. Storm was flying too fast and too straight to avoid the shot, and the crackling energy paralyzed the avian reploid long enough so that he crashed into the ground at maximum velocity.

Groaning, Storm shakily tried to push himself off of terra firma. Volya calmly waited, not moving to finish Storm off. "You were never grounded, were you?" The double entendre was meant to infuriate Storm Eagle, and it worked perfectly.

"You son of a bitch." Storm rasped.

The sound of a charging warmachine, the noise that Volya had been listening for instead of moving for the quick kill, cut their conversation short. "Excuse me." Volya dashed backwards, and Vile's clumsy charge failed to connect. Bleeding off speed, Vile and his Ride Armor shot past Volya with plenty of room to spare.

That moment of distraction, tracking Vile's course, cost him. In a flash, Storm Eagle had crashed into Volya and snatched him up in his claws. Wings beating furiously, the Maverick hoisted the Maverick Hunter high into the air, talons pinning Volya's arms outwards. Storm took his prey higher and higher into the burning night sky.

"There's no escaping your fate now." Storm told Volya. "When I drop you from this height, you will crack like an egg!"

"Perhaps." Volya tried to look up at his attacker. "Perhaps not." He disengaged his Buster, bringing his right hand back out into play.

"Your quiet confidence and surprise warps will not save you from me. I am not the fool that Spark Mandrill was!" Storm Eagle crowed.

"No." Volya rocked his legs back and forth, getting a feel for his mobility. "You are a different fool."

Fifteen hundred feet up, Volya swung his feet perpendicular to his torso and activated his thrusters. The sudden jolt of force caused Storm Eagle's grip to loosen, and Volya grunted in approval. A second burst of dash thrust caused Storm to lose control of him altogether, which would have suited the Maverick's intentions anyhow. The difference was that Volya had initiated his release and drop…

Which gave him enough reaction time to grab hold of Storm Eagle's ankles and swing himself up behind the bird. With the same speed he'd used to surprise Lu, Volya drew out his beam shortblade and jerked the condensed green plasma clean through both of the avian reploid's wings. Storm Eagle howled in agony as his primary means of attack and escape were clipped off of him. The wings fell away first, while Storm Eagle and Volya, with two moments of upwards momentum remaining, kept going.

It gave Volya enough time to sheathe his blade and turn the crippled Maverick around. He stared at Storm with his brown eye, lit up from the fires burning beneath them, and smiled.

"See you on the ground."

Volya kicked away from Storm Eagle and began his freefall.


Below, Vile could only wait for some sign of life, a flicker of lights or a spot of motion in the skies above him. When it finally came, he expected the Maverick Hunter to smash into the ground and be crushed, while Storm Eagle flew down and landed after him.

To his dismay, the reverse happened. Falling at terminal velocity, the red, black, and white armored Maverick Hunter rapidly slowed on a bellowing gust of full out dash thruster burn. It cut out when he was ten meters up, and he freefell the rest of the way, coming to rest in a crouch with his Buster at the ready and glowing a violent violet.

Storm Eagle, screaming, crashed behind him, exploding half a second after impact in white hot fire. The Maverick's wings twirled down a moment later.

Aghast, Vile tried to speak. He could only make out a stammering, "What…you…he…but…"

Volya rose up, looking supernal in spite of the cracks in his armor. He pointed at Vile with his left hand. "You are last."

"Oh, the Hell you say." Vile snarled. He gunned the Ride Armor's engine and leapt out of the cockpit before the Rabbit barreled for Volya on a collision course. With his dash thrusters at empty after his rapid descent's stop, Volya aimed his Buster and fired; not a plasma charge, but a wave of electroplasma, borrowed from the weapons system of the defeated Spark Mandrill. It washed over the Rabbit with more potency than the basic sphere, and fried every circuit in the Ride Armor's controls. Volya threw himself clear, narrowly avoiding being clipped by it as it lurched over and veered off, toppling sideways in defeat.

The heap of ominous metal sparked twice more, then went silent. Volya drew out his beam shortblade, then rose to look around again. Before he could react, he found himself hoisted up and squeezed tight by an enormous fist. As Volya gasped, Vile seethed inside the cockpit of his Chimera Mech…the original model of the simulation, with hands instead of spiked drills.

"You didn't think I wouldn't have backup?" Vile sneered. "I guess in the end, all that Rabbit was good for was to make you waste your shot."

Gritting his teeth, Volya brought his Buster up and started to fire a wild flurry of shots at the bubble-shielded cockpit. The Chimera's other arm swung up and wrapped around Volya's right arm with crushing force, lifting it skyward where the shots could do no harm. Screaming, Volya stabbed forward with his shortblade, burning a hole through the canopy before Vile reacted and moved Volya back away from the cockpit. The green plasma shortblade fell short of the mark, failing to reach Vile's head.

The Maverick laughed wildly at Volya's predicament. "Whassa matter, you run out of sword? Too bad you didn't spring for the full model, like Sigma! Hell, you even tried to do his scar motif and failed. To think, you killed Spark Mandrill, you took out Storm Eagle, and you fail here because you ran out of weapons. It really is too bad. Yes, you had a good run, but you're just not up to taking me out, are you slugger?"

Volya gave the simulated Vile a hard look. He finally released the cylinder of his beam shortblade and let it fall away, extinguishing once his thumb was clear of the activation stud. The slender rod of metal made two distinctive clinks when it landed on the ground.

Vile popped his canopy open and leaned forward, putting his helmet inches away from Volya's empty left hand. The cannon on his shoulder tilted down and took aim at Volya's face. "Any last words before I send you to the scrap heap?"

"Two words." Volya offered, inscrutable behind the eyepatch and scar along the left side of his face. "If you care to hear them."

"Oh, sure. Why not?" Vile laughed darkly. "Let me guess. I'm sorry? I tried? Please don't? Oh God?"

Volya shook his head, and a glimmer of light settled over his left hand. Before Vile could even register it, a magpistol…Lu's magpistol, which Volya had kept in storage inside his warp generator for the whole of the simulation without using, settled into his grip.

The corner of Volya's mouth twitched. "You lose." He fired, point blank, into the slotted gap of visor in Vile's full helmet. The magnetically accelerated round blasted out the back of Vile's head, taking his control chip and electronic brain along with it.

The simulation froze, then pixilated and disappeared. Without the construct of a Chimera Mech to hold him up, Volya dropped to the ground without ceremony. He dismissed his Buster, then reached down and picked up his discarded beam shortblade.

"Simulation complete. Rank: SA."

Volya was already walking out the door and reaching for his coat before the holographic center's operating system had finished speaking.


Nobody in the Bridge spoke after that stunning conclusion. The members of Zephyr Team stood there, mutely, until the entry door hissed open and Volya stormed in, thunder rumbling behind his eye. The reploid calmly tapped the side of his helmet, and it disappeared in a flash of warplight to expose his familiar short-trimmed haircut.

"Hawkins." Volya said.

The vulpinoid held off his cringe. "Yes, Commander?"

Volya held his stiff posture for a few moments more, then relaxed. "Go to the Medical Bay, and take the others with you. I will be along shortly."

Hawkins blinked. "Wait, you're not going to kill me?"

"Do you wish me to?" Volya countered sharply.

Goat grabbed Hawkins by the shoulder and tugged the Maverick Hunter out behind him. "No, he sure doesn't Commander. We'll see you in a bit."

Huey lingered behind the other two for a moment more, grinning at Volya. "That was some stone cold footwork, my man. Where the Hell did they dig you out of?"

"Siberia." Volya replied. He pushed Morgan out of the door, and the pilot reluctantly departed. Alone, the Muscovite looked to X and Zero, who seemed ready to burst.

"That was something." X volunteered. "You have weapons copy and buster overcharge ability?"

Volya shrugged within his black coat. "As do you, from what I am told."

X frowned. "Who told you that?"

Volya cracked a wan smile. "Surely, you are not so naïve. You, who argued for the existence of our species…you think that the powers of the world would not keep a file on you?"

X scowled at the news. "So what does your file say?"

"It depends on who is reading it." Volya answered evasively. "To answer your question, I have limited weapons copy." He held up two fingers. "And then, only for temporary periods of time. It is…bonus. Not something I rely on." Volya glanced to Zero. "Nightmare Mode…is good challenge. Your simulation Mavericks, though, they talk too much."

"Well, that bunch was pretty chatty." Zero pointed out.

Volya blinked his eye. "In a real fight, there are no words. Only death."

"Oh yeah?" Zero demanded. "We've seen more scrapes than you know, and they always talk."

"Perhaps it is madness, then, why they talk." Volya conceded, turning to leave. "Perhaps you are all mad."

Volya departed the bridge, and X turned to Zero with a scowl. "That asshole. Who does he think he is?"

Zero scratched at his chin. "He's a Rank SA Hunter. I'd take him in my unit, if he wasn't GDC. Attitude comes with the rank, though."

"I don't trust him, Zero."

"Good. Neither do I." Zero tapped the hilt of his beam saber over his shoulder. "Doesn't mean I won't spar with him if we found the time."


MHHQ Medical Bay

2:56 P.M.

Some time later, the reploids of Zephyr Team lay in the Medical Bay under the care of the MHHQ's Chief Medical Officer, a gray-haired and tired looking reploid who lacked true legs and instead was forced to roll around on a base of motorized treads, much like an iconic robot from a very old film. In the hour and a half since they'd been in there, he'd only complained once about it; mostly to say that Cain owed him a pair. Of course, that wasn't the only thing on his list of complaints.

"Your first day on the job and you all decided it was a good idea to get beat to Hell." Hazil complained. "With no frigging respect for my nerves. You don't think I've got better things to do than patch up a bunch of GDC reploids? Like sleep, maybe?"

Goat, who had been given a berth on the largest reinforced bed in primary treatment, sat in the middle of it and shifted his weight slowly. His shoulder cannon was aimed upwards and powered down. "Well, I just had some scuffing."

"Lah dee dah." Hazil twirled a finger in the air. He rolled over and checked Goat's chart again. "Christ on a shingle, boy. Eight Heart Tank IOE expansions and four Subs? What kind of trouble were you expecting?"

"I wasn't quite sure. However, they let me keep my standard equipment."

A little disgusted, Hazil dropped Goat's chart back down. "Right, and that's standard. I weep for your economy." He glanced past the technicians repairing the armor of Huey and Tomahawk Foxfire, over to Commander Volya. The leader of Zephyr Team had folded his black longcoat out over the operating bed he'd been assigned to, and to the dismay of the staff, was performing his own repairs. He'd removed his chest armor and set it down in front of him, poring over the damage with the Medical Bay's own tools. With his armor discharged from him, the Russian reploid looked almost human in a set of military fatigue pants and a long-sleeved black shirt.

"You sure you don't want my people to fix your armor up, son?" Hazil called out to Volya. "They do do this for a living, after all."

"The damage was minimal, and I must practice my field repairs." Volya replied. He pulled his microwelder away from the crack he'd been working on and blinked. "After all, one does not always have the benefit of a doctor."

Hazil rolled his eyes and tossed his hands in the air. "Suit yourself."

The medical technicians around Hawkins finally pulled back, their work done. The vulpinoid sat up slowly, extending his right arm out and flexing his claws. The work they'd done was exemplary. "How's Lu doing?" He asked quietly.

For what was the tenth time or so, Hazil glanced over to Lu's body. The damage was so severe that he hadn't even been able to begin repairs: The Chinese reploid's systems had to stabilize, so what was left of Lu was plugged into a recharging port with a monitor attached to the I/O port in the side of his neck.

"Not good." Hazil admitted. "He was ancient before you were activated, Volya. I swear, the Chinese put him together with chewing gum and twine in places. It'll be days before he's steady enough for repairs. Right now, he's not even handling stasis right. He might not make it."

"Why didn't he stop?" Goat shook his head. "I mean, the guy got half his face blown off. He was getting pieces of him torn off, and he just…"

"Kept going." Hawkins muttered, looking up at the ceiling again. "Like it didn't matter. Like he didn't care."

"Well, you know what they say. If you're dead on the inside, the rest is just details and timing. Hey, that reminds me! You guys wanna know the secret to a great joke?"

"This isn't a jo…"

"Timing!" Huey giggled at his own joke as Nils swelled.

"It's not a joke." Goat reprimanded the pilot. "He's our teammate."

"Enough, Goat." Volya calmed the giant. "Morgan, just focus on your own repairs."

"Repairs?" Huey glanced at his charred chassis. "Holy shit! Guys, I think someone might have shot me. I'd better take a look at that. We can discuss comedy later."

"Right." The space around Volya's eyepatch twitched. "Do that."

Goat breathed out slowly. "I just wish I knew what Lu was thinking."

The door to the Medical Bay opened as Goat was speaking, and the Swiss reploid turned and went pale as Lu walked into the room.

Doing a double take, the entire Medical Bay glanced between the half-dead reploid on the operating table and the standing Lu who strolled in without a care. The new Lu looked exactly like the old one, outside of having marginally thicker armor and no Chinese calligraphy marking his arms. The phrase TEST-0001 was still marked across his chestplate.

"What in God's green earth…" Hazil uttered.

Volya stepped away from his armor repair and blocked the second Lu's path to the first. "Who are you?"

The second Lu paused and glanced at Volya in confusion. "Lu, Commander Volya. Lu, as of the last emergency backup mid-simulation."

He strolled around the stunned Volya and took up position at his own bedside. "The first unit took critical damage in the exercise."

"Wait." Volya put a hand on the second Lu's shoulder and turned him around. He stared hard into the reploid's face. "Explain. First unit?"

"The People's Republic of China decided to build a series of bodies; in this way, multiple exercises could be run with very little downtime for repairs or alteration. Critical damage of unit 1 triggered auto-backup; Unit 1's memories were transferred to home server for re-upload to this unit."

"You're telling us there's hundreds of you…Lus…running around in China?" Goat winced.

The second Lu blinked. "Correct. Other units are fulfilling tasks of lesser importance. This unit will replace unit 1 as Hunter within Zephyr Team. This unit, however, lacks the specialized data of unit 1, and is here to download missing files."

"What missing files?"

"Feelings. Motivations." The second Lu offered. "His rationale for decisions, very important data." He snaked out an I/O jack and tapped into the secondary port of his predecessor. After a few seconds, Lu blinked and pulled the cord away. "Download complete."

"Terrific. Then perhaps you could tell us why you…your…" Hawkins struggled for the right phrasing and tossed his hands in the air. "Why in blazes did you keep going? Why did you let yourself get hit?"

"Survival was not primary objective." Lu answered simply. "This unit was designed to run simulations to determine efficacy of combat tactics and weaponry. Carrying the Meat Grinder simulation to its conclusion was priority task. If built for a purpose, one should fulfill it."

"No." Volya shook the standing Lu hard, baring his teeth. "You will disregard that purpose. You are no longer expendable."

Lu blinked twice. "But duplicate forms ensure that…"

"Negative." Volya scowled, cutting him off. "You will sever your connection with the home server. You will send no more backups of your thought matrices."

Lu's eyes shot up, a powerful expression from the eerily emotionless reploid. "You wish me to be…singular?"

"Yes." Volya snapped. "Look around you. Do you think any of the others here can operate so freely with their lives? I will not have anyone in my command playing fast and loose. You are not expendable. You will not treat our missions as tests or simulations. What we do is life and death."

Lu remained unconvinced. "Is this an order?"

"Do it, or return to China." Volya warned him.

A tense moment passed, and Lu blinked. "Done. Communications to home are severed."

Volya returned to his own bed, shaking his head. "You're going to be nothing but a headache, Lu."

Hazil remained unsure. "So…We've got a new Lu now? What the Hell am I supposed to do with the old one?"

The second Lu glanced to his predecessor. "Scans indicate critical systems damage. Recommendation: Salvage components for repairs and discard the rest."

"Good lord, and I thought I'd seen it all." Hazil ran a hand through his hair. "You want me to killhim?"

"The conditions specified were not conducive to his survival, Commander." Lu answered.

"Of course, now that you're on your own like the rest of us, I'm betting you won't be so quick to just stand there and let yourself get hit now, will you fella?" Huey asked.

Numbly, Hazil reached for the life support equipment trying to stabilize the first Lu's dying body. "All of you, shut up before I put you into stasis myself." He flipped the switch.

Five seconds later, the monitor on the first Lu's positronic brain activity flatlined.


The Last Round

MHHQ Central Building

7:03 P.M.

Having been admitted, repaired, and released in the span of 6 hours, Huey, Hawkins, and Goat had all been feeling out of sorts. The defeat, demise, and subsequent revival of their Chinese teammate had left them all sifting through their own runs, seeking out weaknesses. Though nobody spoke of it, every one of them could hear Volya's sharp criticisms on their performance. Goat had remembered Commander X mentioning the MHHQ's private pub, and once he'd mentioned it to Huey and Hawkins, both the former MSWAT and regional Hunter had agreed they could use a glass of the good stuff after the day they'd had. After de-arming, which took the longest for Goat due to the long process of detaching his shoulder cannon, they made their way to TheLastRound.

Thus they found themselves sitting at a table perched by the western wall of the bar, nursing their drinks: a double shot of bourbon for Hawkins, a combination of sake and beer for the armor-recalled Huey, and for Goat, an enormous five-liter stein of German lager. Goat chugged it, pints at a time, causing Huey to stare at the diminishing reservoir of alcohol with fascination.

"Where does it all go?" The MSWAT pilot wondered aloud. Goat wiped a thick line of froth from his lips and grinned at his counterpart, again marveling at how their unbalanced teammate looked in white undershirt, Hawaiian shirt, and khaki shorts.

"Something I've always wondered." Hawkins cut in, lifting his own drink and staring into the amber liquid. "Why give reploids the ability to ingest food and drink? Or taste it?"

"If you want a discussion on philosophy, I would be of little help." Goat admitted. "I never bothered to ask the question myself. I just enjoy it. There was a fellow in my old unit who used to do this with Hawaiian fruit drinks. You know, the kind they make with a coconut that looks like a monkey's head? Of course, he used a straw."

Huey whistled, trying to draw a comparison of the drinking contests between Goat's stein and a drink of similar proportion. "Musta been one Hell of a coconut."

Hawkins sipped at his bourbon, then glanced pointedly at Goat. "So tell us, Nils. You've worked with Volya before. Has he always been like this?"

"Like what?" The gentle giant asked, puzzled.

"So damn strict." Hawkins retorted. "If he were any more tense, he'd be pissing piano wire."

"He'd be what?" Goat repeated, missing the meaning behind the odd phrase.

"He was leaping down our throats today. And then he turns around and…" The vulpinoid cringed. "…that run of his, just, was something else. I got the point. He's capable. But why is he so stiff?"

"Because he has been put in charge, and he takes that responsibility seriously." Goat downed two more swallows of beer and set his nearly empty super-flagon down on the table. "Has he always been so strict? To be honest, yes, a little. But I would want nobody else protecting me when a battle started. I trust him. The more important question might be, why don't you trust him?"

"I don't trust anyone." Tomahawk Foxfire muttered, averting his eyes. "Least of all, the people in charge."

"Well, that's awfully cynical, isn't it?" Huey scoffed. "How come I can't be that cynical?"

"I don't know, why aren't you?" Hawkins sniped back at the pilot. Morgan blinked at the comeback, blinked again, and screwed his face into a puzzled expression.

"Why aren't I what again?" Hawkins and Goat both slumped forward a little bit, shaking off the disbelief from Huey's flaky attention span.

A group of Hunters had begun to saunter towards their table as Goat spoke, and the unpredictable Huey cleared his throat. "Uh, fellas, we've got company."

Among the four menacing looking reploids, none garnered as much attention as their leader, a metal-gray and red reploid that seemed a cross between a dragon and a human. His jaws snapped ominously as he sized the three Zephyr teammates up.

"So you're the GDC reploids everybody's been talking about." He sneered.

"I thought we were Hunters now." Huey whispered to the others. The dragon-class reploid still heard him.

"You're not Hunters, you're a social experiment!"

"Oh. Well, as long as we've got that cleared up." Huey shrugged, strangely taking no offense to the brushoff.

"I don't believe I know you, sir." Goat said evenly. The massive reploid straightened up, nearly matching the dragonoid's level gaze. If his counterpart was intimidated, he didn't show it.

"Magma Dragoon, Commander of the 14th Special Unit." The dragonoid declared proudly. "Now, maybe you'd do us all a favor and leave. This bar is for Hunters only."

Tomahawk Foxfire almost jumped out of his seat at the insult, but Goat's strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Steady." Nils muttered to him. The walking demolitions team stood up, dwarfing Dragoon by a good six inches. He smiled and held his arms out away from his sides. "Despite what you think, we are Maverick Hunters, sir. I'll tell you what. How about we head up to the bar and get a round from Pugs? On me?"

Dragoon considered the offer for a moment, then swung his arm down at the table and knocked Goat's enormous stein over. A torrent of alcohol rushed over Goat's front, with a small spray even reaching up to his face.

The conversations within The Last Round came to a stuttering halt, and the music died off as well with the artificial sound of a needle scratching a fleeing record. In silence, all eyes turned to watch the confrontation.

Dragoon snarled again. "I've got a better idea, big fella. Why don't you go fragment yourself?"

Slowly, Nils reached a hand up and brushed the droplets of beer off of his face. He pulled his hand back and examined it. "If I did not know better, I would swear you were trying to pick a fight." He observed.

"Well, what do you know, boys." Magma Dragoon gestured to the three Hunters who were tagging along behind him. "Not as dumb as he looks. And I thought big and stupid went hand in hand!"

Remembering X's warning, Nils glanced to the bar. Pugs, the beefy canine reploid in charge of the room, folded his arms and glowered in warning.

Taking in a deep breath, Goat kept his hands open and shook his head. "It has been a long and trying day. Since you have no desire to be civil, I must ask you to leave."

"You leave!" Dragoon snapped back. "We don't want you here, you GDC flunkie. Get off our base."

"No." Goat replied, a thin edge of anger rising up in him. "I am not going anywhere, and neither are my teammates."

Huey and Hawkins were a little taken aback at the strong reploid's unflinching posture. He had stood up for them in that sentence, firmly refused hostility and countered the threats. Most importantly, he hadn't backed down. Behind him, the slightly deranged pilot and the sour regional Hunter shared a look. Huey nodded. Hawkins returned it.

"If you don't leave, you're headed for the scrap heap." Dragoon threatened, extending his claws out.

"If you were expecting me to fight you, you were mistaken." Goat countered. "I will not throw the first punch."

Dragoon roared and slashed a claw up, leaving gashes across Nil's synthskin. In spite of the unprovoked attack, Huey and Hawkins stayed still, waiting for the all-clear from Goat.

The goliath reploid ignored the bleeding cuts on his face and looked back to the bar.

"Pugs?" Goat called out, as if asking permission.

The burly hound shook his head. "Take it outside!"

Goat smiled, unnerving Dragoon and his flunkies. "As you wish." A thick, reinforced visor slid down from the top of his helmet, covering his eyes. Two vented faceplates slid from the sides and covered his mouth, and all three pieces locked into place with an audible click.

Before Dragoon could react, Goat lunged forward, clotheslining Dragoon and one of his flanking warriors. He powered forward like a locomotive, scooping the others up in his plow of Maverick Hunters before rushing for the opposite wall. Amidst cries of disbelief, the Hunters seated in his path scrambled to get clear, and narrowly avoided being struck themselves. Using Dragoon and his 14th Unit squadmates as cover, Goat smashed through the wall of The Last Round…which was also the outermost wall of the MHHQ's main building as well. Screaming, the pile of Goat's making began to fall down to the ground several long meters below.

Hawkins punched Huey in the shoulder, shocking the pilot clear of his disbelief. "Come on!" The vulpinoid urged, a wicked look in his eyes. Huey blinked as he thought it over, then grinned and nodded. The two ran out of the bar, diving out of the hole in the wall of Goat's making and into the early night of the MHHQ grounds.

They landed behind a pileup of groaning Hunters, and with some effort, Goat disentangled himself from the heap and stumbled back.

"My leg!" One of Dragoon's lackeys cried out.

Growling loudly, Dragoon pushed himself up, brushing dust and mortar off of his arms. "Oh, you are so dead."

Goat looked behind him, finally noticing Huey and Hawkins. "What are you guys doing here?" His voice called out from his full facemask.

"You looked like you needed some backup." Hawkins said, cracking his knuckles. "And I've got a bone to pick with him, too. He's got some gall, saying I'm not a Hunter."

"Maybe we just oughta prove it to him, then." Huey offered, summoning his Buster.

"No weapons, men." Goat cautioned them, glancing hard at Huey. "We don't shoot Maverick Hunters."

"Aw, not even just to piss 'em off? You're no fun." Huey complied, in spite of the complaint. His Buster shifted back up into his arm, and he flexed his fingers with a sigh.

Back on their feet again, Dragoon and his three humanoid cohorts spaced themselves out, sizing up the opposition. "You three deal with the small fry. I'm going to knock the big guy's helmet off." In response, Goat beckoned Dragoon to come at him.

Dragoon charged forward, using his powerful lunge and leading with an outstretched fist. Goat caught the punch in his hamfist easily, and Dragoon followed up with a swing from his other hand. Goat caught that one as well, and before the dragonoid could react, snapped his arms up and over his body, jerking the Maverick Hunter off of the ground. A headbutt snapped into the dragonoid's midsection to stun him, and Goat slammed him down. He followed it up with a powerful elbow drop across Dragoon's throat, earning a strangled cough and a full body spasm.

"You made two mistakes." Goat taunted Dragoon, his voice echoing out from the slits in his armored faceplate. "First, you thought we were useless in a fight. And secondly, you wasted beer!" Goat stood back up, kicking Dragoon clear for good measure. After a moment or two, Dragoon lurched back upright, holding a hand to his midsection.

"I insult you, I attack you, and all you can think about is how I spilled your drink?"

"That was really good beer you wasted." Goat snorted. "And to think I asked you to leave."

Dragoon broadened his legs out and went into a martial fighting stance. He gestured to Goat, baring his fangs. "Not until I carve you down to size."

"Well, look who watches ninja holovids." Goat chuckled. "Are you any good?"

A fireball, channeled between Dragoon's hands and fired off before Goat could finish his sentence, whistled past his empty, cannonless shoulder. Glaring over the top of his right palm, Dragoon was no longer fooling around. "Time for you to find out."


The scuffle between Huey, Hawkins, and the other three 14th Unit Hunters was a bit less coordinated. Hawkins was at home, dodging and weaving around the flurry of punches and kicks leveled at him, but Huey was much more of a punching bag.

"Hey now UNF! This is no OOMPH way for UNGH Hunters to act!" His sentence was interrupted by a kick to the back, a gut punch after a stumbling plod to the second Hunter ganging up on him, and a knock to the jaw. Feebly, Huey glanced around through his dizzy eyes to try and find Hawkins. "Hey, how about some help here?"

Dealing with his own opponent, Hawkins snorted in disgust. He blocked the reploid's punch with his forearm, then swept his leg around and knocked his opponent flat on the ground. He started punching the goon in the face even as he shouted behind him. "Damn it, Morgan, fight back!"

"I'm a pilot, not a street brawler!" Huey protested, getting clipped under an eye for his trouble.

"Well, change back into your armor at least!" Tomahawk Foxfire added, just before he was shoved backwards by a kick from his opponent.

"I don't exactly have the time to…" Huey was cut off when one of his attackers overzealously yanked back on the scruff of his shirt collar, tearing it with a loud rrrriip. Shocked, Huey took the next punch in silence and reached up behind his head. He fingered the ruined fabric, mouth opening in horror, and then looked at the 14th Unit Hunters with a seething hatred.

"You ruined my shirt."

Foxfire glanced over, blocking another punch on reflex from his opponent. "You ripped his shirt?"

"You ripped my shirt!" Huey repeated, angrier.

"You ripped his shirt." The vulpinoid winced.

The first of Huey's attackers tried to grab him from underneath his arms, and the pilot let out a howl of anguish. He veered back, flailing his scrawny, synthskin covered legs.

"YOU RUINED MY SHIRT!" Digging his boots into the ground (Which not even armor recall could rid him of), Huey ignited his dash thrusters and spun down, throwing his grappler towards the other. The two 14th Unit Hunters slapped into each other and fell into a pile, and Huey scrambled on top of them, howling and flailing wildly with his fists.

"YOU! RUINED! MY! SHIRT!" Huey shrieked, piercing the quiet night.

Hawkins finally disabled his target with a spinning roundhouse kick, and righted himself in time to whistle appreciatively at the sight. "He really loved that shirt."


Meanwhile, Dragoon and Goat were still hard at it. The fiery dragonoid was quickly gaining ground as he unleashed the power of his true fighting style, but Goat stubbornly refused to back off. Whirling kicks and flaming uppercuts scuffed Goat's armor, but failed to put him down. The Swiss reploid was too bulky, too resilient.

"Damnit, why won't you go down already?" Dragoon snarled. "I'm better than you are!"

"Is that right?" Goat reacted casually. "I'm not so sure myself. Maybe I ought to break you over my knee, then I'd know for sure.Oh, and you would be a cripple!"

"Then perhaps I should end this before you get the chance." Dragoon leapt backwards twice and reared his head back. When he snapped back down and crouched, his jaws were fully extended, and curls of fire snarled out from his throat. He meant to breathe out a gush of flames that would melt Goat where he stood.

Dragoon didn't get the chance. The loud report of a magshotgun went off behind them, and the members of the 14th Unit and Zephyr Team halted their struggles.

Walking towards them, Commander Volya, Commander Zero, and a human Hunter with a Commander's insignia on his uniform strolled into their midst. The human carried the smoking gun.

"Everybody, stand down now!" The human ordered sharply.

Not willing to anger a man with a loaded weapon, the two groups of Hunters pulled apart from each other and fell in. When Huey and Hawkins pulled next to Goat, Volya marched over and gave them his patented death stare.

"What the Hell were you doing?"

Goat disengaged his helmet's face shield and shrugged sheepishly, able to show his embarrassment at last. "Pugs told us to take it outside." He glanced up at the hole in the building and nodded. "So we did."

Morgan fell apart, almost crumpling to the ground as he laughed. "Take it outside, hee hee! Oh Jesus, that's funny!"

"Enough!" Volya snapped, which ended Huey's laughter with a squeak. "I expected better from all of you. Getting into a fight? In a bar?" His eye twitched angrily. "You must be better than you were. You must be flawless. And since you are having trouble with that concept, you are done tonight."

"Hey, we didn't start the fight, Volya." Hawkins snapped. "Dragoon did."

"And you all decided to finish it." Volya spat in disgust. "You are hereby confined to quarters." He glanced over to Huey and rolled his eye. "And change your shirt."

"Why? Something wrong with it?" Huey asked, having forgotten that it was ruined. He felt it, paused, and bugged his eyes out. "Hey! My shirt's torn up!"

"Oh, Christ." Hawkins looked skyward for guidance.

"Commander Hayes, why don't you go ahead and escort Zephyr Team back to their barracks." Zero suggested, not looking away from Magma Dragoon and the 14th Unit. "I'll deal with the others."

"Feh. Fine. You clean up the mess your kind made." The human scoffed. He whistled at Goat and his two teammates, then hoisted his weapon over his shoulder. "All right, kids. You're coming with me."

"Go on." Volya added coolly. "I will deal with you all later."

Chastened, Zephyr Team followed their escort away from the grounds and back into the main building. That left Volya and Zero to stare down Magma Dragoon and his men.

"Causing trouble again, Dragoon? I warned you." Zero shook his head. "You haven't been here long enough to make these kinds of waves."

"And they," Dragoon countered, pointing a jagged finger at the retreating reploids, "aren't real Hunters. They're transfers. They're spies for the GDC!"

"That's enough, Dragoon." Zero snapped. "I've got a room full of witnesses up there in Pugs' bar that say you're responsible for inciting the riot. I don't give a damn how you feel. You shove it down and you move on to business. We're professionals here. Today, you didn't act like one. You and your Unit are suspended without pay for a month."

"What?" Dragoon exploded. "That's bullshit! You can't make that kind of a decision!"

"Yeah, but Cain does. And guess who he listens to?" Zero smugly reminded the dragonoid. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Get the Hell out of my sight."

Cursing their change of fortune, Dragoon's bruised Hunters slinked away. Dragoon started to storm off as well, but paused by Volya's shoulder and looked out of the corner of his eye, growling. "Lucky you came along when you did, or else you would've been Commander of a squadron of body bags."

Unruffled, Volya tilted his head up slightly and met Dragoon's sidewards glance. "If you come after my team again, I will end you."

Volya held Dragoon in his view for two seconds before Dragoon snarled and left.

Zero exhaled. "Hell of a first day."

"We are the outsiders here." Volya reminded his superior with a touch of sarcasm. "But my men should know better."

"Maybe. But they stuck it out together." Zero pointed out, slapping Volya on the shoulder. "That should count for something."

Zero followed Dragoon and the 14th Unit Hunters back inside, leaving Volya alone in the fading sunset. The cyclopean Hunter glanced towards the setting sun and nodded slowly.

It counted for everything.


Floor 5-B

Zephyr Team Quarters

9:57 P.M.

A row of angled recharge pods had been set up for the team's use, but to Goat's misfortune, they were all standard size. He had been forced to sit with his back against the one at the start of the row, piping a line into his arm to gain the system-stabilizing effects of its power balancer. It did not, however, make it any easier to fall asleep, nor did Huey's snoring.

Of course, it wasn't snoring; only humans could do that. But there was some undiagnosed fault between Morgan's positronic relays and his vocal processor that shorted out on an infrequent basis, and that was enough to produce a rumbling buzz every few minutes.

Sighing, Goat brought his systems back online. He detached the pod's exterior line, prompting a protesting beep. He stood up and appraised his three slumbering teammates. Lu, Hawkins, and Huey. He couldn't join them in rest, and he had been forbidden from returning to the pub. And all because he'd put a hole in their wall…

Having nothing better to do, he left the room and resolved to pace the hall until he was more fatigued.

When he passed Commander Volya's office, he stopped. A sliver of light leaked out from underneath: His commanding officer, his friend, was up as well.

Volya looked up from his pile of documents and datapads when the door slid open. "Nils." He blinked. "You could not sleep."

"It is hard when you cannot fit in your bed."

Volya made a face. "Standard sizes only?"

"Affirmative."

"I shall requestion an expanded bunk for you tomorrow morning." Volya promised.

"Thanks, Commander." Goat stepped up closer. "You could not sleep either?"

"For a different reason. I was looking through all of your records again. Something has not been sitting right."

"Oh? What, exactly?"

"You performed as I expected today. I am used to your peculiar tendencies. But the rest of this team…my preliminary assessments seem to be correct."

"How so?"

Volya removed his eyepatch, and turned his empty socket at Goat. The gaping hole made the towering reploid shiver, moreso when the Muscovite spoke again. "This team is being set up to fail."

Goat stared. "Would you put your eyepatch back on? You scare me like that."

Volya grunted, but complied with the request.

"Thank you." Goat gave his head a shake. "And are you serious?"

"I rarely joke, Nils. You know that." The Russian replied. "And I am deadly serious. The member nations of the GDC could have sent their best. They passed along damaged goods."

"Excuse me?" Goat blinked. "Where do you get that idea?"

"Huey was only recently released from prison. His positronic matrix is so scrambled, he is a barely functioning psychotic. Were he Russian military, he would be scrapped. Lu is so ancient and mechanical that I must give him orders as I would a child. Hawkins, as he likes to be called, has a severe problem with authority and a criminal record that almost made him Maverick."

"Well…but what about you and me?" Goat grinned. "I mean, we both did exceptionally well."

Volya stared at Goat. "Would you like me to go into detail about tonight?"

Goat's cheerful expression died quickly. "Not especially, no. And I am sorry about it, but…"

"Don't be." Volya waved off his apology. "You did the right thing."

"Come again?"

"You stood up for your teammates. You did not instigate the event." Volya explained.

"But…but outside, when you were with Commander Zero…"

"I said what was expected." Volya finished. "We are playing a most dangerous game now, Nils. The GDC has put us here, and the Hunters do not want us. We can rely only on one another, and we must fool the world. While I would prefer you not get into fights, as you did when I met you…this time, I am proud of you." Volya drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. "I am promoting you to second in command of Zephyr Team."

"What? Why?" Goat gasped.

Volya pointed at him. "They followed you. You jumped, and they jumped out after you. There are two kinds of leaders, Nils. Those that guide by fear, and those who lead by example."

"Which am I?"

"Are you afraid of anything?"

"…Not at the moment."

"Then you are the second kind." Volya concluded.

"I…I don't know what to say, Volya."

"Then you may go." Volya waved him off. "Go. Try to sleep. Tomorrow is busy day…"

"And it will not be any easier, will it?"

Volya smiled at last. "You are learning. Dasvedanya."

An old feeling of camaraderie came out in Goat, and he came to attention and snapped off a salute. "It is just like old times, sir."

"It is never like old times."

"But watching you out there when you took on the simulator on Nightmare Mode…I'd never seen you fight like that. You were your old self there, weren't you? The Bely'i D'yavol."

Volya glanced up sharply, his eye squinted hard. "I do not know where you heard that name…but forget it. And never use it again."

Goat blinked. "Sure. If that's what you want."

"Leave." Volya ordered, no cheer left in him.

Goat nodded once more and turned for the door. "Good night, Commander."


February 25th, 2128 C.E.

8:42 A.M.

Goat, Huey, and Tomahawk Foxfire rolled out of their barracks still carrying a touch of fatigue after their barfight the previous evening. Lu, however, was in good spirits. It had been easier for everyone to simply call the duplicate of their original squadmate by the first ones' name, especially now that he was severed from the others of his series that remained behind in China.

"Good morning!" Lu announced mechanically, his smile more a matter of protocol than instinct. "Did you all sleep well?"

"No." Goat muttered, rubbing his chin. "I see you did, though."

"You may all quit worrying about who slept and who did not last night." Volya cut in, stepping out of his office dressed in his usual black longcoat. "It is a new day. We have work to do. Come." He motioned for the four reploids to follow him, and headed out of Corridor 5-Beta.

"What's on the agenda today, then?" Foxfire asked, a touch more civil than he had been the day before. "More training, Commander?"

"Some. My kind of training." Volya explained. "But first, we may as well report for duty downstairs. There may be a mission for us."

"I thought we weren't ready for a mission." Goat reminded their leader.

"You are not. But this is what we are here for, and we must adhere to protocol." Volya explained patiently. "Maverick Hunters check in."

The five reploids crowded into the elevator with some difficulty, forcing Goat to slide to the very back so the others would not be squashed. The doors closed, and began to descend at an unusual cadence, one jolt after another.

"I believe this elevator may have trouble accommodating our combined weight." Lu observed.

"So we get a long drop and a lot of pain. That's nothing unusual." Huey hummed in tune with the elevator music, an off-key rendition of Happy Days Are Here Again.

"Would you please all stop talking about falling?" Hawkins irritably snapped. "I'm not a fan of crowded quarters to begin with, and you're not helping!"

"Claustrophobia?" Lu questioned. "Interesting. No psychological notation existed in your file upon review."

"Warriors learn to hide their scars from the doctors." Volya told Lu coldly. "Less chance of them breaking something in our heads."

Thankfully, the elevator made it to the ground floor with a shaky stop, and the doors opened into the MHHQ's main lobby.

"Made it." Hawkins exhaled in relief, leaping out of the confined space. Lu and Huey followed him out, and then Volya and Goat stepped off.

"Oh, there is one more thing." Volya paused, once they were all settled down. "I have promoted your comrade Nils to this team's second in command. In my absence, you will take orders from him."

"Hang on a second. You're giving him the top spot on the squad?" Tomahawk Foxfire questioned. "Why?"

"Think, Hawkins." Volya tapped the side of his head. "When you got into that fight last night…why did you follow his lead?"

The vulpinoid started to speak, but cut himself off when he processed the words. Because I trusted him. "Never mind. It's fine with me."

"I thought as much." Volya grunted. He looked to Huey and Lu. "Anything to add?"

"No, no complaints." Huey quickly shook his head. "I know how you hate 'em."

"Nils' new unit rank assigned. Teammate Goat registered as superior officer." Lu said, as good a vote of confidence as any. "Query: Why does Nils carry nickname Goat? Nicknames Hawkins and Huey relate to primary name modification or task focus. Goat shares no such similarity."

Goat chuckled. "Oh, terrific. Now somebody asks me about it."

"It took them an entire day." Volya agreed, a slim smile gracing his face. "Explain, then."

"Well, I like ramming things." Goat said with a large shrug.

There was a half second pause, and Huey burst out with a hearty guffaw. "He sure does. That poor damn wall!"

"All right, all right." Volya brushed off the wave of laughter that followed the remark, ignoring Lu's confusion. "Stay focused. We have much to do, and the team is incomplete still."

"Oh, right. Right. There was, uh, some sort of…Navigator, wasn't it?" Goat prompted, waiting for Volya's nod before continuing, "Yes, a Navigator that was still to be assigned to us."

"What in blazes is a Navigator?" Hawkins asked, furrowing his thick eyebrows.

"OW! You stupid…" The loud outburst from the MHHQ's front entrance garnered Zephyr Team's attention, and they glanced up to see a female human-class reploid in orange and white armor with brilliant red hair stumbling into the foyer. She was dragging a heavy metal case with wheels behind her, and struggling by the looks of it. Angry emerald eyes glanced around the room, daring anyone to laugh at her. Nobody did, of course.

As other MHHQ personnel stopped and watched, she stomped up to the front desk and spoke with a crisp, Nordic accent. "Where can I find Commander Volya of the Zephyr Team?"

The head secretary blinked twice, chanced a look around the room, and lit up in recognition when she saw the ominous specter of Volya in his black longcoat. She pointed him out, and the red-haired reploid turned and spotted them.

"Niechevo." Volya muttered under his breath.

"Uh, boss?" Huey nudged his commander. "Is that lady supposed to be…"

"Shh, she's coming this way." Hawkins shushed his teammate.

"Cute looking little thing." Goat mused.

"Oh, like you'd have a chance." Hawkins snorted, getting a smack to the back of his head from Volya.

"Enough." Their leader commanded, and the whispers ended.

The orange-armored reploid, clearly non-military class in design, stopped in front of them and raised her hand up to salute in the Eurobloc style. "Commander Volya?"

"Yes." Volya nodded.

"I am Systems Officer Jenna from GDC Headquarters." The red-haired woman explained. "I've been assigned as your Systems Analyst Coordinator and Team Navigator."

"Perfect." Volya replied, completely without emotion.