A/N: It was this chapter, right around the point where Omega's calling them scrubs, that I first realized that this fic was not the oneshot I had intended it to be. The swearing on my part is hilarious in hindsight.

Omega cautiously watched as his two rescued charges jumped up from the ground, relatively recovered and with weapons at the ready as they stared him down. One was in white armour, a staff in the vague image of a broom. The other was much darker in colour, and had a large scythe.

The moment the two were up they began demanding to know what was going on. Who Omega was, where was some person called Albert, and anything else Omega knew. They quaintly tried threatening him with their odd weapons and scare him with their reputation, which he knew nothing about. Still, they held Weil's remnants, so Omega was forced to tell them all he knew of the situation. And when they found out a little, they wanted to know everything. Omega, unaccustomed to talking (much less explaining things), had to tell them his whole life story from conception to current point.

This was going to suck, he knew it.

Still, once it was all done, they responded to his own questions with their life's story. It was actually nice to have a master, or two now he supposed, that didn't completely override any questions of his with silence. He found out their origins, their inability to unmerge with the Model W, he learned what biometals actually were in the first place, and so on (Hah! Take that Zero... er, Model Z! What irony. The reploid who had claimed that the heart was everything had become nothing more than an amnesiac tool for a teenager). He learned that Albert was a colossal prick that he would have had to have a few words with if the others hadn't gotten there first. And he also, horrifyingly, found out that Pandora and Prometheus, his new masters, could be utter pricks in and of themselves.

"So..." it had started, "you have to obey us because we're Model Ws?" began the black male, Prometheus.

"The only ones left of your kind, apparently," Omega mentioned.

"Ah," started the white female, "then... if I told you to... stand on one leg...?"

Omega lifted a leg. He knew where this was going, as Weil had (and this had NEVER gone out of the room) done the exact same type of thing once he realized his reprogramming of Omega had worked.

"Oh my god. He did the thing. AHAHAHAAHA! Dance! Dance you brilliant motherfucker, dance!" Prometheus crowed triumphantly.

Omega groaned, but he did as told. It was the most half-assed dance anyone had every seen. He barely moved his arms, if anything. But fortunately, the siblings in front of him really didn't seem to give a shit. If they were decent people, Omega realized, they might have taken the lesson from Albert about controlling other people's lives against their will. About the inherent dangers and ethics of unnecessary cruelty and controlling someone's life. If they were decent people.

That had probably been decent people some century ago. At this point in time they were most certainly NOT decent people. For them, the tables had turned. They'd gone from being servants with leashes measurable in microns to being in complete and utter control of the most powerful reploid this side of existence. Their timers and artificial lifespans were no longer a problem. Their Model W fragments were barely conscious, much less truly sentient thanks to Albert's meddling. But they were Model Ws, and as far as Omega's programming was concerned, he had to obey Weil, and this was as close as he was going to get.

On the other hand, he wasn't the only one dancing right now. The grim reaper styled reploid was doing the most ridiculous and joyful hopping about. It was like a rabbit trying to summon Satan with carrots and ketchup, if Omega had to find an allegory for it. It was, in essence, moderately ridiculous and definitely hilarious.

Omega stopped his waving about, and if it was Weil commanding him right now he might have gotten scolded for stopping when he wasn't told to. But that was Weil, and these people didn't know the kinds of loopholes Omega could abuse. Nor cared, really. Pandora was spinning about with her brother while Omega just watched, the two clearly ecstatic about their newfound freedom.

"Yes! This is it! Our big break! Albert's destiny of destruction was more than he could possibly imagine!"

"Oh, what next? Hee hee? What are we going to do next?"

What sort of dark plots. What sort of widespread destruction? What sort of demonic mischief would Omega be beholden to at the hands of these maniacs?

The next second, the pair keeled over, groaning in pain and spitting blood. Omega sighed annoyingly.

What came next was, apparently, dragging the two somewhere to recover after they'd forgotten their life-threatening injuries. Scrubs, the pair of them.

He inspected their injuries, sourly complaining to himself the whole time. As it turned out, the two were going to be out for a while. The mild reprogramming, the very-NOT-mild injuries, and assorted other traumas and expended energies over the past few days had apparently drained them beyond what anyone could ever consider healthy.

He dragged the sorry sods as far inland as a four-hundred year old carrying two deadweight lumps could. Which was to say, not very far. They'd gone maybe half a mile into the treeline above the beach before Omega found some crumbled buildings and called it a day. His two new masters were promptly shoved into the safest looking room possible, although considering the wretched state of the place the fact that he'd found them a room at all was miraculous. It had fours walls, no ceiling, and a door approximately twenty metres in the who-the-fuck-cares direction. Glorious (as in, not).

Sadly, as ruins were wont, there were old security mechaniloids everywhere. Omega shoved a bunch of leaves and grass over the twins as camouflage and set to clear out anything potentially dangerous so that his charges could recover.

Two hours into the endeavor and close to returning back to the twins, he was glad he'd decided to patrol the area. A young male with gray hair and red cables coming from his back was gazing around the ruins worriedly. "Model A, can you sense if the last Model W signals are anywhere near?"

Omega ducked behind some shrubbery, dampening his own signal as best as he could while eavesdropping on the conversation. Had he not been so attuned to cyber-elves and other digital entities, he might have missed what came next. "Do I look like a radar to you? Not a clue! I mean I can sorta sense some mavericks in the area and there was one scary signal that kiiiinda just disappeared, but hey, that's gotta be good for us right? Just keep searching. The Guardians did say there had to be something around here!"

Grey fidgeted, "Yeah, okay, but do you really think we should be out here alone? I mean-"

"Oh come off it Grey! We just beat Albert's face in! Ashe has gotta help with the cleanup around Hunter's Camp and the Guardians have already started with everything else, so... just shush and go! We'll be fiiiine. What could possibly-! LOOK OUT GREY!"

Omega's energies flared and before either Grey or Model A could react a Very Not Friendly monster of a reploid was raining hellfire and lasers down on their heads. Omega had heard enough from the conversation to realize who the two were, especially after Pandora and Prometheus's descriptions earlier, and he was not about to let this opportunity go to waste.

Grey was no slouch of an opponent. But despite having decent long range capabilities and exceptional adaptability with his ability to transform, he had nothing against the oppressive onslaught Omega could unleash. All of Grey's larger forms were far too easy of a target, his smaller forms didn't have the firepower, and his signature homing shot was just too slow to charge up within range of Omega. Quite frankly after the first ten seconds, Grey quickly realized that being anywhere near the mysterious maverick attacking him was a very poor idea. But it was ten seconds too late to realize this, especially when ambushed. Having just come off a fight with Albert only a few hours prior, he was but a few drops of water being tossed uselessly onto the raging inferno that was the devil reploid.

It was no competition. Omega had the Model A Mega Man exactly where he wanted him. The poor boy and his biometal had gotten overconfident. He'd not been paying attention; the ease to which the ambush had been pulled off attested to that. Without Ashe, Vent, Aile, or even anyone else to aide him, he'd ended up against a fight he'd lost before it even started. No backup, no escape plan, not even a navigator to tell others that he was in trouble, nothing. It was the end of Model A.

Or at least, it would have been, had Pandora and Prometheus's biometals not started screaming for help.