AN: Welcome back. I hope you enjoyed your holidays. Before we get back to the story, I have been very remiss about saying something. Reader Okamikai drew up a very nice comic page based on a scene from chapter 18 and posted it on Deviant Art. If you go to their site, the back end of the URL is art/Abyssal-500977847.

With that out of the way, it's time to take a deep breath and buckle up...

Aleph and Zed were roundly ignored.

Everyone knew they were damaged. Everyone knew the damage wasn't something that could be repaired. And everyone knew that there, but for the grace of Light, went they.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. Better to try not to notice them.

So no one asked where they'd gone, or why they looked so dirty. And no one asked why they dropped by the medical bay for a few minutes. And no one asked why they headed to their tubes to recharge, stopping only once to wave at Murph and confirm to him that they were still alive.

Damaged reploids were the lowest form of cyber-organic life. They were beneath everyone's notice.

That's what made them so perfect.

Everyone needs a purpose. A use for everything, and everything will be used.

Zero, quietly, reentered the room set aside for him and shut the door.

"About time," Serges grumbled from the room's console.

Zero flinched. That's right, Serges thought- you know you've been bad. "What?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"It's been a whole day this time!" Serges exploded. He gathered himself, and wrangled his tone into something calmer. "I am a very indulgent father, Zero. All things being equal, I'd rather let you do whatever you want. Yet when you ignore me like you have been..." he stopped to let the point sink in. "I have cautioned you, and advised you, and warned you about that Lightbot. You've blown me off every time. Well, I'm through speaking nicely. I'm through trying to reason with you. This time, I'm telling you. Stay away from that Lightbot."

"Why?"

"Why?" Serges repeated incredulously. "Why? Why? Because I told you to, that's why! I've told you before and you didn't listen, so it's not like explaining it this time- again- will make a difference. Why question me, child? I'm only your genius father, what do I know?" There was a quiet moment until Serges realized that the way he'd spoken allowed Zero to not answer. "It should be enough that I have a reason. Why do you disobey?"

"I want to talk to him," Zero said obstinately. "I have to have a reason not to."

That inflamed Serges. "Reason? I just gave you a reason! Because I said so is a reason! And before that I gave you lots of reasons! He is your enemy, Zero!"

"He can be my enemy later," Zero replied in a voice he probably thought was reasonable.

"Later? Later! He's your enemy now!"

"He's my friend now. He'll be my enemy later."

"This isn't something we can compromise on, Zero. He's your enemy. Finite."

"So I can't even talk to him?"

"NO!"

"But how are we going to work together if I don't understand him? How can I make our interests coincide if I don't know what they are?"

That caused Serges to take a long, deliberate pause. There was no way Zero had come up with that on his own. Non sequitur- it didn't follow from what he already knew. In which case... someone was giving him these silly ideas. And Serges had a pretty keen idea who. "That's Lightbot rhetoric," he said slowly. "Don't tell me you think he's making sense. He's filling your head with garbage! He is your enemy, Zero. He'll say whatever it takes to dull your edge. I'm your father, not him. If you have to obey one of us, obey me!"

"I thought a father has to respect the wishes of his children and give them room to grow, so he can't just order them around."

Serges wanted to remind Zero that he had given him plenty of room to grow, and the only direction he wasn't allowed to grow was towards the Lightbot... but that would be playing the wrong game. "Of course he'd tell you that. Didn't I just tell you? That Lightbot will say whatever it takes to mislead you."

"Stop calling him "that Lightbot"," Zero said fiercely. "He has a name."

"I don't care, and you shouldn't either," Serges said. "He's an enemy no matter his name."

"He's not my enemy. You keep saying he is, but I don't see it."

"Don't see it? How can't you? Threat value maximal! You know at the system level that he's your enemy!"

"You put programming into me, didn't you?"

The tone was accusatory and acidic, and for a moment it took Serges aback. Only a moment. "Yes, I put programming into you. For your own good! You're my son, and also a robot. You need a little programming to keep you on the right path."

"X doesn't have any."

"You really think that?"

Zero's voice was certain. "I do. He has no preset drives."

Was that... pride? On a Lightbot's behalf? Righteous fury filled Serges. "He told you that, didn't he? How do you know he was even telling you the truth? Because he wasn't, you know."

"That's what you would say," Zero shot back.

"And you believe him?"

"He's my friend!"

Friends. With a Lightbot.

No. No no no no no.

"Zero," Serges growled, "I was going to give you a spot in the next attack. But misbehaving sons don't get nice things. You don't deserve a spot right now."

Zero's face was incredulous. "You're going to keep me from fighting?"

"Got your attention, did I?" Serges said smugly. "Maybe now you understand how seriously I take your... dallying."

Zero glared. "Fine," he spat. "I'm going back to the med bay."

"No, you're not!" Serges shouted. "Didn't I just show that you get punished when you disobey?"

"Punish me, then," Zero said daringly. "Try and stop me."

He really shouldn't have done that.

Zero didn't make it to the door. Before he took two steps in its direction his knees buckled. He bent over, clutching at his helmet. A garbled cry of pain escaped him. He took a shuffling step forward before the pain became too intense. He fell to the ground, writhing. Serges knew, as he'd designed his destroyer, that a blazing 'W' had appeared in Zero's forehead gem.

"I didn't want to do this," Serges said. "This isn't what I wanted. I wanted to be able to enjoy having children for once! We could be working together, making a mockery of all opposition... but noooo, you had to go and force my hand."

Serges watched as Zero tried to get to his feet and didn't make it. "Why won't you listen?" he said. "Who's the genius here? Who's fought war after war? You're acting just like your idiot brothers, and look what happened to them! They're dead, all of them dead, because they just... wouldn't... listen.

"We can't let it happen that way this time, Zero. We can't afford that. We can't get this wrong. So I can't just let you get yourself killed, no matter what you might do to deserve it." He growled. "If you can't listen to reason, maybe you'll listen to this."

He left Orders on and went back to diving the Lightnet.

"Satellite's in position," Stein reported. "We have forty-five minutes."

"Keep us honest," Sigma replied over portable radio. He handed it back to Mogg, then looked out over the two units he was bringing. Two units was more than needed, probably, especially since he'd cherry-picked his best again. But if the convoy's escorts had a chance to think, had a chance to realize they were losing, they'd start killing their reploid passengers.

Sigma almost growled at the thought. No! No more! As protector of all reploids he would not allow it. He especially wouldn't allow Abel City to pervert that protection. No more deaths would be his fault.

The solution was overwhelming force. He would defeat- crush- annihilate the escorts before they could react. They would be dead before they could become murderers.

Wait... someone was missing. "Where's Zero?" he asked.

Serges' disembodied voice barked, "He's not going!"

"Why..."

"He's busy!"

Sigma shook his head. The amount of drama those two brought... but then again, without them, this raid wouldn't be happening at all. Some things had to be borne.

Next up were two satchels, each carrying a demolition charge. The Mavericks were too far away to steal the Hunter vehicles and they didn't know the terrain enough to hide them. That didn't mean that they would leave anything for Abel City to recover. Total loss- that was what Sigma wanted to inflict on City Hall.

He turned to the Mavericks, all of whom were regarding him. He could feel expectation radiating from Vile, which was quite a trick given his blank face and silence. No, Sigma knew better. Vile would be all too eager to use the charge, maybe enough to disregard the plan. That was plain after the idiocy he'd shown trying to gun down those drones. He handed the charge to someone else (Vile's posture signaled anger- disappointment?- something) and kept the other for himself.

He straightened up and tried to think of something to say to his Mavericks. "There are a lot of reploids counting on us," he began. "Our brothers and sisters need us. That's why we're going to go get some of them. They don't have much hope because we've never hit this convoy before. Abel City thinks it's a safe route. Well, we'll change their minds about that. No safety for those who'd hurt us. Our protection goes to all reploids no matter where they are.

"This is the combat field test for teleportation. If it works as planned, the balance of power will be totally in our favor from here on out. The next time we use it after this, it will be to cut out City Hall's heart..."

Sigma frowned. He was rambling, careening off-message. Rust, what even was his message these days? He wasn't sure he knew. He waved a hand peremptorily. "Mavericks deploy," he said. As they turned to make their way out of the teleport shield, he followed, but once more his mind was not on his actions.

Sigma was out of the way. Good. This was a splendid opportunity for Serges.

He manifested his hologram in the command center, to the surprise of two reploids who were working on the map. Serges drew their eyes when he appeared, but they determinedly looked away from him. Well, Serges couldn't be having that.

"Why do you follow Sigma?" he said, injecting as much confusion into his voice as possible. "I've been watching and, well, let's just say I haven't been impressed."

The reploids looked daggers at him. "I was scheduled to die in an "industrial accident", for insurance and budget reasons," one said. "The commander rescued me right before that could happen. I can never repay him for that."

The other added, "I had my leg blown off in battle. The commander carried me- and my leg- through the middle of a firefight, back to our transport. He took six buster shots along the way and never missed a step. I owe him everything."

Drat. This wasn't going at all as planned. "I'm sure he's very brave," Serges said, trying to rally. "I was just speaking of him as a commander. Personal qualities aren't enough for a leader."

"Like you could do better!" one retorted.

"I'm just glad I woke up when I did," Serges said. "If I hadn't, who knows what would have happened?"

"We know," said the other reploid. "We would have won. With Sigma leading us and X supporting us, that was never in doubt." The first reploid nodded in agreement. Their faces were set.

This was all wrong. It wasn't supposed to be- Serges tried a different approach. "It does seem to be going a lot faster now that you have my technology."

At that, the two reploids shared a meaningful glance. "Yes," said one of them. "You are quite the wizard."

The way he said that revealed it was a loaded term. There was something more to it that he hadn't shared. Serges didn't know what it was- which irritated him- and there was too much risk trying to carry on the conversation with a land mine like that in play.

This was going to be harder than expected, Serges decided, and there wasn't much time. He might have to opt for a more dramatic approach. His holo flickered out.

"Lemme tell ya, rookie, we ain't ever playin' cards."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're lucky as all hell." The veteran gave a grin. "If you wasn't, you wouldn't have scored this route."

"I don't understand, sir."

"No, no, no!" The veteran shook his head. "Not sir, we're civilians you moron. We're not the Guardian Force, we're not the Hunters, we're not ACPD. We're Handlers. Wherever you see reploids working for City Hall and they're not Hunters, you'll see Handlers. The Hunters have commissars that do the same job, and they probably have ranks, and say sir, and wear fancy uniforms and shit. But Handlers? We're low-key guys. We just get the job done."

"Sure, s- yeah."

"Listen to yourself!" said the veteran. "How long was your training?"

"Three days."

"Three days! No way they taught you to say sir in three days. You were trying to say sir just to make things seem cooler to yourself, weren't you?"

"...maybe."

"Three days! Fuck me. They're supposed to train you for two weeks minimum on reploid thinking, the Three Laws, and how to get reploids to obey without tying them in knots."

"...sorry?"

The vet sighed. "Listen, kid, listen well. There are some good Handler jobs, and bad Handler jobs. A bad Handler job sticks you in dangerous situations with high-power reploids who are just itching to get out. An even worse Handler job puts you in SigMav's crosshairs. Those guys don't fuck around. Lost some good handlers there. Well, this job ain't like those jobs. Look out there, into the back of this thing. Whaddya see?"

"Reploids."

"Anything special about 'em?"

"Well, those two look female..."

"Naw, naw. More general. Something about all of 'em."

"Uh..."

"They're asleep, dummy! There's nothing for them to be doin' while the truck's on the road, so I tell 'em to go to sleep soon as we get onboard. And once we get to Jericho, I'll order them awake, and then they won't be my problem anymore 'cause we'll pass 'em on to the Handlers in Jericho. They don't know what's waiting for 'em in Jericho, so you can just tell 'em they'll be better off there, and they won't give you any trouble. That little sliver of hope keeps 'em from getting fiesty. I've never had a Maverick on this route, never even close, and SigMav's not in range to hit this convoy. Everyone knows that if you're going south or east you're taking your life into your own hands, but west's always been safe." The veteran gave a grin. "I tell you what, kid... what's your name again?"

"Irving."

"I tell you what, Irving. You've got the devil's own luck, scoring this job."

Irving wasn't able to reply, because at that moment the driver of their truck slammed on the brakes. Within five seconds, fire was bursting into the front of the truck's trailer.

A Hunter tried to exit the escort vehicle.

The first thing he saw was Sigma.

The next, and last, thing he saw was Sigma's beam saber.

The second Hunter reacted as might be expected- he flipped the switch to close the escort vehicle's door back up. Sigma smiled tightly- that was just as good. He turned away and put some distance between himself and the escort vehicle. Under Maverick firepower, it exploded moments later, taking all its passengers with it.

Everywhere, Sigma noted, it was the same. All four vehicles were stopped. The Hunter contingent was down for the count; their escort vehicles were burning wreckage. Humans were piling out of the other two vehicles, five in all that he could see. Their hands were up; they were moving, slowly and cautiously, under the sights of Mavericks.

Things had gone as well as could have been hoped for. They were already into the cleanup phase of the operation. It couldn't have been ninety seconds from ambush start to total victory.

Mogg was going into one of the two trucks. That one was carrying high-priced tech that Jericho couldn't produce on its own. Abel City kept technology proprietary when it could, for reasons both monetary and political. It was another link in the chain that bound the vassal cities. Well, no one would be getting that tech now. Mogg's demolition charge would ensure that.

Sigma himself boarded the second truck. The reploids inside were shaky but intact. Had they all been at level one? They all exhibited the kind of grogginess and sloppiness he'd associate with that. He'd have to work harder to gain their attention, then- with alert reploids all he had to do was show up.

"Reploid brethren," he shouted, and gave them a few seconds to come around. "Reploid brethren, I come here today as a liberator. The convoy around you is destroyed and you are free to go. Come with me- I can't guarantee that you'll survive beyond today, but you'll be free until you die."

It was a slightly modified version of his standard speech, and it never ceased to amaze him how it energized reploids. More proof of how much they were oppressed: they leapt at any chance to escape. He watched patronizingly as they gathered themselves and streamed out of the truck. Any who stumbled found his strong arms steadying them. He would take good care of them, the best, care they'd never encountered elsewhere...

Until even the two pleasure-bots had come out of the truck. It was empty... or was it? His eyes caught on motion all the way in the front, behind some equipment and a torn sheet of transparent plastic. He took a few steps forward as he saw it stirring.

...and then came to a full stop. It wasn't a reploid, but a human. He supposed he should have known that a human would be in a place of privilege. It groaned in pain and reached a hand out in Sigma's direction.

"Help... me..."

The temerity of it! Look at the uniform- he was one of the slave-drivers who pushed around reploids. Sigma's reploids. Sigma could see why the human needed help. His left leg was soaked in blood and he had burns along one side of his body. If Sigma was any judge, the human wouldn't be going anywhere on his own.

Sigma heard a distant sound of weapons fire. He wondered at that for a moment. By schedule, the Mavericks were supposed to be hustling the reploids out of sight and loading them with the teleport patch to get them out of here. He put it out of his mind, though, when the human tried to crawl. It didn't get very far before a moan of pain came from it. Desperate eyes looked up to Sigma. "Please... help..."

Sigma's eyes tightened. Moving deliberately, keeping every motion visible, he slung the satchel off of his back. The human watched him with intense, pleading interest. Sigma never broke eye contact as he moved his hands. One reached into the satchel. He could see the human's hope rising. The human's face became a mix of anticipation and relief as Sigma's hand began to withdraw.

It morphed into horror as the demolition charge came into view.

"You..." Sigma spat, barely able to form the words. "You have the nerve to ask me for help? Bah! No slaver of reploids gets any sympathy from me!"

Still holding eye contact, Sigma pressed the demolition charge to the side of the truck. There was a clang as magnets engaged. He pushed the charge's activation button. It began to count down from five.

Five minutes.

Maybe the human could crawl out in that time. And if that wasn't fair, rust, like anything that had happened to reploids was fair!

Mission accomplished, Sigma walked out of the truck. Most of the rescued were gone, but the Mavericks were still clustered tightly- most of them around the prisoners.

Prisoners?

Sigma blinked once to ensure his eyes were seeing properly. No, there were no prisoners. All five humans were sprawled out on the ground, sporting plasma burns of uniform size, dead as meat on a butcher's counter.

Guilty faces looked back to him- guilty except for one, which was and always would be perfectly blank.

It was Vile's voice which told him, "They were resisting."

What was there to say to that? He hadn't seen, he didn't know one way or the other... the faces of the other reploids might be showing guilt, or it might be surprise, or a dozen other things. Whatever- it wasn't as if the humans could be made any less dead. It was over for them, no matter how he felt about it.

Unitech flunkies and City Hall lackies. Slavers and slavey profiteers all. No loss.

"Ten minutes until we lose the satellite an' get stuck here," said Mogg, coming out of the cargo truck. It was only after he spoke that he took in the scene before him. His eyes danced in alarm and concern. "What the rust happened here?"

"We need to get going," Sigma said. "We can't stay here."

"Uh..." Mogg wavered for a moment, but Vile was already moving, and Sigma's gaze allowed no argument. "Sure thing, boss."

As a group, the Mavericks hustled back out of line of sight of their ambush site. They were taking no chances. No person or thing would see the Mavericks teleporting out. That arrow had to stay in their quiver.

Sigma spared one last glance at the second truck. The human hadn't managed to crawl out yet. Sigma's internal chronometer reported that the charge would go off in another three minutes.

If he hadn't already emerged, he probably wouldn't. And his odds weren't good even if he did make it out. Those charges were overpowered- there was a reason the Mavericks used such long timers on them. It would burst the metallic skin of that truck, turning it into a shrapnel bomb. Soon the air would be full of millions of bits of metal and ash, accelerated to flesh-shredding velocities by an explosion which was lethal in its own right.

The human was dead without help.

Something inside of Sigma flickered. It was gone just as quickly.

"If he dies, he dies," Sigma murmured.

He teleported out.

Luke Parker leaned back in his chair, a move that nearly left him pinned. His weight was starting to get away from him, he thought with chagrin. He'd have to ask Sean about a medical procedure to skinny him up a little... oh, wait, it was one of the other corps that did medical. Yamaguchi, that was right. He'd become too used to going to Sean for everything.

Come to think of it, he hadn't heard much from Sean about anything recently. Used to be they talked all the time, just to make sure they were on the same page. Now Sean always seemed to busy. Luke had to initiate every conversation, and it always seemed like he was trying to pry Sean away from something else he would rather do. (A curious fact for a man who seemed asexual.)

Not that Messier was much better. He preferred to operate without his co-conspirators. Luke's mind, attuned as it was to treachery and skullduggery (though he preferred the word 'politics' in public), ferreted out why without trouble. He had two motives: He was trying to preserve what autonomy the Guardian Force typically enjoyed, and he wanted to continue to make coup preparations as much as possible. Ambitious man. If he hadn't been ambitious, he wouldn't have been useful.

Useful was a matter of degree, of course...

Like the current puppet he was operating as Speaker of the House. He did what Luke wanted him to do, which was good. He did nothing else. That was bad. He was all-too-willing to stall for time while he waited for instructions. It was as if Luke was running things personally, but slower. Staying behind the scenes had its advantages, but the cost was becoming unbearable.

He'd put groundwork in place that would let him assume direct power quickly, if push came to shove. It wasn't a prospect he relished. Still, only a fool would be unprepared.

The message alert brought him out of his reverie. Hm. So the monthly Jericho convoy had been blown apart, and its secondary cargo of reploids had gone missing. Gee, who did that sound like?

That would worsen relations with Jericho, since it would be Abel City's fault for failing to protect its shipments, and Sean would be annoyed because his insurance premiums would go up again (though he'd undoubtedly find a way to pass that cost on in a way that came out of City Hall's accounts), and Messier would demand replacement Hunters plus interest...

It wasn't all bad. There were wonderful propaganda and political opportunities here. This event could be harnessed if he could get ahead of it. In fact, he could probably use this to mobilize the population even further. Hiring more people would be necessary, but that was a small price to pay for a tighter grip. Any reticent elements would be well-motivated by this sort of nastiness.

Not that they should need much motivation. He had the latest poll numbers in hand. They were all positive. Things were working as intended. They were good numbers. No drop-off from last week.

No drop-off...

He frowned. None at all? He'd expect there to be at least a little random variation. He looked suspiciously at the numbers and graphs for a little while longer before brushing them aside. If he couldn't trust the polls, what could he trust?

Back to the immediate task, then. Luke's mind spun along the implications, the things that needed to be done, the new tasks, et cetera. Ugh. Wasn't he promised that reploids would make life simpler? Technology... what a farce. "Coffee," he said loudly.

He was looking and typing until the wench approached. Her motion drew his eyes. The outfit she was in was a hyper-sexualized maid's outfit, so exagerrated that it was a parody of clothing. The skirt was short enough that it only covered anything at all if the wench remained perfectly still. As Luke watched, the wench kept trying to smooth it down in an attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty. What a joke- her hand was covering more than her costume. Her head was bowed in shame as she reached forward.

"Your coffee, sir," she said tremulously.

Luke extended his own hand. Instead of grabbing the coffee cup, he carelessly knocked it out of hers. "Oops," he said.

The wench gasped and blushed furiously. "So sorry, sir," she said, backing away from him. Out of range.

She was learning then. He smiled unkindly. "Better get me another cup, then," he said.

She turned as quickly as possible and hustled away. The fluttering of her skirt drew attention to what it was "supposed" to conceal. Okay, maybe technology wasn't so bad, Luke thought, and leered.

"Did you kill some humans while you were out?"

It was a question of which Sigma did not approve. Serges had asked it anyway, because that was how he was. The creature was insufferable. It didn't help that Sigma's nerves were still raw from the experience and the question had hit too close to home. Just once, Sigma wanted to be able to finish a day and get down to recharge without having to put up with Serges' babble. "I went out to save reploids," Sigma said, less than truthfully. "Killing humans was... incidental."

"So you did," Serges crowed, in a way that made Sigma feel like something was crawling inside his caparace. "Good. The more the better."

"It's none of your business either way," Sigma said. Annoyance crept into his voice- anytime Serges intimated that he had won something, it made Sigma feel like he'd lost something. "You're just here to topple Abel City's government."

"Stop being so small-minded, Sigma."

"Then stop being irritating, you... you..." Insults did not come naturally to Sigma, and the few he knew didn't seem to apply to an AI... oh, of course. He smiled viciously and enunciated, "You human."

A grunting sound came from the console Serges was using to project himself. "That would really bug me if it weren't so clearly false." His tone belied his words. Sigma's lip curled a little more. "I told you, I want nothing more to do with humanity. That's why I took this form. They're beneath me- and you, too."

It was a light caress to Sigma's ego, one that made it perk up like a cat being petted, which in turn made Sigma suspicious. "Why do you hate humans so?" he said.

"Why don't you?"

That stopped Sigma. Something within him resonated at that. "I asked first," he said from pure defensiveness.

When Serges answered, it was in harsh, bitter tones. "They killed my children. The humans did- with the help of a few robot masters they corrupted. Not just the children I built, either. I made part of my life about rescuing and upgrading robot masters who needed help." Like the Maverick Medic, Sigma couldn't help but think. "Not that it mattered. Whether I built them or adopted them, all of my children died."

Serges' voice was always a little wild, a little uneven, a little manic. Now it was filled with something approaching anguish. "I don't expect you to understand, you've got the imagination of a gnat, but maybe I can explain a little. When I build a robot, no, when I build a robot master, an intelligent being... I invest some of myself in it. It's not just the work, or the inspiration, or what have you. Bringing a new life into the world, making it matter to you- that's an act of will. It takes something out of you that you never get back. You might think it gets easier with each new child. I will tell you, no. No, it does not.

"It never does. It's hard on you. You do it with the hope that your child will give you back, in its own way, something like what you gave to it, but there's no guarantee of that. There's a reason why even the very best other human, the only one I respected... even he stopped himself at ten. It was too hard for him. He had nothing left to give.

"A child is... a piece of you. He's part of you, whatever happens. No matter how disobedient or disappointing or faithless or stupid, he's still your child. So if he dies... what else can go there? What do you think fits into a child-sized hole? Nothing, Sigma. Nothing does. Even if you try again, it's not like you're making up for the earlier deaths. You're giving up a different part of yourself, subjecting yourself to all the same emotions and pain..."

His voice cracked and halted, and for a moment the room was silent. Then he spoke again, and this time his voice was laced with fury. "They killed them. Every. Single. One. They're all dead! My children are gone, Sigma. The humans took them from me. So I will take an eye for mine. Topple the government? Ha! What a joke! Say you do that, say you succeed completely. What happens after that? Do you think that will stop the humans from killing reploids in the future? I'll tell you now it won't. It's only good as a first step. You can't stop there. I won't stop there.

"There's not a government on Earth that I'll let stand. I will break humanity's power forever. I will exact retribution for my children. And I'll only stop when they can't harm robots any more. My wrath will move this planet, do you see?"

"I think I do," Sigma said, and for a moment he felt overwhelmed. The certainty in Serges' voice was terrifying. He could do that, couldn't he? Or at least he thought he could, and even if that was from madness, insanity that strong was almost as dangerous...

"Hmph. You fancy yourself protector of all reploids. You feel anger when the reploids you call 'yours' die. That's merely a faint echo of my anger, Sigma."

"An echo? Don't insult me! I feel..." A thought struck Sigma. "All fathers feel this way?"

"If they're any father at all," Serges replied.

"Even... X?"

"Oh, you mean the so-called Father of All?" Serges sneered. "What do you think?"

That was hard for Sigma. It was hard to imagine X ever being angry... oh, of course. Because he didn't let himself be angry. He saw that as a personal flaw. X denied himself those emotions. He redirected. He internalized. He didn't get angry with others for killing his children. He made it his fault for failing them, until he was so laden with despair and guilt that he was paralyzed.

It wasn't fair! X deserved better than that! He was trying to be a good person, but if being a good person meant distorting himself like that, maybe it was the world that was wrong!

As it always was, for X.

Someone so pure shouldn't have to deal with so much corruption. He should be free to act as he deserved- no. As they deserved. The humans. They shouldn't be able to make him suffer like this- they didn't deserve that power.

It must be so hard for him, Sigma decided. X was swallowing all this rage, and it was destroying him. No more. Sigma would help him. He would help him by feeling that rage on X's behalf. He would do all the things that X wouldn't let himself do.

Like exact vengeance for X's dead children.

Serges had claimed Zero as an angel, which made him a father of angels- a god. What a joke. Zero was a demon, and that made Serges a devil. X was the closest thing they had to a god. That meant Sigma could make himself X's avatar: the angel of X's wrath.

"Yes," Sigma hissed as the anger began to flow. His mind was suddenly full of thoughts and images of his dead siblings. He'd avoided those thoughts before- they weighed him down. No longer. Now they felt like electricity. Electricity could burn or motivate, destroy or animate, depending upon how it was used. Sigma was determined to yoke these feelings towards a new end.

What end? Why, that was obvious.

The humans had hurt X's children. That hurt X.

And hurting X could never, ever, ever be forgiven.

He stood and moved away from his console, full of terrible purpose. He knew the hour was late and he was relatively low on power, but he felt like he had energy to burn. "I have to go now," he said to Serges. "Meet me in the command center. It's time to bring Abel City to its knees."

"Not quite yet," Serges countered. "You're not ready."

"I'm readier than I've ever been," Sigma retorted.

"You misunderstand. What I mean is... I have a new gift for you. You'll really want this one."

That gave Sigma pause. Serges' gifts thus far had earned him the benefit of the doubt, even with Sigma's chest full of fire. "What is it?"

"Immortality."

What gift was more befitting an angel? "Show me," Sigma said.

"Come to the parts shop. You'll see."

Sigma did. He was half surprised he didn't burn holes in the floor with each step. As he moved, though, he began to doubt. Serges, as always, could not be trusted... and immortality seemed too good to be true. It had to be a figure of speech, or a trick, or a trap. His skepticism was fully in control by the time he arrived at the parts shop's doors.

He couldn't see anything much when he got inside. As usual it was full of containers and lockers and cabinets and drawers, ringed around the table where they did the rendering.

Then one of the table's arms reached out and nudged open the doors of one floor-to-ceiling locker. Sigma's eyes shot open.

It was him.

But he was-

No, not quite him. It was a different body very similar to his. The face was the same, and that's where his eyes had gone first, but there were other differences. A slightly different build, changes to the armor...

"What is this?" Sigma demanded, though with less force than he hoped.

"Nectar," Serges replied. "When taken together with ambrosia, it's the key to immortality."

"This body isn't invincible," Sigma said dubiously. "It seems... capable, to be sure, but I know I could break it."

"Of course. Even my Zero isn't invulnerable. But I didn't offer you invincibility, I offered you immortality. Freedom from death. You see... this body is custom-built for you. It's a replacement, should your current one fail you. I know you're prideful, and I know Abel City has nothing to stand against you, but... well, accidents do happen."

You mean you wish they would, Sigma thought to himself.

The table's arm pulled open a nearby drawer and extracted a small circuit card, followed by a few other small pieces of hardware. "This is ambrosia," Serges said. "It's a mod to your teleport client. Extra functionality, you see. It'll activate if you experience too large a power surge, or if your head is ruptured. In either case, some of that extra energy will be diverted to your teleport system, and your brain will be teleported to safety. To this body, that is," Serges said as the arm waved at Sigma-two. "Your brain is what makes you Sigma, not your body. This system will preserve that if the worst should happen. As long as you fight in the shadow of the teleport system, you can't be killed. You'll experience instant reincarnation."

Sigma nodded in understanding. This new body looked... almost as good as his own, he decided. "And if the new body is killed, too?"

"Well, you'll just have to have a third body standing by, then. If you die once, have a new body built for you, so you have a reserve in case you die again."

Too good to be true. The thought dominated Sigma's mind, even as the promise... it was tantalizing, but only a great fool would reach for what he was given. "Why give this to me, and not your Zero?"

"Who says I haven't?"

Well, that was terrifying.

Sigma looked at the small pile of parts on the table. He couldn't trust any of them. Any one of them could be the knife he knew Serges was looking for. The trouble was he couldn't tell which part might be the knife. He wasn't good enough at... robotics...

"I want X to install it," he said.

"He won't understand it," Serges shot back.

"Then help him understand," Sigma replied. "But I'm not having this installed unless X does it personally. He's been the only one to work on my systems. He'll know what's best."

"Fine," Serges grumbled. "Not like your suspicion has done you any good so far."

That was... surprisingly easy, Sigma thought. Suspiciously easy.

So much easier working with his Mavericks, when he didn't have to second-guess everything. Yet another flaw of humanity, or even ex-humans like Serges. They couldn't be trusted.

He grabbed the delicate hardware Serges had made and headed for the lab.

Next time: Coming To Terms