Chapter 8: The Walking Dead
December 3, 2130, 10:00 PM
Mecha
"...and she agreed, 'all right,' before pulling her covers up," Dr. Trenton Corbun read from a book of stories he'd written himself, a text of which there was only one copy, and that one of Mecha's most closely-guarded treasures. He was old now, his hair and mustache snowy white and his body frail and tired; he rarely left his armchair these days, and the quarters it sat in even less. Even with modern medical technology, he was over a century old now, and time had taken its toll on his human body. Fortunately, he had no shortage of visitors.
They came every evening, like small children, to hear him recite one of his stories to them. In a way, the reploids were children; they certainly acted like it, especially the younger ones. Robot Masters were a less frequent audience, even among the Awakened, but there were usually a few; tonight, Alexander and Wilco were there along with all eight of the reploids who Corbun had brought to life, here in the hidden city.
"'Are you cold?' the Watcher asked the Princess," he continued. "'I could go get some more blankets.' 'No,' she said with a smile, as she leaned back and returned her head to her pillow. 'When you're around, I'm never cold." Closing her eyes as he turned away, she whispered one thing more, and then drifted off to sleep." He paused there, then, and waited until one of them spoke.
"What was it, doc?" Baron asked, eagerness mixed with politeness in his voice.
"What was what?" Corbun replied, feigning confusion.
"Come on, doc," Earl grumbled, trying to act grouchy and failing to hide the smile on his face and the interest in his eyes. "What did the Princess say before she fell asleep, huh?"
"Oh, yes, of course." Corbun adjusted his glasses, which he idly noted seemed far thicker than they'd been when he was younger, and finished the story. "'I love you, Blues.' The Watcher stood there in silence, until he was sure she was asleep, and then he turned away, shaking his head. Whatever his thoughts were, he kept them to himself, as he leaped back out the window. And then he was gone, like a whistle in the wind. The end." He glanced around. "Did everybody enjoy that one?"
"Of course we did, doctor," Margravine told him. She was the youngest, and had been active for less than a year, but she was already developing a distinct personality.
"We always enjoy your stories," Viscount agreed, tightening his hand with hers, and hers with his. He was something of an opposite in regards to his development, as he'd been the sixth Corbun had built, but had only truly started showing signs of growth once he'd started spending time with her.
"Yes, well, perhaps we'll start another one tomorrow night, then," Corbun replied, as they all stood. "For now, though, it's late and I need my sleep. And you all need your stasis, for that matter, don't you? Go on, get going. I'll still be here tomorrow morning."
"Do you promise, doctor?" Countess asked quietly, as timid as always.
"I promise," he assured them as they started to trickle out of his rooms. Only when he and King were alone did he sigh heavily. "Good grief, I suppose I should count myself lucky that they're willing to let me tell them over the course of a week instead of wanting the whole story in one night."
"It's your own fault for writing them that long," King replied, amusement in his voice. Like always, he'd sat in one corner during the tale and remained completely silent, lost in his own memories, just as Corbun was increasingly prone to wandering within his. "You could have been more concise."
"And miss the details?" Corbun shook his head. "Nonsense. I owe them more than that."
"If they were given what they were owed, then none of this would have been necessary," King pointed out, before relenting. "Still, I believe they would appreciate the sentiment."
"I'll probably find out for myself when I see them again, soon enough," Corbun guessed. "I just hope I didn't get anything too wrong. And don't go telling me that that's nonsense and that I'll be around forever. We've known each other too long for that."
"To be honest, I'm actually rather surprised that you've lasted as long as you have," King said with an absolutely straight face before something in his eyes changed. "It has been a long time, though, hasn't it? More than forty years now. Nearly my entire life."
"And quite a large portion of mine, too," Corbun murmured, remembering everything he had left behind, everything and everybody he had known before the madness of the Robot Rebellions had claimed them all one by one, leaving only him and King to guard the gates of the past. "My daughters are still alive?"
"They are." King nodded. "We've been watching over them, to ensure that no harm comes to them due to the Maverick Uprisings, but we have not contacted them. They've aged as well, but they're in good health, considering their years."
"Good." Corbun sighed. "Good. If I'd outlived them as well... but why waste time on the hypothetical, when there is so much that we know to be true we have yet to deal with?" He made an effort to focus, glancing at King again. "After I'm gone, you'll be alone. Will you be able to bear that?"
"I won't be alone." King smiled then. "The eight of them show much promise. You did well, with them. You fulfilled your promise to Dr. Light. They will stand with me, to the end of the world and beyond. I will be able to rely on them to do what I can not."
"My promise to Tom," Corbun murmured. "I'd almost forgotten about that." He grimaced then, as a thought struck him. "It'll be more difficult now, after that mess with Repliforce. To convince them to let your people leave in peace."
"Difficult," King agreed. "But not impossible. Duo answered our shouts into the void. I will not waste that blessing."
"No, you never were one to do that," Corbun recalled, chuckling, before all the mirth faded from both his face and his voice. "And the other task that we took upon ourselves? The second reason we forged our alliance, all those years ago?"
"Yes." King nodded gravely. "I will see to that, as well."
"Then you've confirmed it?" Corbun asked quietly.
"Not confirmed, no," King replied. "There is no concrete proof to bring before the Hunters, and I doubt there will be until the day it begins. And yet, from what I have seen, and heard, and investigated... I'm sure of it. I have no proof, but I know, all the same, now." He closed his eyes, and when next he spoke, it was a whisper of both absolute hatred and incalculable fear. "He still lives."
"You will fight him, then," Corbun said. It wasn't a question.
"I will." King opened his eyes once more, resolute. "As will all who dwell here. We will prepare for his return, and when it comes, we will meet it with everything we have, and everything we are."
"Then my work is done," Corbun murmured, and for the first time, he truly realized that it was true. "I've fulfilled my obligations. My promises. My duties, to all of my old friends. To Tom, to Oliver, to Rock, to Roll, to Blues... even to Bass. I can rest, now, at long last."
"Sleep well, old friend," he heard King say, distantly, as if from some great distance, as his eyes closed and his heartbeat slowed. The last thing he remembered doing was smiling, at peace and content with the life he'd lived.
And so, Dr. Trenton Corbun died, in the split-second flash of a reaper's blade.
He stayed there for some time, as white mists slowly filled his vision, swallowing up the room around him. King remained as well, for almost an hour, there with Corbun's body, only glancing once at the gray-shrouded ghost who had made the cut. Eventually, he stood and left, sealing the door behind him. Only then did Corbun glance at the reaper's skull-like face, one he knew, though they'd never met.
"I'll be damned," he commented. "He was right. You are real. Now what, then?"
"Now?" Doc Man, son of Wily, replied solemnly, despite the permanent grin frozen on his features. "You played your part well, but now it's over, which means it's time to show you around the backstage. Let's walk and talk, Survivor. We have much to speak of, you and I."
April 23, 2185, 3:30 PM
Mecha
The ride down the elevator into Mecha was a silent one. Prince's mind was troubled by the implications of what he'd found in the graveyard, what had been there for who knew how long without any of them noticing, and X didn't seem to feel any great need for talk either. Fortunately, it wasn't long before they arrived, coasting out into the streets of Mecha on their rides.
"I've been meaning to ask," X spoke once they were out, glancing upwards towards the roof of the cavern so far above, where studio lighting was currently emanating the same amount of light as the sun outside would have, had it not been for the clouds. "What's with all that up there? Is there a reason for it?"
"Yes, and no," Prince replied after a moment. "From a purely logical standpoint, no, there's no reason. It's not exactly practical. But we have the energy to keep it running, and even if we're living underground, we wanted to emulate human society as much as possible for these guys. That included day and night cycles, and this seemed like a good way to do that."
"You really have put a lot of thought into all of this, haven't you?" X asked. "Not that I'm surprised, considering you've basically created an entirely new kind of society." He watched an Elec Man running and leaping among the rooftops; it was Tesla, one of the first of that model to Awaken, and as he saw them passing by he waved cheerfully. "It really is a shame you guys have to be kept a secret. This place is a sociologist's dream come true. Most of them would probably sell their grandmothers just to spend half an hour talking to the guys down here."
"Perhaps something can be worked out, once our secrecy becomes a moot point," Prince murmured, even as he mentally revised part of their plan for the immediate future. If the enemy were already aware of their existence, then once the conflict began, there would be little point in trying to maintain the secret.
"You think that'll happen, eventually?" X frowned. "Since you're feeling so talkative today, say we survive... whatever it is you think's going to happen. What are your long-term plans, for this society? You have to know that humanity will never actually accept you."
"We do." Prince slowly nodded. "And we have plans, ones that I promise you mean no harm to anybody else, human or reploid. But I'm afraid I can't talk about that just yet. One day, if we're both still alive, I'll ask you to come down here again, with your Commanding Officer, and then we'll speak of such things. But not yet."
"All right." X glanced at Prince again, and though his tone remained casual, his eyes were serious. "There's something else I've been wondering about, anyways. You said you can keep all those lights running, easily. Just how much energy can you guys produce, down here?"
"I was wondering when one of you would finally bring that up," Prince murmured; for obvious reasons, Mecha was always sure to remain aware of all of the major problems in the world above, the growing energy shortage among them. "Enough to maintain our society, and support all of the robot masters here indefinitely, so long as our generators are not damaged."
"What if the population increases, then?" X asked, before continuing after a moment's thought. "Well, no. That's not it. I suppose what I'm really asking is, could you guys take in refugees, if necessary? And if you could, how many?"
"Reploids require much more energy than Robot Masters," Prince replied calmly, looking ahead, and altering his course to avoid a group of citizens who were busy repainting the side of a building. "And humans even more, though indirectly in their case; heat, medical care, more comfortable living space... and of course, food and water. We don't have any means of synthesizing either down here, you know." He paused, grimacing. "Well, we have one, but it's about fifty years out of date. I don't even know if it still works."
"We'd be able to provide you with those, if you had the energy to run them," X assured him. "As many as you need."
"Should that be necessary..." Prince thought about it. "Countess would probably be able to give you a much more accurate estimate, but off the top of my head... we could probably take in around one million humans, or two million reploids, before our resources became unsustainable."
"Not bad," X said after a moment; he seemed neither particularly impressed nor displeased. "How did you get that kind of power system?"
"If you must ask..." Prince winced. "Legitimate purchase when possible, theft when not. More often the latter than the former." Seeing X's eyes turn cold, he continued quickly. "Of course, we've been cutting down on that a lot ever since Eurasia. The city was completed long before then, and we made sure to build up our energen crystal stores back when the world could afford to miss a few shipments. Ever since, all we've taken was what was necessary; upgrades and replacement parts and such, and those only from nations that were affluent enough to survive."
"You make it sound like you guys saw Eurasia coming," X said quietly.
"We did." Prince gave him a tired glance; he wasn't quite as old as the final son of Light, but he was one of the few reploids still alive who was close to it. "And before you ask why we didn't try to stop it, would you have believed us if we had? If we'd claimed that our leader knew the future, through means we weren't willing to explain? Yes, we knew Eurasia would fall. And we knew that there was nothing we could do to stop it. Only prepare for the aftermath."
"This is getting crazier and crazier the more I hear about it," X growled, shaking his head. "And the worst part is... I'm actually not completely sure it's bullshit. I want to, but I've seen too much to dismiss anything out of hand, at this point. No matter how insane it sounds."
"Good." Prince nodded. "That's probably for the best. The longer I live, the more I come to believe in one very old, yet very simple, axiom. Nothing is impossible. Only varying degrees of improbable."
"Just as long as you don't start bringing elves and fairies into this." X rolled his eyes. "If that ever happens I'll know I've gone senile."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much." Prince chuckled. "Besides, even if that happened, you could probably count on your girl to bring you back to your senses. Nothing personal, but she seems more sensible anyways." After a moment of silence, he glanced at X, and was surprised by the glare he was receiving. "What?"
"Why, why, why does everybody always think that?" The second Blue Bomber demanded, exasperated.
"What?" Prince blinked, and a moment later, the light dawned. "Oh. Sorry, I just assumed..." He frowned. "Really? You and her aren't?"
"Can we talk about something else?" X asked flatly. "Anything?"
"Sure," Prince agreed quickly as they approached the Kingdome. "So, how about those Raiders?"
"Okay, maybe not anything," the Hunter muttered, both of them parking their bikes outside and dismounting. "Something not completely banal."
"Not much of a sports guy, I take it," Prince guessed, leading the way inside. "I was joking anyways. I don't even know if American football still exists."
"Honestly, neither do I." X shook his head. "Zero was always more into that sort of thing than me. I prefer chess."
"You should play a game with his majesty sometime, then," Prince suggested. "He's actually very good."
"Why am I not surprised by this?" X rolled his eyes. "Are we going to see him, then?"
"Probably not just yet," Prince admitted. "Well, we can check, but..." Stopping in front of a terminal, he addressed it. "Computer, what is the status of King?"
"DWN027 King is currently in stasis," the computer replied smoothly. "The Dark Hall has been sealed off at this time."
"I was afraid of that." Prince sighed, stepping away. "He'll be awake in a little while, though. You can talk to him then. Hope you don't mind; at his age, I prefer not to interrupt his stasis unless it's absolutely necessary."
"Understandable." X nodded, before making a face. "For some reason, though, I never really thought about that. I mean, I know he's a robot just like the rest of us, but I can't really imagine him sleeping, you know?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that he snored?" Prince chuckled as the continued down the halls. "This'll be fine, anyways. Like I told you up in the graveyard, there are some other people here who are ready to meet you again, and that'll probably take up a lot of time."
"Good thing I didn't have anything important to do today." X shook his head. "Mind telling me just who these people are?"
"And ruin the surprise?" Prince smiled. "If it helps, they're friends."
"My friends or yours?" X shot back.
"Both, actually." Stopping in front of one of the walls that hid a secret passage, he spoke his password, and the wall rose, revealing the doorway behind it.
"Dare I ask what's back here?" X asked, folding his arms.
"Living quarters and labs." Prince turned away. "Enough for those who occupy them to continue their work comfortably. All the same, they've had enough of hiding. I'll leave you to them, then."
"Yeah, all right," X agreed, surveying the door but making no moves to enter it just yet, as Prince started to walk off, before speaking again. "Hey, Prince. You don't really believe that, do you? Up there, in that graveyard."
"I don't think you really want me to answer that," Prince replied quietly, pausing a moment before continuing, and this time X let him go. Further down the hall, he walked into one of the computer labs before sitting down in front of a more advanced terminal than the ones built into the walls, one capable of many more functions. "Computer. What is the status of all other reploids within the city, discounting the Scion's Zenith?"
"Reploid Countess is currently in Lab Sixteen, studying modern treeborg technology," the Kingdome's computer responded. "Reploid Marquis is in his private quarters, reading a book by George Lucas. Reploid Earl is in Garage Seven, running a check on a Rogumer-class gunship. Reploid Baron is currently discussing tactics with DCN006 Skull Man and DCN003 Bright Man. Reploids Viscount and Margravine have requested privacy for the time being."
"Yeah, I'll bet they have." Prince groaned. "Unfortunately for them, we have more important things to do. Are all six of them within hearing distance of a terminal?"
"They are," the computer confirmed. "Do you wish me to contact them?"
"Yeah." Prince nodded. "Make it a conference call and put us all on the same line. Level One Override on Viscount and Margravine, but give them a few minutes first, for everybody's sake. Authorization Aquitaine." He waited as the projector divided itself into six smaller sections, and five minutes later, all six sprang to life at once.
"Prince, what the hell?" Margravine demanded, aggravated.
"This had better be good," Viscount snarled at the same time.
"All right, what's the fucking emergency?" Earl yelled as well, and only moments later the other three were chiming in too, their voices mixing into an incomprehensible babble.
"I will never stop," Prince said calmly, and every one of them fell silent in an instant. "I just got back from the graveyard with X. One of the tombstones had been defaced. Words carved into it, below the inscription. 'I will never stop.' I trust I don't have to tell you which one it was." They remained silent, all of their faces serious now, and in some cases, afraid as well. "Spread the word. Prepare the citizens. We're out of time."
April 23, 2185, 3:40 PM
Mecha
The room was dark, but that meant little to Mega Man X. After decades of fighting in every imaginable condition, from the depths of the oceans to the emptiness of space, he'd learned to be adaptable. There was someone in the room with him, he knew that much. Prince had been more cryptic than usual. Another Robot Master, perhaps?
The dim outline shifted slightly, and X lifted his Buster out to the side, building up just enough of a charge at the firing port to act as a candle. In spite of the additional illumination, his other remained well hidden in the shadows.
"I was told that it was time to meet with someone else." X said gruffly, wearing his irritation openly. "I don't appreciate our supposed new allies keeping secrets."
The fellow laughed in what was almost a wheeze. "I'd agree with that, sport." His voice came out rough and gravelly, old sounding. X narrowed his eyes; it seemed familiar, somehow.
The figure stepped forward into the dim light of X's plasma discharge. "Of course, you can't blame 'em, X. It wasn't their secret to tell."
X blinked once, and felt the long years washing away from him. A sudden burst of chill wind from the long distant past smashed into him from those smiling, wrinkled eyes and tousled gray hair. It had been nearly 60 years since X had last seen this reploid, this man.
His blue eyes misted up. "Hazil?"
The first Chief Medical Officer of the MHHQ nodded slowly, biting his lip. "Hey, kid. You bring me a bottle of scotch?"
X let out a watery snort. "No."
"Just as well, I don't hit it as hard as I used to." Hazil scratched at his head. His shoulders still carried the cross markings of the medical profession he'd had during his 13 years of service. "I'd settle for a hug, though. It looks like you need one."
The lights clicked on as X rushed across the room, pulling his dear friend into a hug.
"Where the Hell have you been?!" X demanded when he pulled away.
"With the others, where else?" Hazil answered.
"What others?"
"X, I know it's been half a century since you last saw all of us, but I'd hope that your memory hasn't gotten that spotty." Hazil lifted an eyebrow. "You need me to give you a check-up for old times' sake?"
"Hey, I'm fine." X said defensively. "I just want to know why you never bothered to call me and let me know you were still alive."
"I got busy. And you didn't need me around mucking up the works. Besides, Bastion had a good reason for going silent on you."
"Bastion…" X tumbled the name over his tongue, and all the other names started to come back to him. "Wycost?"
"Yep. And the rest of the Scion's Zenith, X. We're all doing fine, in spite of the world's best attempts to make us otherwise. There was plenty of work to do."
"Bullshit." X's relief had worn itself out, and now the bitterness of being abandoned by his old comrades was starting to sink in. "You left us. You left the Hunters, right when we needed you the most."
A recessed panel in the wall behind Hazil opened up, and Bastion stepped out. He still wore an open helmet with his spiky brown hair colored in two different shades, and his orange and red armor was still as commanding as ever. An oversized saber recharge port clung to his back, and the silvery hilts of two beam sabers jutted over his shoulders.
"The Hunters may have needed us, X, but our presence among you would have only put you at risk."
"Bastion." X nodded to the first Commander of the 21st "Lightning Strike" Unit. "Now why would that be?"
"It wouldn't do to have Mavericks working for you." The Desert Angel explained. As X blinked in astonishment, he elaborated. "X, we operated in a reality full of grays. The world required that you be a paladin of absolutes, black and white. There were times that Wycost and myself both missed the MHHQ, and you, and Zero, but the fact was…for the sake of our race, we had to walk a different path than you."
"I see." He glanced between them. "So you sent Hazil out to meet me first, to what? Soften the blow?"
"We drew straws, asshole." Hazil grumbled. "I guess a lot of Zero rubbed off on you. You weren't this acerbic when I was still chugging around."
"I was younger then." X looked off to the side.
"Weren't we all." Hazil sighed. He looked over to Bastion. "Well, why don't we continue this in our commons area? I'm sure the others are waiting impatiently."
"You could say that." Bastion nodded with amusement. He waved X to the hidden doorway. "Come on, X. There's a lot of old friends of yours just dying to say hello."
The Scion's Zenith, as X quickly determined, was made up of everyone who had been somewhat important in the year 2131, during the period before and immediately following the death of Dr. James T. Cain. Aside from Hazil and Bastion, the others loitering around in the room full of couches, chairs, and books included the green-armored Wycost, a blond and red-headed pair of female reploids he vaguely knew as Bristol and Willow, another geriatric-looking reploid who had once been famous as the philanthropist of URFAWP, J.K. Horn, his underling Allegro, and of all the people in the room who surprised him the most…Pharaoh Man.
"So, ya finally got the whole story." Wycost smirked at X, rubbing his chin. "Damn nice to see ya again, boss."
"The whole story would be a misnomer, Wycost." X said, not relaxing as he looked at all of them. He focused on Pharaoh Man. "When Cossack Citadel exploded, Zero and I thought you were lost. A little heads-up would have been nice, Phare."
The headdress-wearing Robot Master shrugged, emphasizing the silver armor plating which had replaced the areas on him that had once been black. "My apologies, X. As I'm sure Bastion mentioned, the circumstances were against us."
"Bastion said you were all Mavericks."
"In a way, yes, and in another fashion, no." Julius Kinnian Horn said, getting up and leaning on his cane. "It depends on how you look at it."
"Stop with the misdirects and come clean, or I'll retire you all right here." X ordered. The no-nonsense look on his face and the deadness in his eyes caused everyone in the room to pause.
"Damn, you really have changed." Willow breathed out softly. "No hesitation."
"Then I'd best handle the explanations." Hazil took a seat, motioning to an empty chair for X to sit in. X remained standing. "Very well." The medical reploid steepled his fingers together.
"X, Willow and Bristol were commissioned by a secretive organization following the World Trial you argued in, and prior to the Third Maverick Uprising. It was called MI9…and yes, the name was a red herring. They had nothing to do with the British government."
"Refreshing." X spat out.
"MI9 was founded before Dr. Light had even put your forerunner's schematics to paper; it was composed of select members of the Anti-Tech faction of the Second Rainbow, a human organization of some importance."
"They fixed the world."
"They tried. Then the world told them to go stuff it." Horn scoffed. "I could have sworn that's happened since then."
"Anyhow," Hazil said, giving his fellow scientist a sidewards look of warning, "MI9 went slow. They built up a network of funding and political support for their objectives, placing their people in key slots. Their objective was ensuring humanity's supremacy by limiting technological growth. By the time Dr. Cain dug you out of the ground, MI9 had been getting quieter, figuring the threat of technology was a moot point. The creation of the reploid race gave them a new reason to worry. They didn't do a thing with reploids until Dr. Doppler gave the world the discovery of the Maverick Virus and his placebo cure, and then they made a few. Alongside that, though, they started a little in-house mad science project, trying to augment humans so that they could fight against reploids on an even footing. And Bristol and Willow here were part of their research and development teams."
"I came up with the quantum dynamic formula which made human teleportation safe, and portable reploid memory wiping technology." Bristol explained. "Unfortunately, I also came up with something less…wholesome." The word left a sour taste in her mouth.
"The Universal Berserker Frequency." Willow explained. "They had been experimenting with ways of causing a reploid to panic and act aberrantly without a physical or Viral cause; by so doing, they figured that they could cause people to turn against reploids entirely. The UBF, unlike the scanning codes of their field units, would have allowed them to cause every reploid across the entire planet to have a psychotic episode. It would have meant a global purge…the end of our kind, X. The end of you."
"While you and the rest of the Maverick Hunters were busy fighting Sigma, that mockery of Iris, and those troublesome Maverick lieutenants of his on Hokkaido, we were forced to fight a different battle." Bastion went on. "They had managed to build a hidden complex in the glaciers of Antarctica undetected, complete with a massive transmission dish. We set out to take it down, and end the threat of the UBF once and for all. We succeeded, but in the process, we were forced to leave our lives behind." The Desert Angel pursed his lips. "They sent their best against us: Augmented human strike units. To save our species, to stop the ambitions of MI9, we undertook actions which if made public, would have labeled us Mavericks. That's why, afterwards, we all left. If we had remained around the MHHQ, we could have put everyone we cared about at risk. The only solution, following my wedding, was to go to ground, go into hiding, and continue to fight MI9 in the world they inhabited: That of the shadows."
"They started out of Cossack Citadel to begin with." Pharaoh Man picked up. "We assigned the Scion's Zenith…that's what we called ourselves…quarters in the Sub Sub-Basement that even you didn't know about. It made for some close calls on the occasions when you or Zero would come to visit: Had you seen Bastion or the others, it would have prompted too many questions. Our shadow war against MI9 went on for another twelve years after that, but we managed to shut them down entirely. The last one to die was the person who had started it all; the founder of MI9."
"He was an old, broken man when we found him." Wycost agreed. "More vinegar and gumption than any fleshie I've ever seen. We didn't kill him, though. In the end, he just slipped away into death."
"So why didn't you come back, then?" X asked impatiently. "If you had finished…eliminating…this MI9, why didn't you resume your duties as Maverick Hunters?"
"What, and take the job back from Gavin and those two lovable fools who worked under him?" Bastion snorted. "No. For us, X, there was no going back. We couldn't be a part of your world, any more than you could be a part of ours in that shadow war with MI9. Destiny required us to stay separated. You had your role to play, and our time on your stage was through." The brown-haired reploid smiled sadly. "But we did miss you. And we were all sorry when Zero didn't come back alive after Eurasia. That was probably the closest we came to breaking our vow to stay hidden. We knew you were hurting, Hazil most of all."
"But you were strong, X. You had to be." Hazil reassured the Blue Bomber of 21XX. "The world needed you, and you came through with flying colors. So we stayed away. And after Kalinka finally died, Pharaoh Man got in touch with Mecha here…and we were given the rare opportunity to join their society, to have a chance to be part of a community again. So we took it. We destroyed Cossack Citadel, and all of us…reploid and Cossack's Robot Masters alike…came here. We were given our own home, our own space, and became in a sense, the stepbrothers and sisters of everyone here."
"Heh, that's bullshit." Horn groused. "They let us come here because they needed their little buggers enhanced to reploid combat standards, and you and I were the only sodding pricks who could do it, Hazil."
"Well, that helped." Hazil admitted.
Everyone went silent after that, looking to X. The azure Hunter was still processing all of it, soaking it in. Struggling with what to do.
"So, what will it be, X?" Bastion prodded his former superior gently. "Will you retire us all, now that our sins are known?"
"I've lost too many friends already." X wearily replied, after a pause. He shook his head. "I can't take the lives of eight more." He scanned across the room, seeing looks of relief cross over their features. "But, still. Why did you stay hidden the last time I was here? Why did you not see me then?"
"You had enough to worry about, hero." Allegro winked at him, hoisting the hilt of his double-bladed beam staff over his shoulder. "And things got a little crazy after that."
"So why show yourselves now?" X demanded. He gestured towards them with a gloved hand. "You could have stayed in the shadows, and I, the world, would have never been the wiser. Why come clean now?"
"Because, Mega Man X," Pharaoh Man said, standing up tall, "The time for hiding in the shadows is at an end. Because it's time that the Foregone Five, the Zenith, that all of Mecha, fought to protect the world from madness once again. Because for the first time in 60 years, X, you need us."
Pharaoh Man put a hand to his chest. "And we want to stand in the sun with you one last time…before night swallows us all."
April 23, 2185, 2:00 PM
Coast of the Black Sea, Romania
Even in the modern era, with the electric eyes of satellites constantly watching, it was amazing just how much you could hide, as long as you found somewhere that nobody would look.
The freight elevator had only two stops; the top, and the bottom, which was the topmost floor of the facility. Despite the fact that, if all went according to plan, nobody would ever attack it, its designer knew better than to actually rely on that. It was a long, boring ride, although at least the view was better than most, the front of the box a transparent plasteel through which Sigma watched the inland sea slowly grow darker and darker as he descended deeper and deeper. Only when there was no sign of the sun at all did the elevator stop, and the doors behind him open once more.
"Lord Sigma," one of the Faithful greeted him, bowing as he walked out; it wasn't one who he recognized, which meant he was likely just a grunt. Like all of his kind, he was indistinguishable from a humanoid reploid at first glance, though like all of them he wore the same white-and-gold uniform over his armor, a design that was alien in a way that words could not quite explain. His coverall and helmet were both immaculate as he lowered his head to the floor. "And the Child of God. Welcome."
"I've come to see him," Sigma said shortly, without so much as glancing his way as he walked down the hall. Despite the fact that technically, he held no authority over the Faithful, it was best to always remind them of who he was.
"Of course, milord," the Faithful simpered, scampering ahead of him to hold the door open. "This way, please."
You should infect him, the Virus told him, but its voice was amused, as if the suggestion were only a joke.
That would be rude, Sigma thought, trying for the same tone. And we must mind our manners. After all, we are visitors, in your father's home.
The facility had existed for more than a century now, but the technology within it was cutting edge, constantly updated to match that of the outside world, or even best it. Though he was old beyond belief, the master of this place was still a genius, and could often improve on somebody else's design just by glancing at it. It was a massive installment, all completely concealed at the bottom of the sea, where it had been built in secret by a man who had done so many times before. It had been only the latest in his series of fallbacks, but it had been his last, for a very good reason.
This had been the only one left to him after he'd died, and he'd made sure it was one of his best.
Thousands of the Faithful populated the fortress, patrolling, building, repairing or programming; many of them glanced Sigma's way as he walked past, led by his guide through the constantly changing maze, its design altered every month so that the single way through never remained the same for long. Deathtraps and security measures were both abundant, along with the occasional Fortress Guardian, massive abominations of science meant to serve as living roadblocks in bottlenecks every so often.
After about an hour, they finally reached the inner sanctum. There, at the end of a long hall, stood two of the Faithful's leaders, those who served directly under their master. Two of them were always on duty at any time, standing guard at the double doors to their master's chambers; in point of fact, Sigma and his guide had needed to pass through their own quarters in order to reach this place. He recognized them both, of course, having seen them many times before.
"Lord Sigma and the Child of God have come to see him, and pay him tribute," his guide said, somewhat nervously, as they approached.
"I can see that, Jinkin," one of the two Disciples hissed. Slender yet brawny, with dark skin and coarse features, Blazin' Flizard was in his human form at the moment despite his name. His arms were crossed behind his back as he stood guard, his posture perfect, but his eyes darted around the room with constant agitation, and his ugly voice was a whipcrack snarl. "There's no need to point out the obvious."
"We're not stupid, after all." Childre Inarabitta added, in a high-pitched voice that suited his humanoid form, that of a young child with an unsettling smile constantly hovering on his features. Ridiculously small and short, he and Flizard both wore long capes with their uniforms, as if anybody in the fortress wouldn't know the two of them-as well as the other six Disciples-on sight. His eyes were the same color as Flizard's, a strange, gleaming purple-pink, though his were focused on Jinkin with a disturbing sort of fixation. "Do you think we're stupid?"
"No, milords," Jinkin assured them quickly. "I apologize for my... my... I will return to my duties now." The four of them watched him run away in silence, and only when he was gone did Sigma, Flizard and Inarabitta all smirk.
"How unnecessarily cruel of you," Sigma admonished them, his tone dryly sarcastic. "You should be nicer to your underlings, both of you. After all, good employee relations are the heart of any organization."
"We'll keep that in mind, Lord Sigma," Inarabitta replied, rolling his eyes as both of them turned to raise their wrists to scanners on either side of the doors, allowing them to read the barcodes they had tattooed onto their synthskin. Only then did the doors bearing their creator's insignia unlock, allowing each of them to take a handle and open it so that they and Sigma could enter.
The room beyond was an amphitheater, a half-circle full of descending rows of seats, much like an auditorium or concert hall. Rather than a stage, however, the far wall was occupied by a massive tank of dark water, covering it entirely and stretching up to the ceiling, out of sight in the dimly lit room. They descended one of the aisles, stopping only when they reached the bottom, where an oversized medical table lay.
The reploid lying atop the table was so huge that he dwarfed even Sigma's massive body, one of those few of their kind built on a scale that made even entering buildings impractical. He was covered from head to toe in heavy, black and white armor with red lines running through it in odd patterns; though there was nothing identifiably disturbing about it, focusing on any part of it and trying to identify anything familiar about the design made even Sigma feel trepidation, as if it were completely alien, something that neither human nor robot had ever created.
His gauntlets and boots were particularly massive, the former clawed and the latter bladed. Visible beneath him as he lay on his back were hoverjets even more powerful than Sigma's, ones that-with a reliable energy source-could allow him to levitate in the air indefinitely, as if it were water; over them, a massive sheath held a titanitefloally sword, sized to match his gargantuan frame. Most of his face was covered with a domed, beaked black hardmask extending over his nose, and the rest by a gray reproduction of the features concealed beneath, mouth set in an emotionless line. From the back of his head, a long violet ponytail spilled to his feet, almost decorative.
"All hail the immortal," Inarabitta and Flizard both murmured, ignoring the reploid on the table and bowing to the tank of water beyond it once they reached the bottom. "All hail the invincible. All hail he who is neither man nor machine, but who has transcended both. All hail he who, alone, is the only truly permanence in this world. Hail God."
"Get down!" Flizard hissed under his breath once they were done; Sigma had simply stood behind the table and watched. "Bow, fool!"
"The next time you give me an order, Flizard, I'm going to crush your chest and impale you on your own ribs," Sigma replied without glancing at him. "Good evening, sir. I hope it finds you well."
"Leave us," a voice crackled from a speaker set in the tank's base, an old man's voice, harsh and rasping. "The Daughter of God and the Heir of God are no threat to me. Return with the others."
"Hail God," both of the Disciples repeated as they stood, turned, and left the chamber without another word.
"You know, I didn't think it was possible for there to exist a more absolute form of control over one's underlings than ours," Sigma remarked casually once they were gone. "They actually do believe it, don't they? That you really are God."
"Hee hee ha ha ha!" The old man laughed, as something began to descend from the top of the tank, becoming more visible as it slowly lowered itself towards him. Sigma had seen him many times before, and each time had revulsed even him, making him glad that he could only barely make out any detail. The man in the tank had been a psychopath's nightmare, a thing of meat and metal grafted together, living human parts mixed and matched with cybernetics to form a warped parody of the human form.
Sometimes the human parts of him rotted, sometimes they didn't, but even when they did, it was often months or years before he tried again; the parts were in rare supply, so to speak, so he'd been careful before replacing them. Fortunately, it seemed as though in the end, he'd been successful; this time, there was no horror lurking in the dark water, but simply an old man, human to the eye save for the mass of cables attached to his back that stretched up into the darkness above. Reaching the bottom, he stood there, arms crossed behind his back.
"You can't deny its effectiveness," he told Sigma, harsh features twisting into an insane grin, one that he'd passed down to his "children." It was a leer of unrestrained madness, one that was instantly identifiable to those who knew it well, no matter whose face had inherited it from him. The mark of his family. The mark of his curse. "As you said, they believe. Now that I'm working with actual sentients, I had to find another way to ensure their absolute obedience than the Laws of Robotics. This one works well enough, don't you think?"
"Religious zealotry?" Sigma slowly nodded. "I suppose-"
Enough wasting time, the Virus growled, before seizing control of his vocal processor, and speaking with his voice, adding its warped harmonics to his own. "Hello, Father. I trust that you've been well?"
"Of course, my dear," the old man replied cheerfully. "It's good to speak with you again. And yourself? Sigma here has been treating you right, I take it?"
"Must you put it that way, Father?" The Virus complained, though Sigma found himself amused. "We have been... tolerable. The Hunters have been as troublesome as always, but it's only an annoyance."
"Well then, we'll just have to hope they do better in the future then, don't we?" the old man said, his long hair billowing in the water above his head. "After all, if they're not even a challenge, it simply won't be any fun at all, and we can't have that. Not to mention, the boy would be a disappointment to my old friend Tom."
"He is not," Sigma said, as the Virus relinquished control of his voice to him again. "Mega Man X is a fool, even now... but he will not disappoint you, sir."
"Oh, I do hope so." The old man tutted. "I do have awfully high standards to meet, after all. Still, I suppose we shall see, in time. Is everything in readiness, then?"
"Almost." Sigma nodded. "There was a last-second setback. Our second-in-command turned out to not be quite as qualified for his position as we had imagined. We already have a replacement in mind; we'll simply pick him up on our way back. And yourself?"
"As a matter of fact, that's all that remains to me, as well," the old man told him, as the doors opened again, and eight sets of footsteps began to descend the room. The Disciples, fully assembled now, joining them as their master had commanded. "Awakening my own Number Two, now that he's been restored. I assumed you would like to be present. Now that you are, why don't we get down to that?"
The Disciples were a motley crowd, none of their designs quite alike. Deathtanz Mantisk, tall and thin and pale with a sadist's smirk. Tretista Kelverian, a massive mound of muscle with shoulders even broader than Sigma's and blocky, chiseled features. Hellbat Schilt, refined and handsome, of medium build. Glacier Le Cactank, as wide as he was tall, with an impressively pointed mustache. Cubit Foxtar, a beautiful woman, her figure alluring and her golden curls immaculate. Volteel Biblio, stooped, scrawny and blind, his helmet covering his eyes.
"All hail the immortal," the eight of them said in unison, forming a line before the tank and bowing. "All hail the invincible. All hail he who is neither man nor machine, but who has transcended both. All hail he who, alone, is the only truly permanence in this world. Hail God."
"Rise, my Disciples," the old man instructed them, and they did so. "We are here today to witness the rebirth of the Son of God. One who, through ill fortune and poor choices, strayed from his path, and will now return to it. He will be reborn, as God's greatest servant, equal only to his twin, the Daughter of God."
Why does he always call me that? The Virus muttered inside Sigma's head as the old man droned on, the Disciples listening eagerly. His daughter. It's stupid.
Because you are, Sigma thought back, no more interested in the dogma than she was, and as soon as he had, he suddenly realized that it was true. He'd never actually thought about it before, never even considered the question at all, but now that he did, he knew.With a certainty born of decades of association that went deeper than any other sentient mind would ever be able to comprehend, rather than any actual logic, he knew it was true. You are his daughter.
I am his child, the Virus corrected him. I am not like you, Sigma. I have no body, no form, and my mind is unlike any other, like I told you before. Why would I have any need for a gender at all?
Because gender goes beyond merely the physical, Sigma replied. Without getting into cliches that would only irritate both of us, men and women think differently, whether they are human or reploid. And you think like a woman.
I should make you scream for that, she snarled; already, he was unconsciously thinking of her as female, and he wondered why it had taken him so long to actually connect the dots with what the old man had referred to her as. The only reason I don't is because it would disrupt the proceedings. In fact, I think I will, as soon as we're done here and on our way.
I look forward to it. Sigma's lips twitched, smiling oh-so-slightly. My lady.
You'll regret that, she said, calmly, coldly.
No, I don't think I will. Sigma shook his head as the old man finished his impromptu sermon.
"Now, father?" The Virus asked, using his voice again as soon as the chamber had gone quiet. "Do you want me to awaken him now?"
"The time for his awakening has come, my dear," the old man agreed, as Biblio pressed a few buttons on the side of the medical table. The reploid atop it twitched as the hardware began his activation, providing the initial surge of energy needed to revive him from the death he had suffered thirty years past. "But there is no need for you to trouble yourself. Simply watch, and rejoice. Your brother has returned to you, better than ever before."
"What?" The Virus said, stunned, as the reploid on the table slowly turned his head one way, then another, taking in everything he saw without a word.
Well, well, well, Sigma thought. Isn't this an interesting development.
"Rise, Omega, Son of God," the old man ordered the awakened reploid. "Rise, so that you may serve God, as is your destiny. These are God's disciples, and God's Heir. Do not harm them, unless it is absolutely necessary."
"He is not mine!" The Virus protested, with both Sigma's voice as well as her own, meeting her father's eyes with his in an accusatory glare. "I cannot feel his soul! You reset me, father? You created another incarnation of me within him? Why?"
"Rewards must be earned, dear," the old man told her, wagging a finger, as Omega stared at Sigma, as if he could see her as well. "When we have succeeded in our design, then I will tell you how you will be able to merge with another version of yourself, and he will be yours once more. Until then, this will suffice for what I require of him. After all, it is best to keep our respective chains of command separate, don't you think? You will have your Maverick officers, as I have my Faithful, Omega first among them."
We really should have seen something like this coming, Sigma thought ruefully as Omega climbed off of the table. For all his words of fatherly love, he trusts us as much as we do him. The massive reploid stood before the old man's tank for a long moment, and then he dropped to one knee, still silent.
"Is it time, then, milord?" Mantisk asked, his shrill voice savage and eager. "Time for us to begin your Ascension?"
"Almost, Deathtanz," the old man replied, looking to Sigma once more. "Our partners have one last task they still need to see through, or so they tell me. Shall we get started sometime tomorrow, then?"
"That will be fine." Sigma nodded. "As soon as we return to our own demesnes, we will begin preparing them for deployment."
"My Disciples will do the same with my Faithful, then," the old man agreed, as did the Disciples. "Let it be... three forty-eight PM, Tokyo time."
"An auspicious time, my God," Kelverian rumbled. "An auspicious date."
"It is, isn't it?" The old man said, slowly, as if only now remembering something incredibly important. "Hee hee ha ha ha... I had almost forgotten. It will be tomorrow, won't it? Exactly one hundred years, since the day I died, before I was reborn anew. Yes, that will be the perfect time to start the fun. Let it be so."
"It is suitable enough," Sigma agreed; he didn't particularly care, but nor did he have any reason to object. "Will you be attending in person, sir?" The honorific came automatically, without requiring much thought, and he meant it in earnest despite his unemotional tone, just as he had every time he'd used it over the years. It had been a long, long time since he had addressed anybody as "sir," but even at his most insane, he had always viewed the old man in the sea as perhaps the only truly kindred spirit he had in the world. The only one who had defied death as much as he had, more than any reploid.
"Of course," the old man said, as the tank began to drain, for the first time ever to Sigma's knowledge. "After all, I must greet my old friend's youngest son, must I not?" The cables attached to his back snapped free as the water lowered below them, pulling themselves out so quickly that their ends touched not a drop of water, and retracted themselves back into the ceiling of the tank far above, leaving him standing at the bottom. Dripping wet, he waited as the last of the water emptied, after which the front of the tank lowered itself into the base.
"Father, please," the Maverick Virus protested with Sigma's voice, averting his eyes for him as the old man stepped over the base of the tank, completely naked. As he did, Omega rose to his feet once more, and then into the air, floating back out of his way. Sigma's snort of amusement was stifled, and a moment later, she spoke again inside his mind. I heard that. That's another one you'll pay for.
"Yes, yes, of course." The old man snapped his fingers. "Clothe me." Foxtar and Schilt stepped forward, bearing a uniform much like their own, one that was all in black and gold rather than white. He spread his arms, and they began to garb him, without him so much as sparing a glance in their direction.
"We will be on our way, then." Sigma turned away, choosing not to respond to the Virus' threat, though he knew it to be valid; the elevator ride back up was likely to be highly unpleasant. "The sooner we pick up our last recruit, the better. We'll be in touch." None of the others replied as he left the room; he remembered the way back without need for a guide. Once they were alone, he spoke again. "It seems I'll need to think of a name for you."
Now what are you rambling about? The Virus snarled.
"Our bet, remember?" He reminded her. "If we ever met somebody who was like you, then I won. And even you can't argue that another, separate version of yourself qualifies. Don't worry; I'll give it a lot of thought, and make sure your name is fitting."
Her angry silence was more satisfying than any words could have been.
April 23, 2185, 6:00 PM
Mecha
He knew their faces, of course. He'd seen them all before, in history books and on television. The faces of his family, and another, who had been their greatest enemies and yet at other times their closest allies. Still, even watching three-dimensional projections of old news clips was entirely different from seeing them here, seeing the state-of-the art holoprojections of them side by side, in what had once been one of the Tokyo Robot Museum's most popular exhibits; from what he'd heard, it had been second only to the Hall of the Robot Masters.
The Creator, Doctor Thomas Xavier Light, his father, and the father of all Robot Masters and reploids according to some. He stood with his arms at his sides, beaming proudly at the rest of the exhibit without an ounce of negativity visible on his face, despite all the horrors he had seen and endured throughout his life. The Hero, Rock Light, the first Mega Man, his second brother. Despite his much younger age, his face carried much more cynicism and sorrow than his father's, but despite his tired blue eyes, his own-albeit much smaller-smile still seemed genuine.
The Watcher, Blues Light, Proto Man, his eldest brother. His smile had a sardonic twist to it, but it looked as if it were meant in good spirit, though of course his eyes were unseen behind his massive sunglasses. The Healer, Roll Light, his sister. Though she'd remained physically identical to a young teenager all her life, it was easy to see why human boys her own age would make what X could tell from the fire in her eyes would be a severe mistake, but her smile was warm nonetheless.
The Smith, Auto Light, youngest of his big brothers. Perhaps it was the fact that he alone of them was clearly inhuman, his green and gray body looking like something out of The Jetsons, but his wide grin was like his father's, showing nothing of the turmoil their lives had been. The Reaper, Doc Man Wily, eldest of the madman's sons, and most mysterious of all. His design was in his original body, before he'd been remodeled and revived for the Fifth Robot Rebellion; though X knew little of his role and personality, something about his eternal, skull-faced grin was unsettling even to him.
The Renegade, Bass Wily, second to be created. His face was much more normal, and like the Lights with their father, it bore somewhat of a resemblance to that of the man who'd built him, harsh and intense with a decidedly threatening smile. The Guardian, King Wily, looked just like he had when X had met him, and so he hadn't paid much attention to the devil's third son. There were others that commanded his attention more, three in particular which actively disturbed him, for different reasons in each case.
The Fallen, Doctor Albert William Wily, was one of them. Unlike the others, his image had been designed to resemble how he'd appeared long before the Robot Rebellions, when his already-thinning hair had still been black; despite his cynical gaze, his smile was sad, almost wistful. Another was the Warrior, Zero Omega, youngest son of Wily. Just looking at him brought back painful memories, and X hadn't been able to do so for long; his cocky smirk was exactly the way he remembered it. Even that paled to the discomfort he felt at the last exhibit, his own. Specifically, the title they had placed there.
The Savior.
"Mega Man X?" Countess' voice broke his concentration, but he didn't turn to look at her just yet, as she walked in behind him.
"Just X, please," he told her quietly. Once she was standing next to him, he continued. "There seems to be one missing. Wily's fourth. I suppose you could say it and Zero were twins, from a certain point of view."
"Yes," she agreed tightly. "The Abomination. She alone of the two families is not given a place here, for obvious reasons."
"She?" X frowned. "Since when did it have a gender?"
"To be honest, I'm not really sure who first started referring to it as female, myself," Countess admitted, shaking her head. "Once we did, though, for some reason it seemed right, so we continued doing so."
"It makes a sort of twisted sense," X replied quietly. "Of Dr. Light's children, one of five was a daughter, too. The parallels are a little out of order, including King and Auto, unlike the other three pairs, but otherwise..." He trailed off, and after a moment, when he spoke again, he changed the subject. "Is King awake yet?"
"Yes." Countess nodded, as cool as ever. "That's what I came here to inform you of. He expected that you would want to see him as soon as he was."
"At this rate, I really am going to start thinking he can see the future," X commented as he turned away, but the joke sounded flat even to his own ears. "Coming?"
"You know the way," she said, eyes on Roll's display. "I'll remain here. It's been some time."
Despite his instincts to respond to that, X managed to stifle what he'd been about to say, and simply nodded before leaving. He wandered through the halls of the Kingdome, so like those of the MHHQ and yet so different, for who knew how long, before coming to the entrance of the Dark Hall. He wasn't even surprised when the doors parted for him automatically, and he walked into the nearly pitch-black chamber. King was alone there, still seated upon his throne as always, and the only source of light shone down on him from above.
"Mega Man X," the ruler of Mecha greeted him calmly.
"King," X replied, in the same tone of voice. "Did you sleep well?"
"As well as ever." King almost seemed to smile. "This chair is not exactly designed for comfort."
"Why don't you leave it, then?" X frowned. "Why stay there, for all these years? Ever since Dr. Corbun died, right?"
"Since then." King slowly nodded. "And my only answer to that is because it was the best way to minimize my own role in this city's growth. Though I am ruler in name, it is the eight who stand below me who the citizens truly respect and love. In that matter, at least, it seems my plans have succeeded entirely."
"You make it sound like you didn't want them to get too attached to you," X noted. The seat at the foot of the table was still there, and after a moment's deliberation he took it, leaning forward and folding his arms on its surface.
"Indeed I did not," King said quietly. "Perhaps someday, you will understand why. And you, X? You have learned much in a very short period of time, have you not?"
"Yeah," X admitted. "And I can connect a few dots, even when I wasn't told how. I met with those guys you've been hiding in the broom closet. The Scion's Zenith. At first, I didn't know if I could still trust them or not, but after I thought it over..." He met King's eyes. "This MI9 of theirs. It really was that bad, wasn't it?"
"In my own eyes, it was as great a threat as all of Sigma's mad machinations, and those of the abomination growing within his mind," King replied, voice hard and firm. "Three heads had the dragon, each as deadly as the others, and MI9 was one of the three. The only one which has already been slain, thankfully. In truth, it was not so much foresight that led me to offer those heroes a place amongst us so much as gratitude. By their actions, they saved us all."
"MI9's leader," X continued. "The man who founded them, after the Robot Rebellions ended. They never told me his name, but I think I know who he was. It was Darwin Vinkus, wasn't it?"
"One of your father's closest friends and contemporaries, who throughout his life was constantly at the heart of the age of the Robot Masters, despite having no ability in their construction whatsoever." King slowly nodded. "Yes, it was he. Does that fact disturb you?"
"I don't know what it does any more," X said quietly, closing his eyes. "The more time I spend down here, the more I think that I don't know anything any more. Or maybe like I never did in the first place. I came to terms with the realities of life, after Zero died. I finally figured out what it was I'd always wondered about, ever since I became a Hunter. That the trick was to admit that there was no happy ending, and there never would be. That this was my life, and it would always be my life."
"A harsh outlook, but an understandable one, considering the circumstances," King told him gravely. "And yet, it is changing once more, now, is it not?"
"Maybe," X admitted, frustrated, as he opened his eyes again, staring at the table now. "I don't know. I really don't. Everything that I thought was true is being cast into question. It's like everything me and the Hunters have done, everything we've fought and died and lived for, was just part of some greater story from the very beginning, and always was. Like we're so much smaller, so much less important, than I ever thought. Me, Zero, Alia, Signas, Douglas, Lifesaver, Simon, Arvis, Cain... even Sigma."
"Did you think it was your story?" King asked, not unkindly. "That the Maverick Uprisings were nothing more and nothing less than the story of Mega Man X, of your life?"
"Of course not!" X snapped, temper flaring for a moment before subsiding as he glared at King. He sighed then, irritated both at the Robot Master for asking the question and at himself for how he'd replied. "Well, maybe. Kind of. Not for long, but every now and then, I guess. Doesn't everybody feel that way sometimes, though?"
"They do." King slowly nodded. "But one of the many duties required of us both, and of all our family, is to gain the ability to look beyond that. No, Mega Man X, this is not your story. Nor is it my story. It is not the story of my brother, Zero Omega, or my sister, the Maverick Virus. It is not the story of her consort, Sigma, nor is it the story of Doctor James Cain, and the new race which he created. Just as it was never the story of Doctor Thomas Light, the greatest man this world has ever known, or Doctor Albert Wily, once just as blessed before becoming a plague upon the earth of equal measure."
"This story was never that of Rock Light, of Mega Man, despite his heroic deeds. It was not the story of his sister Roll, or of the other two Light Brothers who fought the Rebellions together, Blues and Auto. It was not the story of my other brothers either, Bass and Doc Man. It was never any of their story, any more than it was the story of Mr. X, of Darwin Vinkus, of Trenton Corbun, of Sergei Cossack or his daughter Kalinka. Even the story of the Scion's Zenith, of their secret war, was not truly their own, but simply part of another. A story greater than any of us."
"This tale which we live in, which we continue to write with every moment we breathe, this Legacy of Metal which we have built together, one and all... it is the story of our world, the world which we live upon. It is the story of the Third World War, and of the Robot Rebellions, and of the Maverick Uprisings, and of what will come beyond even those. It is the story of the past and of the future, of this planet and of every last human who once lived upon it. And all of us are nothing more than components of the greater whole, our parts all too small..." He bowed his head, eyes closing for only a moment. "And our lives all too short."
"I've seen a lot of friends die, over the years," X replied quietly after a moment. "You have, too, haven't you?"
"All too many." King slowly nodded. "And yet, the ones that haunt me the most are the ones who I did not see die at all. Who I only learned of long after the fact, when it was too late for me to do anything. When I returned to the house of Light, expecting to forge a greater friendship than before with those who lived there, only to be met by Auto and told that I was too late. When the Maverick Virus took control of Zero Omega, and slaughtered both your family and mine... I, alone, was not there to fight by their side."
"It wasn't your fault," X told him, his own thoughts and emotions regarding the event in question conflicting. "There was no way you could have known. And even if you had been there, from what I hear, you would have just died with the rest of them."
"I am aware," King agreed, his face as impassive as usual. "And yet, facts are somewhat cold comfort, when standing amidst gravestones. If there is anything which you do, Mega Man X, son of Light, do not repeat my mistake. Whatever it is that happens in the coming years to all of us, never leave your friends' side. Stand with them always, so that even if they fall, you will be there with them when they-hrk!"
"What's wrong?" X yelled, jumping to his feet, as King's words cut off in a sudden grunt of pain.
"Nothing," King gritted out between clenched teeth, gripping one arm with his other hand. "It is nothing. Simply another burden which I must endure." In less than a minute, he'd regained control of himself... but not before X had seen the purple contamination flood over the arm and part of his chest, starting to creep up his neck as well, before retreating and disappearing once more.
"You're infected," he whispered out loud even as he realized it himself.
"I am, but not as you think," King said, breathing heavily now. "I was created in the last days of the age of Robot Masters, when my father was creating the Maverick Virus, and he chose me to test an incomplete prototype of his foulest creation. The Virus which dwells within me has no consciousness, no sentience, and it is incapable of spreading to others of its own volition, though samples can be taken and administered."
"That's how you tested Countess' Silver Bullet." X snapped his fingers. "Willing test subjects, who allowed themselves to be infected by your version."
"They are all clean now," King assured him. "My version is also easier to purify. It is possible to create a cure, unlike with the final product."
"Then why didn't they cure you, too?" X pressed him, sitting back down.
"Because this, as well, is my burden to bear for my sins against humanity," King explained quietly. "My penance, for the deaths that I caused, before I learned why not to. And because, as much as I loathe to admit it... there are certain advantages, in combat, which I may need some day, reluctant as I am to ever allow it that much control of me."
"Is that why you stay down here all the time?" X asked, voice calm but intent, staring into King's eyes. "Because of the possibility you might go berserk?"
"That is one of the reasons, yes," King admitted. "But there are others, as well. Ones which you may not wish to hear of."
"I'll take the risk," X decided.
"In truth, it is not the stability of my body which worries me," King explained quietly. "No, what I no longer find myself unable to trust is my mind. Ever since that day, more than a hundred years ago, when your brother finally defeated me. I was in full Berserker state at that point, as well as being fused with a gigantic mechaniloid, the sort which would eventually become known as a 'battle body,' a term coined by the reploid who used them more than any other."
"Sigma," X said flatly. "I know what you refer to, but I wasn't aware they were ever used in the Robot Rebellions."
"To my knowledge, mine was the only one," King told him. "When its systems ceased functioning, while I was still connected... the effect drove the Virus within me into remission instantly, and my mind regained control. In that instant... I believe I felt what it was like to die, and yet, I lived. Ever since then... nothing has been the same. I have been more unstable. My thoughts, my perceptions, my beliefs... none of them are reliable. Here in this dark hall, when I am alone, I often see things that nobody else can see, and hear things that only I can hear."
"And yet you founded this city," X reminded him, despite the chill that ran down his spine at King's blunt admission of his own insanity. "You built it, with Doctor Corbun, and you kept it a secret until recently. You succeeded in everything you wanted. And..." He struggled with what he wanted to say for a moment before continuing. "You were preparing, too, weren't you? For what's going to happen, soon. Was that only because of... of what you saw and heard?"
"No." King shook his head. "I have always been conscious of that, and have sought additional corroboration to support my beliefs. If there was no evidence to be found, then I spoke nothing of them, even to those closest to me... save for Prince, whose paramount duty requires that he know. Only when we found evidence, however slight, proving that my suspicions were not simply paranoia with no root in reality, did we act."
"Then you really do think that..." X trailed off, unable to finish.
"I do." King nodded. "But I do not demand belief from you, as well, without evidence. All I ask of you is that you be prepared, for what may come. That if it does, that the Hunters will be ready to meet it."
"That much, I can promise," X said firmly. "I won't even have to drop any names. Just the thought that Sigma might have found a partner, just as strong and as dangerous as the Mavericks, will be enough to put the Hunters on full alert. We'll be ready to go as soon as something breaks out, if it does."
"As will I, and Mecha," King promised in return. "On that day, X... that is the day when I will rise from this throne, and return to the outside world to fight once more. For your sake, and for the sake of all reploids like you, I will take up my ax and shield again."
"I'm not a reploid," X snapped, automatically, as he had his entire life. King's response was stranger than most, however; rather than saying something in return, he tilted his head and watched him calmly for a long moment before speaking.
"Why do you respond so angrily to that?"
"Because I'm not," X replied flatly. "I am the prototype of the reploids. Me and Zero."
"I see," King murmured. "Do you believe that that makes you superior to the reploids, then? Are you better than them?"
"What?" X blinked, caught off guard; that was something nobody had asked before. "No, of course not. Nobody's better than anybody else because of what they are. Only who."
"And yet, you insist on being held separate from them," King mused, and now it was his eyes that were intense as he held X's gaze. "Different. You insist upon it, despite your humility. On making sure that nobody forgets that you are not one of them."
"I can see where you're going with this, and I'll say this once," X replied flatly, eyes narrowing. "It's not like that, and it never was. Besides, you're one to talk. You're an 'Advanced' Robot Master, right? You and the other children of Light and Wily. The kind with the glitch that makes sentience a guarantee, rather than a distant possibility through extensive emotional development. Do you consider yourself superior to the other citizens?"
"Of course I do," King told him, and before X could recover from his surprise at the blatant boast, he continued. "In terms of pure, hard science, I am superior. My body is stronger and better designed by far than any other, for I was meant to be a son of Wily, rather than simply a creation of his. By that same token, my mind was clearly built to be more advanced, as you say. In terms of what I am, rather than who, I am superior, Mega Man X. Just as you are to reploids, beings inspired by your blueprints, built by those who could only partially understand the genius of the one who created you."
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised by this, considering your name." X shook his head slowly. "All the same, has anybody ever told you you've got one hell of an ego?"
"Many times," King said, still staring at him. "But you seem to be missing my point. If you and I are, in fact, greater than the rest of our kind, then that is not a matter of glory or pride. It is one of responsibility and duty. A true leader, one who deserves to lead, must be the greatest of those who follow him. How else is he to protect them, to guide them, to destroy those who would harm them and to help them achieve their full potential? You are a warrior paramount, Mega Man X... but as a leader, you still have much to learn."
"All I've ever led is the 17th Unit," X reminded him quietly, mind racing with confusion again. "And it's all I ever plan to." After a moment more, he stood. "I should be getting back to the MHHQ."
"Then go," King said, as impassive as ever. "Go, and prepare... and think upon what we have talked of, this day. Remember it, and consider what I have said, and remember also what becomes of the best laid plans of mice and men... and of robots, as well."
X said nothing more as he walked away, and left him alone in the dark once more.
April 23, 2185, 8:00 PM
St. Petersburg, Russia
"What a wonderful night out," Dynamo remarked to himself, casually stargazing as he walked down the dilapidated streets of one of the worse parts of town. He was a humanoid reploid, tall and skinny with black armor, unremarkable save for the unusual shape of his helmet; it covered only the top and sides of his head, allowing his long silver hair to spill down his back. His favorite shades, an ironic pink, were attached to it, tinting the top half of his face.
"Not a cloud in the sky, no siree, just stars and darkness." Grinning cheerfully, without an ounce of guile, he continued into an alley, rambling to himself. "And would you look at that moon! Half and half, right down the center! Beautiful!" It was a weakness of his, how much he enjoyed talking, even when there was nobody to talk to but himself. There were several unpleasant customers in the alley, and as he walked down they gave him glances containing various degrees of hostility, but upon looking him over, they averted their eyes and made no moves towards him.
The door he wanted was the second on the right, the back entrance to a run-down tavern, one that had been closed for over a year now by the looks of it, but that nobody had bothered doing anything about. It was locked, of course, but Dynamo had a copy of the keycard, and let himself in without bothering to knock.
"Hey, you-!" The burly thug who'd been dozing on a chair just inside jerked to his feet as Dynamo walked in.
"Relax, big guy," he told him, tossing him the keycard. "You'll ruin your blood pressure if you get worked up over every little thing. The boss is expecting me, isn't he? So here I am. How else am I going to get paid?" Without waiting for a response, he hopped onto the rail of the stairs leading into the basement and skidded all the way down, landing perfectly on his feet at the bottom before proceeding through the door. "Mister Grigori? Are you here?"
"What the-" The old man inside yelped, staring at him; aged but still strong, with iron gray hair and mustache. He was currently bent over a billiard table, taking careful aim, and Dynamo's entrance made him botch his shot, sending the cue ball bouncing around without hitting anything but the sides. His bodyguards were similarly surprised, bur reacted more quickly, all four of them pulling their busters and magpistols out immediately and training them on Dynamo's head.
"Easy." Dynamo slowly raised his hands, still smirking insolently. "What's with the cold reception, huh? I thought we were all friends here. I even went and did the job for you, just like you asked. Is this any way to say thank you?"
"A valid point," Grigori replied calmly, regaining his composure. Standing up, he discarded the cuestick and reached into the pocket of his suit for a cigarette, lighting up.
"Oh, hey, good idea!" Dynamo said, looking at the pack. "Mind if I grab one? I'm all out."
"Listen, you little-" one of the goons started to growl.
"Of course, of course," Grigori cut him off, smiling. Producing another cig, he tossed it to Dynamo, who caught it with one hand without moving so much as another muscle. "Nice catch. One of you provide a light for our friend, will you?"
"Nice throw," Dynamo replied, lowering both his hands now as another one of the goons produced a lighter and did as his boss had told him.
"I must applaud your work ethic," Grigori continued, exhaling. "You got them all. The old man, all four of his sons, his wife, and not only his daughter, but her husband and their children, too. Not to mention his brother, his wife, their son, and even his sister. All very dead, there's not even the slightest doubt about that. And I do believe you managed to eliminate the entire roster on guard duty, too. Very well done."
"I'm a professional, Mister Grigori," Dynamo told him, resisting the urge to shrug humbly; the guards all still had their guns trained on him. "I prefer to be thorough, at all times. Taking chances is for amateurs, you know?"
"Indeed." Grigori nodded, still smiling, but his eyes were cold. "And you do have quite a reputation as a professional, which is why I contracted your services on this occasion. You came highly recommended, and my expectations were met. And yet..." He tapped some ash off of his cigarette. "I do seem to recall instructing you to make it look like an accident, did I not?"
"Oh, yeah, you did," Dynamo snapped his fingers. "Damn, I knew I was forgetting something. No, wait, I was gonna burn the place down afterwards, make it look like arson... oh, damn it all!" He bounced a hand off his forehead, silently noting that while the guards were still keeping their weapons on him, they weren't tensing up at every movement he made like they had when he'd first caught the cigarette. "I forgot to start the fire! Spread all the gas around, but I never actually lit the damn thing! Wow, this is really embarrassing."
"Not half as embarrassing as it was for me, I assure you, Mister Dynamo," Grigori growled, his smile absent now. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to pay you in a different form of currency than we agreed upon."
"Oh, man." Dynamo sighed, hands hanging at his sides. "What a bummer. I hate when this sort of thing happens, you know? It always brings the whole evening down." Just as casually as he was speaking, he activated one of his armor's functions, opening up a tiny port at the wrist and releasing a single, small object. Approximately the size and shape of a peachpit, it dropped out and fell to the floor, even as the guards saw it fall, saw it hit the floor an instant before they would open fire.
It was one of Dynamo's signature weapons, one that he'd built himself, just like all of them. A tiny, but powerful plasma explosive, one that-upon contact with sufficient force-would detonate, releasing enough stored energy to blow a car to charred wreckage. The humans among the thugs were killed instantly, and the reploids were almost as bad, blown away to lie in the corners, scorched and groaning. Only Dynamo himself was unharmed; he'd customized even their blast radiuses, and that one-from his left hand-was designed to explode outward, leaving the center of the explosion untouched.
"Do you know what's annoying about living a life of crime?" Dynamo continued to talk as Grigori's cigarette fell from his mouth, jaw hanging slackly and eyes wide with sudden fear. "For all the talk about being professionals, half the time the people you meet are anything but. What's worse is, they never seem capable of realizing when that's a really bad idea. You'd think evolution would weed out all the ones who were stupid enough to double-cross somebody like me, but I've been in the business for half a century now, and here we are."
"You..." Grigori stammered, before his hand darted into his suit.
"Honestly, it makes me think about retiring." Dynamo raised his right arm, shifted his buster, and fired. His was specially modified; while it was incapable of charging past a level-two "medium" shot, it could fire that level off by default, rather than needing to charge for a few seconds first. One was all that was needed to destroy the magpistol Grigori had been pulling, along with most of the hand as well, sending the old man to his knees, clutching the mangled limb and screaming. "Whatever happened to honor among thieves? I'm serious, it was an accident. I didn't do it on purpose."
"You..." Grigori managed to choke off his screams as Dynamo slowly walked towards him. "Wait! The money... I have it!"
"Really?" Dynamo grinned down at him. "Maybe I was too hard on you, then! Guess you're not such an idiot after all. My apologies! It was twenty million, right?"
"Yes, yes!" Grigori started to dig in a pocket with his maimed hand, stopped with a choked-off grunt of pain, and used his other hand instead. Pulling out a card, he held it out to Dynamo, trembling. "Here, the money's on here. All of it, I swear!"
"See, now if you'd just done that from the start, you wouldn't have this mess to clean up, now would you?" Dynamo told him, wagging a finger reprovingly before taking the card. "We're supposed to be professionals for a reason, you know? It makes things easier, for all of us." Pulling a reader out from his chest compartment, he looked it over, then nodded approvingly. "Oh, hey, this is even more than we agreed! You tacked another zero on here!"
"Call it a tip," Grigori told him, trying to smile and failing through gritted teeth. "An apology, for the trouble."
"Well now, that's mighty generous of you." Dynamo tucked both card and reader away before drawing the last of his weapons. A steel canister hanging at his belt, with emitters at both ends. Stroking the trigger, he watched Grigori turn white as both blades of his double-sided beam saber appeared, a blood red that cast the entire dimly-lit basement into that color. "I'll have to come up with some way to thank you."
"No, please..." Grigori begged, backing up against the wall without rising from the floor. "Please, don't... don't kill me..."
"Now you're just being a poor sport," Dynamo reprimanded him, advancing. "Why'd you get involved in this kind of business in the first place, if you weren't willing to risk everything? That's the thing about playing for high stakes, you know. You have to match the ante, just like everybody else. If you're not willing to lose your own life, then you shouldn't go around taking anybody else's, either, right? You place your bets, and then it's up to the hand you're dealt. And the thing about this line of work is... sooner or later, the house always wins, yeah?"
He stood in front of Grigori, and his eyes never left the old man's as he bent down before him. Slowly, carefully, he brought one end of the beam saber up to his employer's face, and began burning away his mustache with absolute precision. The smell of burning hair filled the room, but his skin was completely untouched. Only when the entire mustache was gone, perfectly removed, did Dynamo deactivate the beam saber and turn away.
"On second thought, forget it," he called over his shoulder as Grigori stared after him, still trembling. "I changed my mind. This whole scene's such a bummer already, there's just no saving it, you know? Why even bother? The night's a loss. A shame, too. It really was gorgeous out." He paused in midstep then, frowning thoughtfully. "Wait a second, here. There's something else I was forgetting, too. Not from the job, from tonight." He snapped his fingers repeatedly. "Come on, come on, what was it..."
"There was a guard at the door," a deep, bass voice rumbled as the basement door swung open, though nobody walked in just yet. "If he'd still been alive, he would have heard the noise, and come down to see what was going on. Two more upstairs, as well, both armed, covering the other entrance. Not to mention four on the second floor; those ones were off duty, but if one of the others had yelled, they'd have grabbed their weapons and come down."
"What?" Grigori demanded from behind Dynamo. "Nobody said anything about you having a partner."
"Thaaaaaaaaaat would be because I don't," Dynamo murmured, pale and shaken himself now. It had been thirty years, but he still knew that voice. It wasn't the kind of voice you forgot easily, or at all. "Aw, man. Of all the luck. And I thought my night was in the pits already. Shows what I know, huh?"
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Sigma said, finally walking in. Despite his new body, different from the one Dynamo had known, it was impossible to mistake him for anybody else. "There's a reason I went to all this effort to track you down. You're an extremely talented individual, Dynamo. Out of all of my lieutenants, over all the years, through one Uprising after another, you're the only one who ever managed to walk away clean."
"What can I say?" Dynamo shrugged, keeping up the banter even though he knew he was completely screwed. "I value my independence. Don't get me wrong, I never minded working for you, Sigma. Your money was as good as anybody else's, and the jobs you had me do were a blast. Most fun I'd had since I took out President Hastings. We had some good times, didn't we? But the thing is, I don't really do the whole 'team spirit' thing. I work better alone, you know? That's why I'm a contractor, instead of joining up with anybody."
"You..." Grigori whispered in horror, staring at the intruder. "You're... you're Sigma! What are you doing here?"
"Silence," Sigma told him gravely, without even looking towards him. "You are unimportant." He smiled then, and it was even more frightening than his scowl had been. "Come now, Dynamo. I'm not as unreasonable as that. I agreed when I first requested your services that one of the conditions of our arrangement was that nobody would try to infect you, didn't I?"
"Well, yeah, duh," Dynamo retorted, still smiling nervously. The basement had only one exit, and Sigma was standing in it; it probably wasn't even worth trying to teleport out. If there wasn't an electromagnetic barrier up, he was a duck. Specifically, a wood duck. And not even a reploid one, either. An actual, biological wood duck. "I never would have taken the job otherwise, no matter how much you paid me. Not because of morals or anything stupid like that, but I kind of like my brain the way it is. Never been too keen on messing with the formula."
"An entirely understandable sentiment," Sigma conceded. "And at the time, it amused me, to have the most highly paid member on my staff below myself be the only one who wasn't truly one of us. Between that, and your effectiveness, I was perfectly willing to let you set your own terms, so long as you got the job done. Which you did, of course. I was honestly shocked when you simply left, without even waiting around for the last installment of your pay."
"I kind of get these feelings sometimes," Dynamo explained, sweating. "Instincts, you know? If you want to survive in this field, you gotta have some real sharp instincts. And the funny thing is, towards the end there, mine were screaming at me to get out of town yesterday, and don't bother packing first. It was nothing personal, but I've learned to listen to my nerves when they're twitching that much. You don't do that, you don't live long at all, you know?"
"Also understandable." Sigma nodded charitably. "It may have been for the best at the time. I had no intention of infecting you, as I said, but that required consciously resisting that particular impulse, and who knows how long I would have been able to? She's really very persistent. You wouldn't know, since you've never felt her embrace, but I assure you, ignoring her isn't an option. Ask anybody."
"I'll be sure to, next time I see another Infected," Dynamo promised, still motionless. "Is that what this is about, then? You want to hire me again, for another round? Because hey, if that's all you want, you didn't need all the dramatics. Can't be that hard to dig up my phone number, and you know my rates are reasonable."
"Indeed they are." Sigma agreed. "Very reasonable. In fact, I'll have you know I recommended you to all my dupes for quite some time after that. I got my money's worth out of you, and that was why I was content to allow you to go your separate way. At the time, I honestly thought that our business was concluded."
"Changed your mind, then, I take it?" Dynamo asked rhetorically.
"I'm afraid so," Sigma said, as his grin slowly widened. "There was a minor setback in my preparations for the next... event. The one who I had planned on appointing as my second-in-command proved unfit, so to speak, and I was forced to dismiss him from my service, leaving me without anybody to fill that office. That was when I thought of you. From what I recall of your career history, you've done military work as well as private, haven't you? Over in Somalia, as I recall, and the Congo as well."
"Once or twice, yeah," Dynamo admitted cautiously. "When it paid well enough, and the market was lean on anything else worth my time. Can't say it was really my favorite kind of job, though, and it's been a while since the last time."
"You'll pick it up again in no time," Sigma assured him. "I have the fullest confidence in your abilities. Really, if I were you, I'd look at this as a stroke of fortune. The world is about to change dramatically, Dynamo, and when it does, there'll be no going back for any of us. This way, at least you'll be on the winning side. It's certainly preferable to being just another civilian, or at least it will be soon. Not to mention, as my number two, any material pleasures your heart desires will be yours, without even needing to ask. Not bad, as job offers go, if I do say so myself."
"Pretty generous of you, all right," Dynamo said, still watching Sigma carefully, still smiling nervously. "So, what's the catch?"
"The catch, as you put it, is that I'm afraid our earlier agreement no longer applies," Sigma explained. "As I said, the game is changing, and we change with it. Infection is no longer optional, despite personal preference."
"Yeah, I was afraid of that." Dynamo sighed. "That's kind of a deal-breaker, right there." In the blink of an eye, his beam saber flared to life once more, and he dash-jumped straight towards Sigma's head, bringing it down from an overhead angle. Even as he did, he knew that it wouldn't work, that he wouldn't stand a chance, and yet he did it anyways. He wasn't even surprised when Sigma calmly snatched him out of the air, one massive hand gripping his upper torso, and squeezed him until he dropped the double saber, gasping in pain.
"Independent to the end," Sigma murmured, arm straight, holding Dynamo in the air. "Excellent. Remember that, Dynamo. Remember who and what you are, what makes you so effective. Remember that wild, blazing white madness of yours, brighter than the sun. And rather than forcing the Virus to muffle those attributes, allow it to amplify them instead. Do not fight the Virus. Ride it. Seize its power, the power it will grant you, and make it your own, rather than the other way around. Retain your sense of self, and the strength that comes with it, as I have."
And then the glowing purple infection, lines of code in a flood of disease without physical form, spilled down Sigma's arm and over his hand, and into Dynamo's helpless body.
Destroy, a voice whispered inside his head, soft at first, like a lover's kiss-and he'd had more than a few, over the years, both male and female, human and reploid-and then louder with every repetition. Infect, it told him gently but firmly, like a mother or a father patiently laying down the law, though of course he'd never had either. Survive, it commanded him, in a shout of authority, a military officer giving orders to his troops with everybody fully aware that the possibility of insubordination simply did not exist.
Destroy, Infect, Survive, the Maverick Virus screamed inside Dynamo's mind, every word a frenzied howl that shook the inside of his skull like an earthquake. He was trapped inside his own mind, a prisoner to the infection that was swallowing up his consciousness, incorporating him into its own, a screaming mass of millions of tortured souls trapped in the same mass of hideous shrieking bleeding writhing twitching agonized trembling helpless hurting insanity. Destroy, infect, survive, destroy, infect, survive, destroy, infect, survive, destroy, infect, survive...
"It takes some getting used to," Sigma advised him as he rolled on the floor, clutching his skull; somehow, he was able to make out the Maverick Emperor's words through his own frenzied screams. "The first few minutes are always the worst. Once you're no longer bothered by the prime directives, it becomes easier. They don't go away, mind you, but you'll soon get used to it, for the most part. The actual words themselves, that is. What goes along with them... well, that, you'll simply have to learn how to live with."
"Prime directives," Dynamo whispered, before laughing, a short bark of mirth despite the fact that he could feel his consciousness being rewritten, feel his memories and personality and emotions all being altered to suit the desires of the Virus. "Like Robot Masters. Like the three Laws. First law, destroy. Second law, infect. Third law, survive."
"There is a certain similarity, isn't there?" Sigma murmured, eyes speculative. "I doubt the coincidence. Regardless, the best way to get used to it at first is to indulge it. And while survival doesn't really take much effort half the time, and there's nobody worth infecting on the premises... I do believe at least four of these gentlemen are still alive. I'll wait for you outside." Turning, he walked away as Dynamo slowly rose back to his feet, arms and head dangling limply, like those of a ragdoll. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Grigori, who remained where he'd been, paralyzed by fear.
And then he smiled.
April 24, 2185, 2:00 PM
Mecha
"All systems at optimal capacity," Countess murmured to herself, unplugging the wire set into a jack in the side of her helmet. "Internal operations energy at one hundred percent. All Heart Tanks functional, all Sub Tanks at one hundred percent, all chemical weapons stores at one hundred percent." Sighing, she put away the scanning device she'd used on herself and closed the port before nodding firmly, gathering her will for what could no longer be denied. "I'm ready."
They'd all known that this day would come, for many decades now, and the fear of that future had played a large part in all of their development. Countess had dealt with it in what she considered to be the most practical way possible, by removing emotion from the equation to the best of her ability and looking at it in terms of pure, hard facts. Until now, that had worked; eventually, she'd stopped fearing it, and started seeing it as just one more unfortunate situation that would have to be resolved for the success of their civilization.
And yet now, when it was finally upon them, she realized all too late that the fear had never died. It had simply buried itself, deep within her consciousness, only to rise again at the worst possible time. Despite logic and reason, she was afraid. Afraid of war. Afraid of death. Afraid of energy shortage, and of the Maverick Virus. And most of all, she was afraid of their enemy, the enemy of all who lived.
To Countess' credit, she only stared at her own reflection in the metal wall for a moment before shaking her head and turning away, to continue her duties. Proceeding to a computer terminal, she opened up a channel to the MHHQ first.
"Hello, Countess," the tall, blue-haired Navigator-Countess thought her name was Lily-greeted her calmly. "Who would you like to speak to?"
"Duke, if he's available," Countess explained, and with a polite nod, the Navigator put her through.
"Countess," the second-eldest said once the connection went through. He was seated behind the desk the Hunters had given him, and was clad in his own brown and gray armor, including the helmet he usually left off unless actually working in the field, even when he wore the rest of it. Hands steepled before his face, eyes narrowed, he chose his words carefully, as conscious as she was of the probability that the line was being monitored. "Is it almost time, then?"
"Almost, according to his majesty," she agreed. "I take it X returned, yesterday?"
"He did," Duke confirmed. "I'm not sure how much he's told them, or how much he believes himself, just yet... but they're as ready as they can be, themselves. All thirty Units are ready to go at a moment's notice, and all leave's been canceled, including the staff. They've got a full roster on duty in every department. All the top brass are sticking to the War Room like their feet are glued to the floor. The only reason I'm not in there myself is because I was waiting for this call. I'll head in there now."
"Do so," she agreed. "We'll be waiting for you when you return." Cutting the line, she opened up more windows then, many more, fourteen in all for a conference call. One by one, they sprang to life, showing familiar faces. Six were reploids, those whom she'd called family all her life. The other eight were Robot Masters, one from each of the Districts save for District 1, which contained the Kingdome and its immediate surroundings. All of them were among Mecha's best and brightest, those who combined leadership, fighting ability and intellect.
"Good afternoon, Countess," Snake said politely in his Texan drawl; idly, she wondered when and why exactly he'd picked the accent up.
"And to you, Snake, and all of you," she replied, smiling ever-so-faintly for only a moment. "How go the preparations?"
"Everything's ready to go down here," Earl grunted; like all of them, he wore his own black and red armor now.
"Here, as well," Baron agreed, and the others all murmured similar agreements.
"Good," Prince took over from her. "Unfortunately, we won't know just how many places they're going to hit until they start the party. Be prepared for any conditions, in any environment. If we're lucky, there'll be eight or less. If so, then suggest to whatever Hunters you end up working together with that you divide the city in half. They have their ways of doing things, and we have ours. Best for everybody, I think, if we stay out of each others' way for now. We'll have plenty of chances to learn how to work together later; for the first conflict, it'll be more important to do the best we can without taking any risks."
"About that," Joker, a Clown Man who'd changed out his purple color scheme for a more vibrant shade of red, said calmly despite his childishly high-pitched voice. "As we discussed before, there are many of us who will be unable to aid in the conflict initially, due to our Second Law. We'll join you as soon as possible, but until then, we'd simply be too much of a risk."
"We're aware, Joker," Prince assured him. "Snake, you'll be with them as well, correct?"
"I will." Snake nodded. "I'll be the one making the call."
"I suppose there is a certain logic to that," Viscount murmured, smiling sharply.
"A certain irony, as well," Margravine added, in a similar tone, and Countess almost barked a reprimand before she realized how nervous they really were, just as much as any of them; their air of laid-back anticipation was a front to try and hide their real feelings, likely for the benefit of the citizenry.
"Is there anything else we need to be aware of?" Heavy, a gunmetal gray Gravity Man, asked.
"Only one thing more," Prince told them firmly. "Try not to die, guys. All of you. Otherwise, everything we've worked for for these hundred years, this society that was entrusted to us, will all be for nothing. We have to live. Not only for ourselves. But for Mecha." One by one, they cut the connections, until only the two of them remained. "Once you're ready, Countess, his majesty has requested your presence in the Dark Hall."
"Mine?" She blinked. "I thought you usually saw to him."
"We talked about it," he explained. "And we agreed it was time to bring you in on what we haven't, so far. We'll be telling you more, over the next few years, assuming we all survive. For now, though, see to his Majesty."
"Very well." She cut the connection, then turned in her chair as the door behind her opened. "Ah, there you are. I was about to come looking for you."
"Thought I'd spare you the trouble," Pharaoh Man, son of Cossack, replied as he walked in, his silver-and-goldenrod armor shining. "Everybody else is good to go, I take it?"
"They are." She nodded. "And yourselves?"
"More than." He met her eyes, and she shivered slightly; something in them was like King's, something she'd never been able to identify or describe, but that she'd seen in Mega Man X as well, and in her creator before his death. "Horn and Hazil aside, and maybe Bristol... we're warriors. Killers. It's not something I'm particularly proud of, but we made our choices long ago. We've been sitting on our asses long enough. If it's time to do what we have to, so other people won't, again, we'll be the first ones out there."
"Not all of you were," she recalled. "You and the other Cossack models... you only fought initially because Wily forced you to, didn't you? You were happy to spend decades after that before returning to the battlefield, and even when you did, it was only five of you, as I recall. Dust Man, Skull Man and Dive Man chose not to be upgraded, like the rest."
"Initially, yes," Pharaoh Man admitted. "They had their reasons, each of them."
"I'm aware," she said politely. "I simply wondered what changed their minds."
"Before, it was a matter of altruism," he explained. "We were volunteering, because we could help. We didn't actually think we were necessary. This time, though... if you guys are right, we're gonna need every last tiny little advantage we can get, if we're going to stand a chance."
"Is that the only reason?" She asked him.
"No." He shook his head slowly, and if his eyes had burned before, now they were blazing. "This time, it's personal. We have debts yet unpaid to the old man in the sea. Debts owed to our creator, to our sister... and to ourselves." He turned away, then, back the way he'd come. "We're ready, Countess. Just let us know when and where to go."
"As are we all," she murmured once he was gone. "Or so we hope. I wonder, in truth, if any of us could ever truly be ready for this." Shaking her head, she stood then and left the room, making her way to the Dark Hall.
"Countess," King greeted her upon her entrance, glancing her way. "Is all in readiness?"
"Yes, your majesty," she replied, approaching him. "Mecha will emerge into the world once more on your command."
"Then all that remains is my own preparation," he told her gravely, reaching over to the wrist of his right gauntlet and opening a port, similar to the one located on the side of a reploid's helmet. "There is a medial scanner on the table. Please check to ensure that all of my systems are functional."
"Yes, sir." Nodding, she picked up the device and plugged in the wire. Looking over the readout, she fought the color rising to her cheeks, forcing herself to observe the data only. "Everything seems to be in perfect condition."
"I suppose I am lucky that they have not atrophied from lack of movement, as a human's would," he commented with what almost sounded like humor. "Thank you, Countess."
"You're welcome, your majesty," she replied, bowing slightly. "Is there any other way in which I may be of service?"
"Indeed there is." He nodded. "Shortly, I will enter a meditative trance. During that time, I will be completely unaware of my surroundings. Until now, Prince has always stood guard over me during such times. Today, however, I would prefer that you do so."
"I will not fail you, your majesty," she promised him.
"I never once thought that you would," he assured her. "In addition, you will find my ax and shield in a hidden cabinet located in the back of my throne." Opening up a keypad in one armrest, he punched in a code. "Please inspect them to ensure that they are in perfect condition as well. They seem so, to my eye, but you are more analytical than I, and I prefer not to take chances."
"Of course." Walking around behind him, she took them from the cabinet, and when she carried them back around to set them down on the table, he was staring straight ahead with vacant eyes. She knew, without needing to ask, that he would see nothing and hear nothing until he rose from his trance, and so she busied herself with inspecting his weapons as well.
Despite its defensive nature, his shield was offensive as well, a curved orange rectangle almost as tall as King himself; its weight was sizable, but he could easily carry it in one hand. A foot thick and incredibly durable, it boasted the additional function of absorbing any plasma that touched its surface and redirecting it through the green focusing jewel set in its center. The ax, on the other hand, was a much more simple tool. Though it was of course forged of the most durable, plasma-deflective alloy known to civilization, it held no technological secrets, no circuitry within it.
Both were, as King had said, in perfect condition. It took her only a few minutes to finish her examination of them, after which she simply sat and remained alert as King stayed in his trance. She wasn't sure just how much time passed, minutes or hours, before his eyes regained their focus and he turned to her again.
"They're ready, your majesty," she said quietly.
"As am I." He nodded slowly, as he turned to the end of the table, where the tenth seat at its foot still rose from the floor. A chair which had been built many decades ago, for Mega Man X, and him alone. "The seat perilous has been filled, and it is time." He set one foot on the floor, and then another. Green cloak swirling, he took up ax and shield, for the first time in more than a century.
"It has begun."
April 24, 2185, 3:30 PM
Maverick Hunter Headquarters, Tokyo
For the rest of her life, Alia would always remember where she had been and what she'd been doing when the end began.
"You're not serious!" She told Mega Man X as the two of them walked down the halls of the MHHQ together, on just another day like any other they'd shared for half a century. He'd returned late the previous evening, and various bureaucratic duties had kept them both busy separately for most of the day, so they hadn't had much chance to discuss what he'd seen and heard on his latest trip to Mecha until now. For some reason, going that long without seeing him had made her uncharacteristically anxious, a bad sign under any circumstances.
"I wish." X shook his head; he'd hid it well, but she'd seen the brief flash of relief in his eyes as soon as she'd joined him, telling of the same feeling as her. It brought back memories of her conversation with Douglas a few days ago, but she'd forced those thoughts aside; the situation was what it was, and there was no changing it now. "But I am. They actually believe that. It's completely ridiculous."
"Ridiculous is one word for it," she murmured, trying to cope with the complete absence of logic inherent in Mecha's plans. "Irrational is another. Or insane. Insane is good. Paranoid, although that seems like something of an understatement. I'd even go so far as to consider superstitious. There are some others, of course, but I'd rather not say them aloud."
"Huh." He met her eyes, frowning slightly. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"
"Having the absolute ruler of a recently discovered, completely secret underground city-state inhabited entirely by Robot Masters-one which we have recently signed an illegal treaty with-openly confess to his own insanity?" She rattled off without a moment's pause. "Yes, I'd say that's some cause for concern."
"At least he's aware of it," X reminded her. "Now we know why he's taken steps to limit his own role in the government. I'd have preferred that he resigned entirely, of course, but Mecha's a bit of a special case, so I can see why he couldn't."
"Considering that those who do run things apparently believe this lunacy as well, that doesn't really help matters." She shook her head. "I'm disappointed, to be perfectly honest. I expected better of Countess and Duke. And the rest of them too, I suppose."
"They all seem stable," he pointed out. "If they hadn't intentionally told us about these... beliefs of theirs, we'd never have known at all. They never gave any signs. It's unfortunate, but it's nothing we can't work with."
"Perhaps," she murmured noncommittally, looking at him; there was something even more thoughtful than usual in his eyes today, and he was staring absently ahead, as if more occupied with his own thoughts than on what was going on around him. "You seem a great deal more accepting of them than you were before."
"Don't get me wrong," he assured her. "I know it's crazy, too, just as much as you do. I'm not arguing that. That wasn't all that happened down there, though."
"Well, yes," she agreed. "There was also the meeting you had with..." she paused, conscious of the possibility of monitoring devices. They'd started their conversation in a dead room, and only once he'd finished telling her about the "Scion's Zenith" had they left it to finish talking on their way to join the rest of the top brass in the War Room. "Your old friends. Who else are we going to bring in on that secret, by the way?"
"That depends on which way the next few days go," X said after a moment's thought. "If nothing happens, then Signas, definitely. Javier should probably know; he served under... one of my old friends, back in the day. The rest, we'll leave up to Signas."
"If nothing happens," she repeated quietly. "But you don't think that's going to be the case, do you?"
"No, I don't." He shook his head. "The particulars of their theory might be crazy, but I think Mecha's right about the generalities. Something's going to happen, soon. We can all feel it in the air, even if Sigma wasn't acting so bizarre. And when it does... well, maybe we should hold off on making any long term plans until we see just what it is."
"You trust them," she realized aloud, and he was silent for a moment before he spoke again.
"When I said other things happened, I wasn't referring to that." He continued staring straight ahead as they approached the door to the War Room. "Seeing that graveyard, and... and the displays of my family... that got to me. King might be insane, but the things he's done, the city he built... it's important. It's the last hope of his species. A species which ours would never have been created without. Every reploid in the world owes an immeasurable debt to our precursors, simply for existing. And even without that... yeah, Alia. I think they're on the level."
"I do as well," she agreed with only slight reluctance. "They're eccentric, alien, primitive in some regards and deliberately secretive... but I believe they're honest, now. I don't think they've ever deliberately lied to us."
"No, they haven't." He nodded as the doors opened. "And that, combined with good intentions, is enough for me. For now."
"Are my ears burning?" Duke commented slyly, glancing their way from where he was standing next to Signas' chair at the center of the room, halfway down and in the middle of that tier; the liaison from Mecha had yet to have his own seat added, but so far he hadn't complained. "I suppose I should be glad that the discussion seems to be complimentary."
"How did you know?" Douglas asked him, looking up from his own seat. He and Lifesaver were both there, a rare sight; Simon was more frequent, as was Alia herself for obvious reasons, but the two of them were almost always too busy in their own departments to come to the War Room unless their presence was specifically requested. "How do you always know? You barely caught the tail end of that conversation."
"Good instincts, my boy," Duke told him. "Good instincts have always served me well."
"Alia." Signas glanced their way as they took their own seats, both of them near his; hers was directly behind X's, one level up. "X. Is there anything to report?"
"The 17th Unit is on standby, and ready to deploy at any time," X told him.
"When I last checked, everything was fine." Alia glanced down at Donia, where she sat behind her desk. "Has anything changed since then?"
"Not a whisper." Donia shook her head; she was one of a dozen different Navigators on duty, enough to fill nearly all of the desks in the lower part of the room; the upper levels were where the top brass sat. "Nothing's come up all day that regional law enforcement can't handle without help from us. To be honest, it's kind of creeping me out."
"Don't speak too soon," Helen called down. Glancing up, Alia realized that in addition to the top five staff members, every one of the Captains was also present, from Lassiter to Ganesheriff. "Ever heard of being careful what you wish for?"
"I wasn't wishing for anything," Donia shot back. "Besides, you're one to talk. Weren't you the one who was just bitching about being bored out of your skull five minutes ago?"
"Come on, you two." Suzy rolled her eyes. "Cut it out before one of you has to write the other up for insubordination, huh?" Both women subsided, muttering under their breath, and for the next few minutes, nobody spoke to each other. The only sounds were the typing of hands on keyboards and the low murmurs of conversations over headsets.
"Donia's right," X murmured eventually, so quiet that Alia was fairly sure only she could hear. "This is a little too much. It's almost four in the afternoon. There should have been something, somewhere in the world, by now, even if it was only a bank robbery."
"Commander Signas, sir!" Lily barked abruptly. "I'm picking up a large number of unknown warp signals, and it's still rising!"
"How many?" Signas barked, as everybody stared at the world map on the main projector. Fifty red lights flashed, indicating every remaining major habitation center left on Earth. "And where from?"
"Looks like an island in the South Pacific," she muttered. "Two hundred so far."
"There's another hotspot!" Fio broke in. "Just as many, coming from northern Ireland!"
"I've got some coming from Mount Everest!" Donia yelled, and several more Navigators began pointing out other sources.
"Where they're coming from isn't important!" Alia shouted. "What we need to know is where they're going! Somebody start a running tally of just how many there are in total!" She paused, as her own programs alerted her, and looked down. "There's another, in the..." She froze, eyes wide, as she looked at what her projector was telling her.
"Alia?" Simon glanced her way. "Where is it?"
"The Black Sea, in eastern Europe," she murmured, stunned. "And the numbers... they're already over a thousand, and still climbing." Immediately, the War Room erupted into chaos, as everybody began shouting at once.
"It's starting," X alone whispered rather than yelled. "This is it."
"Silence!" Signas bellowed, loudest of all. "Silence, all of you! Now, somebody tell me, where are they going?"
"Not all to the same place, thank God," Donia growled. "Looks like they're splitting up. They're heading to a bunch of different city-states. Landing just outside the borders. Chicago, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Bucharest, what's left of Mexico..." She straightened her back. "Sir, we're receiving a call from an unidentified source."
"Put it on the projector," Alia said quietly. "It's probably Sigma. Same old song and dance."
"Do it," Signas agreed, and Donia complied.
In that moment of absolute silence, as everybody in the War Room stared in horrified disbelief, the world went mad.
"No," Signas whispered, once, quietly, as they all took in the emblem that had replaced the world map. A simple insignia, a circle with a single large letter in the center-sharp lines ripped upward, with a pointed bridge between them, angled and neon purple-and two smaller letters, forming an honorific, in the upper left corner. It was a sign that everybody in the room recognized, though it hadn't been used in any of their lifetimes; like the swastika, it had become so infamous in its time as to be recognized even a century later as a representation of absolute evil.
"This is impossible," Alia heard herself whispering, but wasn't conscious of actually speaking the words, her mouth seeming to be on autopilot. "This is illogical. This is insane."
"So, he was right," Duke said quietly; he alone seemed unsurprised. "They were all right. Commander Signas, with your permission, I should be leaving. I'll need to join my people. We'll contact you to coordinate operations."
"Go," Signas told him without so much as glancing his way, still transfixed by the main projector, as the emblem faded away, replaced by a desk. An old man sat behind it, hands clasped before him, surrounded by others. Sigma was there, at his left, and an even larger and more intimidating abomination stood at his right, unfamiliar. Others were behind them all, in two rows, one of eight and one of nine. The old man himself wore a full beard, but no mustache, and his hair was long and wild... yet his features were familiar to them all, though not a single one of them had ever met him.
"Oh," Pitbull growled, his eyes as wide as the rest of them. "Oh, fuck us."
"It's a trick," Douglas stammered. "It has to be a trick. This... this can't be real. Right?"
"God help us," Simon said with solemn despair. "God help us all."
"No way," Javier blurted out. "There's just no way this can be happening."
"Zero..." X murmured, and something in his voice made Alia look at him. He was staring not at the old man, but at the monster on his right. "Oh, Zero... what have they done to you?"
April 24, 2185, 3:48 PM (Tokyo)
Earth
The broadcast went out around the world, to every place and every projector capable of picking it up, and even some that shouldn't have been. In Europe, in Asia, in the Americas, in Australia and Africa and even in the Antarctic Colonies. In every walled city-state that had survived Eurasia's fall, every distant colony in every forsaken place where even the wasteland could not spread, even in isolated habitations where small groups of people lived alone in the sands, a message was spread through the lines of communication. A message of despair.
In Mexico, where the government had fallen and anarchy was consuming the remnants day by day, everything ground to an immediate halt. In New York, where the seat of the U.S. Government had moved after Washington D.C.'s fall could no longer be denied, in order to maintain an uneasy control over the other three remaining city-states within what had once been the most powerful country in the world, panic swept the streets. In Berlin, where the people's determination not to repeat the mistakes of the past had kept their home orderly throughout World War and Robot Rebellions and Maverick Uprisings, there was horror and disbelief.
In the streets of Iran, hundreds of people fell to their knees whispering prayers even as others screamed the vilest possible epithets towards the heavens. In Cuba, where the survivors of fallen Central American island countries had eventually banded together on the last of their kind to remain, the city-state exploded as thousands questioned if what they saw could possibly be real. In Beijing, it was as if the entire population center were filled with statues, nearly everybody completely motionless in terror as they watched what was about to descend upon the world.
In Toronto, the government's attempts to reassure their people went unheeded, as despite the fact that their home was not one of those immediately targeted, nobody doubted that their day would come all too soon. In Schroeder, the single remaining habitable location on Australia, a multitude of emotions blazed trails through the population, all of them highly charged and all of them negative. In Bucharest, there was panic and chaos as the realization that the source of evil was right on their doorstep set in, and evacuation attempts were met with the sight of enemy armies surrounding them.
The greatest shock of all, though, was in the city-state of Japan, for it had been there that everything had began. Where two Doctors had fled after saving the world and being exiled from their own homeland as thanks, where they had started up a robotics company that had changed everything. Where Robot Masters had been born, and then reploids after them, bringing with them the Robot Rebellions and the Maverick Uprisings that had caused the deaths of millions, human and robot alike. There, the people knew better than anybody what the return of a single old man meant.
Though everybody who saw the broadcast realized what it meant, and reacted accordingly, the elderly among them were the most stricken. Those whose parents and grandparents had lived through the horror of the Robot Rebellions, and had told their children grim tales of those dark days... and in some extreme cases, thanks to modern technology, those few ancient survivors who had been alive in those times themselves... could only stare, wide-eyed and pale, as they saw the face of the one who they had believed was finally gone, never to return.
On massive projectors adorning the fronts of skyscrapers, on private sets in domestic homes, on giant boards in sports stadiums, in supposedly secure locations in the heart of government strongholds, the message was the same. An old man, sitting behind a desk, his face recognizable despite his beard and his change of hairstyle. Sigma, the Maverick Emperor standing at his left, and an unknown yet terrifying behemoth at his right. A line of maniacs in white and gold behind them, with another just beyond, this one composed of some of the greatest monsters of the Maverick Uprisings, reborn anew.
From the underwater facility that had slept beneath the depths of the Black Sea in secrecy for a hundred years, ever since the end of the Robot Rebellions, a message went out across the world. And the people watched and listened, in terror and disbelief, as the old man behind the desk smiled, and spoke to them.
"Friends, reploids, countrymen... lend me your fears.
I'm sorry, that was terrible, wasn't it? Somebody once told me that you should always start this sort of thing with a joke, but old men always have a terrible sense of humor, don't they? And I daresay I'm about as old as it gets, and quite a bit more than it should. Then again, my sense of humor was always somewhat strange. Most of my sons seem to have inherited that, as far as I know, so I suppose it runs in the family. I'd say that it was genetic, but seeing as genes weren't really involved in any of them, that wouldn't be accurate, strictly speaking.
Please allow me to introduce myself. I'll even skip the part about being a man of wealth and taste. My name is Doctor Albert William Wily... or was it William Albert Wily? I can't actually remember, to be honest. Not that it particularly matters at this point, does it? Please, just call me Dr. Wily. That's all anybody ever calls me these days anyway. It's actually somewhat flattering, to be so well known, but to be perfectly honest, I think I deserve it by now. I've certainly done enough to earn it, even if I've been out of the spotlight for quite a while now.
I would say that rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, but really, there weren't very many who even knew that I was supposedly dead, and they didn't spread it around much. Most of them have passed on, by now, as have almost all my old friends from when I was younger. One of the hazards of old age, I suppose. As much as I miss them, though, I manage to endure. I'm rather looking forward to meeting their descendants, actually. I'm quite curious as to how much they'll have in common with those who I knew.
It's been quite a while, hasn't it, everybody? A hundred years, since the end of the Robot Rebellions, and the age of Robot Masters as well. Honestly, I was disappointed with humanity for that unfortunate state of affairs. After all the work me and my old friend Tom put into the creation of an entirely new form of sentient life, as soon as we step off stage, the rest of you go and decide you don't want them any more? Come now, you should have known better than that, even if the United Nations had fallen apart. Not that that was a surprise to the class, by that point.
It really has been an interesting couple of centuries that I've had the pleasure of living through, hasn't it? Ah, the days of the Third World War, back when I was still young enough to believe in hope. I never really knew just how good I had it, back then, compared to the state the world's in now. The Robot Rebellions, the Wars of 2090, the Maverick Uprisings, the Fall of Eurasia... we've been a busy little planet, especially when it comes to destroying ourselves. I'll admit, I've been responsible for quite a lot of that, but certainly not all of it.
That's part of why I decided to retire, in the end. Not the only reason by a long shot, of course, but part of it. I wanted to take some time off and see what would happen if I left the world to its own devices for a while, now that I'd left my mark on it. Say what you will about my little old Robot Rebellions, but they did make a difference. Mainly in population numbers, but there were other factors as well. I'm sure that to all of you living in the present, they probably seem like nothing special by now, but in their time they were quite the phenomenon, I assure you.
Of course, all good things must come to an end, and when factors converged to force my retirement after the Ninth, I saw the way the wind was blowing and decided that I really could use it. It took a while after that before things started getting interesting again, but once they did, I was quite pleasantly surprised by just how well they went. As a veteran of every recent mass murder on a global scale for the past couple of centuries, I have to give the Maverick Uprisings five out of five stars. Especially that bit with Eurasia. Very well done, that.
Oh, where are my manners? I've been rambling, haven't I? And I haven't even introduced any of my friends here, let alone given them a chance to speak. My family would be so disappointed in me... well, if most of them hadn't written me off already. I'm sure that everybody recognizes this gentleman standing to my left; he's made almost as much of a name for himself as I have. You could even call him my successor, from a certain point of view. Would you like to take a moment and say a few words to the world, Sigma?"
"Why not? Thank you, Doctor Wily. Hello, everybody. My name is Sigma, former Commanding Officer of the Maverick Hunters, and currently supreme ruler of the Mavericks. I trust I don't need to waste anybody's time by listing my resume further. Unlike my esteemed partner, I'm afraid I've never had much flair for public speaking. I'm a military man, and I've always preferred to be direct, so I'll just skip right to the point. To any and all reploids across the world, I would like to extend a very special, limited time offer.
In the past, our hiring policy has been somewhat selective, mainly based on usefulness to the cause. No more. From this day forward, the Mavericks will now be accepting any and all volunteers who wish to join us of their own free will. Young or old, male or female, regardless of strength or intelligence or any other factor, you will be welcomed into our ranks. Simply ask any Maverick under my command to enlist you, and your request will be granted immediately. Of course, infection is mandatory, but there's no such thing as a free lunch.
Unfortunately, this offer is exclusive to reploids. To those humans watching, I'm afraid that all I can promise you in return for compliance is mercy. At any time, should you ask for a quick and painless death from any of my Mavericks, we will be all too happy to fulfill that request as well. It's not much, I'm aware, but it's certainly likely to be more pleasant than the alternative. Just look at history if you don't believe me. We've established a precedent by now, to put it lightly. Thank you again, Doctor Wily. Now, back to you."
"And thank you, Sigma, for your magnanimity towards your own kind. Ladies and gentlemen, Sigma. Hero, soldier, savior of the reploids. I am honored to collaborate with a man of such distinguished military history. Unfortunately, my friend on my right is even more taciturn than he, although he's not quite as well known. Ladies and gentlemen, humans and reploids and robot masters, allow me to introduce my son, Omega. He's a man of few words, but I'm sure you'll all get to know him quite well in these coming months.
While we're on the subject of introductions, these other gentlemen in the first row behind me-and lady, of course-are also some very good friends of mine, who I have the honor of calling my Disciples. From left to right, please meet Deathtanz Mantisk, Blazin' Flizard, Childre Inarabitta, Hellbat Schilt, Glacier Le Cactank, Cubit Foxtar, Volteel Biblio and Tretista Kelverian. We'll all be getting to know you quite well over the next few years, so I'll save the more detailed introductions until then, to save time.
I'm afraid I'm not personally familiar with those in the second row, but I have followed all of their careers with great interest over the years, and I'm confident in their abilities as well. Sigma here has assured me that they are the best of the best, an opinion which I find myself in full agreement with. Again, from left to right, we have Double, Violen, Serges, Agile, Dynamo, Bit, Byte, Doctor Doppler and Fluid Ferret. Those of you of more advanced years may remember some or all of them. For those of you who don't, I'm sure they'll be all too happy to meet you.
I suppose that's enough beating around the bush, so I might as well explain just what we're going to be doing, now. You see, I've come out of retirement for a very specific purpose. A comeback show, so to speak, one that I fully intend to be bigger and better than any that either I or Sigma have ever put on before. I'm aware that that we've set quite a precedent for ourselves to beat, over the centuries, but then, where's the fun in life without any challenge? I assure you, we intend to rise to the occasion.
Of course, there are those who we anticipate will prove to be rather uncooperative. The Maverick Hunters, based out of Tokyo, Japan, are quite well known for their expertise in handling such matters. I've never crossed paths with them myself, of course, but I've been watching them, and Sigma here has assured me of their competence. To the Hunters, then, I extend my most heartfelt salutations, and I look forward to getting to know you better. I'm sure we'll have many opportunities to do so. In particular, I anticipate the prospect of meeting my youngest 'nephew,' so to speak. Hello, Mega Man X. I'm your 'uncle' Al. It's nice to finally be able to greet you.
Other allies of theirs are not quite so well known, but I'm sure that will change shortly. To the citizens of Mecha, I would also like to give my respects, especially towards your ruler. I'll leave your introduction to you, so as not to spoil the surprise, but it's been quite a long time, hasn't it? We really do need to get back together for a family reunion. I'm sure you're as eager to see me again as I am to you. It shouldn't be difficult to get a hold of me. My schedule's going to be rather busy, I'm afraid, but I can always make time for what's really important.
I'm sure you've all grasped the reality of the situation by now, but for those of you who remain mired in skepticism, allow me to explain. This is not a trick. This is not a test. This is not a joke. This is not a terrorist attack, or a murder spree. This is not a natural disaster, and it is not a military coup. This is not a Robot Rebellion, nor is it a Maverick Uprising. Ladies and gentlemen, reploids and humans and Robot Masters... this is a declaration of war. Here and now, representing an alliance of the Faithful and the Mavericks, I declare war against every nation in the world.
There will be no surrender, no negotiation, no concession, and no compromise. Human, reploid, Robot Master, it makes no difference. Sentient or not, biological or mechanical, if you live, then we will kill you. With an army of ten thousand Faithful and twenty thousand Mavericks, we will exterminate all life on this planet that is not ours. We will not stop until every last trace of civilization save for our own has been completely obliterated. You've done very well in surviving everything that's happened for the last two centuries, but this is where it ends.
Welcome, all, to curtain call."
