Aztec Falcon:

From the outside, the Disposal Center didn't seem that impressive. Unsightly as the buildings that surrounded it, this facility had the dubious privilege of being only slightly less run down. Chunks of debris were a common occurrence in this district, the acid rains were merely finishing what war could not accomplish. The roads were filled with holes, sewer pipes could be occasionally found unburied from their trenches.

A container was parked next to the facility's outer wall, large enough to hold one of the many wrecked cars that littered what remained of the street. Rather anonymous, Zero could barely read "waste disposal" written on one side; it had been left there, locked, for no apparent purpose. But it would make for a decent access ramp to the facility's upper floor, terrible smell it emanated notwithstanding. Climbing the container only required Zero to perform a short run-up. Another jump, and he was inside.

Under a roof, finally. Zero's hair was soaked from the rain, he began shaking off the water from his body, mindful of the damage the acids could inflict on his metal parts. Then he cleaned his boots from the mud, slipping during combat would put him at a severe disadvantage, he needed to be certain of the ground he was standing on. Lastly, he followed the only hallway into a small chamber, where he met a tall animaloid bent over a control panel on the wall.

A real giant, the animaloid towered over Zero even in his current position; one could only guess how tall he would be, had he been completely upright. The combat reploid felt minuscule, the animaloid in front of him must have had at least twice his mass. And he was designed with speed and agility in mind! Why else would he need powerful actuators on his legs? Why else would he need wings, on a back large enough to carry two normal reploids?

The animaloid stopped operating on the control panel, and turned to face Zero. He was weary of the newcomer, and spoke with an overtly hostile tone. "You don't look like a Neo Arcadian. You must be some of the garbage."

"Garbage?" Surely he can't be talking about…

"Below us, in the trash compactor. Hold on. I'll make you hear what you can't see." He pressed on last button on the control panel. The ground below them began vibrating. And screaming.

Voices.

Voices from hundreds of reploids in dozens of tongues, impossible to determinate either number.

Voices cursing, screaming, begging and pleading, as their ceiling slowly descended upon them to crush their unseen bodies.

Voices that would soon join the chorus of the silenced.

Unheard. Unremembered. Forever.

"You see, now? That's the kind of filth Harpuia sent me to clean up!"

Harpuia? It must be his commander. I'd better remember that name for later. He has much to answer for. In itself, that name didn't mean anything to Zero. Still, he doubted that the commander's definition of garbage differed significantly from the one used by his underling. What the combat reploid had witnessed was already enough to form an opinion on that Harpuia. Battle would prove who was right.

The animaloid switched fluently into a combat stance. "Don't worry, little piece of junk, you'll join them soon enough. I am Aztec Falcon! I think it's time to take out some trash!"

So is this what it has come to? Are we comparing reploids to garbage? The world crumbles around us, and some still seek division instead of unity. Zero took a moment to remember Ciel's words. He felt his resolve bolster, his anger could be as deadly as any other weapon. I will not allow this. You are right, Aztec Falcon. Time to take out the trash.


"We have lost contact with one of our Disposal Centers, general. The unit we sent to investigate has reported the death of the officer assigned to it. It was one of ours, sir. Aztec Falcon is dead."

Aztec Falcon is dead.

Harpuia's processor had to elaborate that statement more than once, it seemed difficult to grasp. Aztec Falcon is dead. I struggle to understand what could have killed him: yes, he was not one of my best fighters, but I would have hardly called him a rookie. He had a "pragmatic" approach to combat; he knew how to win over technically superior warriors in mock fights. But, off course, we weren't looking at his combat prowess when we chose him.

Men like Aztec Falcon were a rare commodity. It took a peculiar mindset to oversee a Disposal Center; few officers would willingly apply for an assignment of this sort. No, we needed an officer that could be quickly swept under the rug and forgotten. Because there are roles that no one wants to fill. And he was one of the nasty ones, the perfect candidate for such a "demanding" job. I still remember him well. But not fondly.

"How many other people know of this?" The adjutant tensed, he wasn't expecting this question. A test, obviously, Harpuia was always testing his adjutants, he had to ensure they would meet his impossibly high standards; the First Guardian was a demanding commander, serving under him was both a great honor, and incredibly draining. He was respected, but not beloved, the other Guardians were the closest thing he had to an equal. And he changed his adjutants often, one wrong answer could make all the difference. "Only…only our unit and the operators are aware of this fact, sir. The rest of your command staff has yet to be informed."

"Good." The less people know of this, the better. I don't want any more of my men having trouble with their sleep. "Be ready to leave. I'll handle this myself."


A stench permeated the Disposal Center, Harpuia was assailed by it the moment he arrived; the putritude was almost unbearable, it smelled of reploid blood and exhausted oil, bodily fluids of which he would rather never see the source. The worst part? That stench had been there since time immemorial, it just wouldn't go away, no matter how hard the walls and the floors were scrubbed; it persisted in the air, always reminding any visitors of what had transpired in the facility.

Behind him, on the same trans-server platform, Harpuia's adjutant had made the mistake of breathing fully with his lungs. He began coughing almost immediately, no amount of briefings could have prepared him adequately for the stench of rot he would find. Harpuia, already regretting the decision to bring him along, decided they wouldn't remain more than strictly necessary.

Our unit mentioned in their report that the facility's trans-server had been tampered with. Levi, however, assures me that our trans-servers are completely secure; she conveniently forgets to mention that this is only true from the outside. In light of this discrepancy, we can presume that the Maverick responsible for this attack used the trans-server not to get inside, but rather to escape. Might as well start from there, then, since we are already upon it. Let's see…

Harpuia descended from the trans-server to inspect it from the side. First clue, this maintenance panel shouldn't be open; has the Maverick interfaced with the trans-server? It seems so, the firewalls are all down. Let's check the trans-server's databanks; the memory is…completely empty. Duh. How foolish of me to think otherwise. Hmm, this incursion is a bit too elaborate for the average Maverick, there was some serious thought behind it. The Maverick had put a lot of effort to conceal its movements, Harpuia was forced to admit. He suspected the trans-server would remain nothing but a dead end, even with the help of a specialist.

Let's recap: the Maverick lowered the trans-server's firewalls, and used it to escape; then it forced a reset to factory standards, to hide all traces of its destination. Well, Levi is going to get her hands full, if this Maverick turns out to be a cyber-security expert. The trans-server wasn't going to reveal anything else, that much was certain, but there were other clues to be gathered: on the body of the victim, for instance, even though Harpuia was reluctant to enter the next room, too well aware of what he would find.

The stench is not going to get any better. Let's make this quick. He instructed his adjutant to follow him into the trash compactor room. Harpuia had made the decision on an impulse, and just as quickly he came to regret it.

Blood on the walls; washed badly, some traces remained on the metal. And scratches. Deep scratches on the walls. And not just any walls. Metal walls, one can't leave marks like these without breaking his fingers. I can't even imagine how desperate these…Mavericks… must have been, to willingly inflict such pain upon themselves.

Besides the blood and the scratches, there were the Pantheons and their officers from Neo Arcadia, the unit who had come to investigate the unresponsive facility. There was no chatter among the men, the grim atmosphere was unbecoming for idle conversation. The room offered a crude picture of the facility's purpose, and it was all but subtle. Even Harpuia was starting to feel its influence.

Only the Pantheons were unaffected. They stood, their weapons at ease. It was as if they endorsed the deliberations of their progenitor with their stoic indifference. No. Such cruelty is not possible; it has no place in this century, we buried it behind us after the Elf Wars. I can't, I refuse to believe someone would approve of something like this!

While wondering how much the room was starting to compromise his judgement, Harpuia found the remains of Aztec Falcon. They were in a corner of the room, below the massive trash compactor, in a place usually reserved for the garbage. Normally Harpuia would have wondered how they ended up as they were.

Not this time.

Focusing on Aztec Falcon's body only helped him so much. The Maverick cut him in half. In half! His assailant is a monster, it's so obvious even a child could see it! I have tracked down monsters like these in the past! And I have slayed them all! Why this one should be any different?! Many more questions should have occupied his mind; the identity of the mysterious assailant, for example, or considerations about the weapon that had caused Aztec Falcon's demise.

Not this time.

It was pointless, Harpuia couldn't continue the examination, his attention continuously drifted towards the walls. In their silence, they spoke deafening words of accusation. And their voiceless words drowned out the loudest shouts of denial. There is only one monster, and it's out there, surely looking for its next victim! Why…why is it getting so difficult to focus?! I am a proud warrior of Neo Arcadia! Not a murderer with the executioner's blade in his very hands!

Then it occurred to Harpuia that his men were staring at him.

His power core skipped the following three pulses, his body temperature dropped in an instant; had Harpuia attempted to speak, he wouldn't have been able to form a cohesive sentence. He had fallen into panic. Completely and utterly. My men! I can't show weakness in front of them! He couldn't remain here, he had to move. On the upper floor, perhaps, where he wouldn't be reminded of the horrors below. Why hadn't he thought about this earlier?

Harpuia began walking towards the stairs. He had to dedicate his whole attention to this task, his movements were slow and deliberate; he didn't trust his legs, let alone something as complicated as his jetpack.


On the upper floor, far from the judgmental stares of Harpuia's men, reason finally reasserted itself.

There wasn't much above the trash compactor, mainly signs of battle near the main control panel. Metal darts were embedded in the walls, projectiles that had clearly missed their intended target. But not all of them, there was fresh reploid blood nearby, at least one shot had connected with the Maverick. Harpuia also recognized the burn marks from electric discharges running up to the ceiling, another favorite trick of Aztec Falcon. Yet, in the end, neither weapon could save him.

Nor the control panel, for that matter. This small miracle for the micromanagement inclined, where a single reploid could oversee the operations of the entire facility, had incurred in the wrath of the mysterious assailant; the Disposal Center wasn't going to be operative again, not while its main control station had these marks on its surface. Deep marks, very peculiar. Too peculiar, in fact, to the point of being almost familiar…

Wait a second…I remember marks like these. I found them in the abandoned prison when I was pursuing that human defector. Am I to conclude that Aztec Falcon's assailant and that Maverick are one and the same? That would be a huge breakthrough, if true. But Harpuia was reluctant to draw hasty conclusions, when they came without other sources to corroborate his theories.

Then he noticed his adjutant was right behind him, asking for his attention. Harpuia had completely lost track of him, he must have been there for some time, patiently waiting for the right moment to speak. "Excuse me, general. We have received an update from the Intelligence Division: the mysterious assailant has left some traces after its assault on this facility, Intel has composed a dossier with all the information they could find. The relevant files have been uploaded on your terminal at the office, sir."

Already? Phantom's men never cease to surprise me with their efficiency. No wonder Levi is always chasing after them for her cyber-warfare unit; not that she stands a chance: Phantom is too jealous of his men to let anyone get too close to his precious Intelligence Division. A real shame, I could use a couple of them for myself. "If Intel worked any faster, we would know of a crime before it happened." Not the cleverest joke, perhaps, but Harpuia would have grasped at anything that could lighten the mood. "What about our data-bot at the ruined prison?"

"We have yet to hear word from Maha Ganeshariff, sir. He mentioned setting up a defensive perimeter in his last report, though, after his arrival." The last part was redundant, obviously; Harpuia was already aware of that fact. With an unexpected display of boldness, the adjutant dared to ask. "Do you…do you have any orders, sir?" A clear breach of protocol, but few would have blamed the reploid. My adjutant is distressed by the oppressing atmosphere of the Disposal Center; he wants to leave, he's begging me for it. I won't be the only one who'll need help sleeping, tonight.

"Yes. Gather the men. Tell them to take Aztec Falcon back to Neo Arcadia for regeneration. We're leaving."


A few hours before these events, in a relatively close reploid shelter…

"Zero! What happened?!"

"Not much." replied Zero, as he left the trans-server platform with a hand pressed on his side to stem the blood loss. "I had a disagreement with the head of the local recycling plant. He couldn't understand what was wrong in the way his facility was run, so I had to shut it down. Permanently. Wasn't that what you wanted, Ciel? Why are you all looking at me like this? It hurts a little, true, but it's not that bad. Trust me, he's worse."

It couldn't occur to him why Ciel was pressing keys so frantically on her communication device. "You have metal bars sticking out from your guts, and you expect me to remain calm?!" She eventually managed to overcome the shaking of her hands, and pressed the communicator to her ear. "Cerveau? It's me. I need you in the trans-server room with a stretcher. Zero is wounded."

The reploid known as Cerveau came with the "stretcher". It consisted in metal sheets crudely welded to two bars of metal. Zero found himself forcibly loaded onto it before he had time to protest. "I know we are short on resources, Zero, but we do take care of our wounded." Ciel half scolded, half suggested, as she followed the stretcher. "Do you know Elpizo? He's our quartermaster, he's pretty good at managing our supplies. I'm sure he won't mind lending us some for patching you up."

"Never heard of him." Zero replied. Elpizo left Zero's mind about as quickly as he had entered it. They took an elevator for the lower levels, where Cerveau had his workshop. The stretcher also doubled as the operating table, apparently; Cerveau immobilized Zero with a set of clamps and grabbed his tools.

There wasn't much that Cerveau could do with the instruments he had available: he could remove the metal bolts with the pliers, and seal the breach in the chest plate; the combat reploid's self-repair system would have to handle the rest. It was hardly ideal, there would be scars, but they had to make do. Cerveau began talking in an attempt to distract Zero from the pain. "You're a sturdy one, Zero, I can say you were built to last. You must have been pretty advanced for your age, I wish I had the instruments to map your schematics; as a scientist, that would be enlightening; as the closest thing we have to a doctor, it would spare me many headaches in the future."

"You won't have to," Ciel interjected "if we can get the right reploids on board. We have long thought the destruction of a Disposal Center impossible; today Zero proved us wrong. A small victory for our resistance movement, we must capitalize on it: if we spread the word, we can convince many reploids who hesitate to join us."

"Good point!" Cerveau nodded enthusiastically his approval; on the operating table, Zero clenched at the sudden demonstration of enthusiasm. "It will make quite an impression on the reploid population of Neo Arcadia. For being our first real step, I'd say we are making it count."