Blame the plot bunnies on Rockman ZX, folks!
...No, seriously, I've got a whole heard of them sitting under my bed, looking at me expectantly as I type this out. Doesn't help I have the Rockman ZX Theme song blaring out of my speakers, either.
Moving on! -- For those who are new to the program, welcome. For old hands, welcome back. It's high past time to rewrite this sucker into something manageable and close off those blasted plot holes!
Furthermore: Erk. Sticky, sticky thing, these crossovers. One minute, you've got them. The next, and they're off in hiding because they're just so weird at some points not even my brain can wrap around it all... And I'm the one who came up with them! (Consider this a catch-all disclaimer for delays in both this and Sennen Yami... which is still under debate as I've only got three reviews on the poor thing...)
Alright. Now here's the story.
Shooting Stars and Reploid Arms
Remixed Chapter One
Klaxons whined in time with signals flashing blood red in otherwise pitch-black darkness. Bolts of plasma ricocheted off titanium walls, leaving behind scorch marks and dents at least three inches deep. What looked like some kind of liquid stained what had once been an immaculate white floor a strange tinge of crimson black.
Three pairs of booted feet dashed through those stained halls, kicking up whatever it was which coated the floors in their haste. They traveled in a single line, their movements in near perfect sync. Even as they dipped into a side tunnel of pure darkness, they still remained together.
After all, it was hard to get lost if the lead unit's hair was long enough to continually whack the rear two units in the face.
"We're almost to Dr. Cain's old lab," the centermost unit of the tiny group spoke, his voice just loud enough to carry to his comrades.
The rear guard spoke with a strange teasing whine, "But I wanted to see if Siggy's back!"
"We'll find out after we've met up with Signas and the others," the centermost countered bluntly.
"Che - yeah right, kid," their point man laughed.
"Well how do you know Sigma's not back?"
A vaguely humanoid shape towering nearly seven feet high lunged at their lead through the darkness, screaming, "I've found you, Hunters!"
Only to meet its end with casual swing of a plasma sword reducing it to ribbons.
"That, answer your question?"
"Yep."
It was only when the trio stood before an aged, rusted door that they stopped again. The whining klaxon had at last stopped berating their eardrums, its flashing red counterpart making way for normal hallway illumination.
"Took them long enough to cut the alarm," the rear guard huffed. The supposed leader of the trio exchanged a look with their centermost unit.
"Bad feeling?" the latter questioned their former point-man.
"Very," the trio's leader answered. "You may want to speed this up a little."
"There they are!"
"Crap, X, hurry it up!"
"Get them!"
"Move!"
"Zero!"
"Die, Hunters! Die!"
Movement flickered as though the giant movie reel of reality were slowing down, reaching its last few breathtaking scenes. Slowly, movement stilled 'til it was nothing more than a photographic still.
And the world was awash in a mushroom cloud of pure white light.
Earth; SGC Infirmary
Colonel Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill, former retired Air Force veteran and Black Ops specialist with a talent for finding a hundred and one uses for C-4, was not having a very good day. Three hours ago, SG-1 had been on a basic diplomatic mission to a normally peaceful people's little village in an effort to see whether or not their planet needed to be added to the Asguard's Protected Planets treaty. Two hours of negotiations had passed with the younger, less experienced - though apparently more respected - SG-6 linguist slash negotiator appearing to make headway.
Keyword here being "apparently".
The results of a sudden skirmish thirty minutes ago now left him lying on his favorite cot in the SGC infirmary.
"Alright." A latex glove slapped against previously exposed flesh, all five foot three of his CMO seeming to tower above him. "What happened this time?"
"It was the Fruit Loops' fault. Honest, doc."
Given the glare he was receiving, he highly doubted his own personal vampire believed him.
"...But it was!"
"Stow it, Colonel," Chef Medical Officer Dr. Janet Frasier countered her military superior with a voice as cold as steel.
If one wanted to compare worst days ever, it would become instantly apparent that Dr. Fraiser was by far having a Seriously Bad Day. While it may be true that Colonel Jack O'Neill's day included being shot at by alien humans whose most advanced weapon was a crossbow and flaming arrows, it did not contain something infinitely worse.
Paperwork. Mix in a large amount of what basically boiled down to babysitting Marines who thought Fireballs were the cure to all ills, toss in a few meetings with Pentagon higher-ups asking why she was putting in requests for better assistance than what she had now, and add in the fact she was running on less than two hours of sleep and cramming all of the above within a twelve hour timeframe.
In total, it equaled up to Dr. Fraiser being one stupid comment away from snapping.
"Well, how was I supposed to know calling the head honcho's wife-lady cute would count as flirting?"
Janet felt her face flush in rage. The proverbial straw hit the camel's back, and her resolve broke.
Without warning, Dr. Fraiser "extracted" -- read: ripped clear out, miraculously avoiding further damage than was necessary -- the arrow from Colonel O'Neill's calf. Her reward was a yell of pain hitting a decibel which nearly broke glass.
"Dr. Jackson, I have a specimen for you," Janet stated without even bothering to look in the incoming archeologist's direction.
"Ah, that's... great, Janet, but..." And here Dr. Jackson wisely chose to shut up. One look at Janet's utterly exhausted complexion coupled with several mutterings that sounded something along the lines of "But it really was the Fruit Loops..." emanating from Jack's cot, and he had all the information he needed to know.
"Morphine." Janet's deadpan voice knocked him back to reality by way of explanation.
"So I figured." Dr. Jackson barely fought down the urge to smirk. "I take it he told you how he managed to get us in hot water this time?"
"Unfortunately." Dr. Fraiser released a long, depressing sigh. "If this keeps up much longer, Daniel, I'm the one who's going to need to be locked up in a nice, quiet, padded cell."
Daniel chose to remain silent, taking both the cleaned arrow and his leave without comment. Mentally, he made a note to bring up the lack of competent help with General Hammond first thing at their debriefing. Janet was not joking about slowly cracking under the pressure.
And he would be lying if he didn't admit how much that scared him.
A Field in the Middle of No and Where
Things could be summed up simply with one single little word: Ow.
Everything hurt, including his hair. Reports were flooding in as his systems took stock of damage. Soft neon words flickered into what should have been near night-dark vision, displaying three different lists. A gentle mental nudge on his part cut the three lists by two, leaving only one list outlined with urgent red neon.
Critical Damage was the list's title. Underneath were three separate lists, one outlined in gold, one outlined in blue, and the final outlined in pastel red. A modicum of concentration was spared to the shortest gold outlined sub-list, just enough to tag auto repair into motion, before it too was dismissed.
He released one long sigh of relief into the air. X and Zero had nothing their auto repairs and a few long days of rest would not be able to fix.
A kind of tickle in the back of his mind, coupled with a groan laced with enough curses to turn most mothers' pink with mortification, alerted Axl to Zero's returning consciousness.
"Bloody mother f-" the word trailed off under his strained breath. There was a momentary pause followed by a dull thwack as Zero's strength gave out from under him. "Damn!"
"That you, Zero?" Axl questioned without need.
Noise ceased. "Kid?" Zero's voice was tentative, a mix of concern echoing with caution.
"Yeah." Axl wiggled his foot experimentally, the toe of his boot clunking against familiar hardness. "And I'm pretty sure that's X's head down by my foot."
A hand grabbed his ankle. "Then stop kicking me."
Axl felt himself laughing even as prickles of relief and annoyance poked the background of his mind from their two unique sources. Just because his last name was Light did not mean X was a morning person. Truth be told, the only one who could get near him without running risk of losing life or limb before midmorning was Alia.
As if Hunter HQ needed yet another piece of proof X had a crush on the blond Spotter.
"Ugh." Metal scraping against dirt could be heard as Zero pulled himself closer to Axl and X. "Anybody get the number off that eighteen-hover?"
"Yeah," Axl quipped. "Cain."
"Was not," X defended his past father figure as he too struggled to get up.
"Was to," Axl countered, sitting up with Zero's help.
"Was not." X was halfway sitting up as well, leaning his head against a reluctant worse-for-wear red Hunter's shoulder.
"Was to, and you know it. He built the portable teleport unit."
The general buzz of consciousness Axl had come to expect whenever he was close enough to make physical contact with the elder Hunters jolted to an unnaturally abrupt halt. Blinking, the younger lifted his head enough to see X and Zero looking at him, their expressions of shock made all the more obvious by their semi-disheveled appearance.
"Axl. How did you know Dr. Cain had been working on a portable teleport unit?"
Oh. Crap. It was that tone of voice. The tone of voice Zero only used when there was a serious problem on the floor and no amount of jokes or delay tactics would be able to cover it up. A tone of voice normally reserved for deadly meetings in Signas' office, normally with the High-Commander himself in attendance.
X was, perhaps, a little too silent. It almost looked -- no, almost felt, as though X believed his trust had been betrayed in a way. That Axl had used his recently gained status to look into things X had trusted the boy not to look into.
"I didn't hack anything, I swear!"
Zero's voice was still placating, "No one said you did, Axl."
"You don't have to say it to think it," he quipped halfheartedly.
(I really, really didn't want to talk about this now but... If I don't, X's gonna hate me. Again.)
"I never hated you, Axl."
"What do you mean, again?"
Two voices, each one as confused as the other, spoke in near perfect unison.
X and Zero exchanged a look with one another. Axl's palm slapped against his face.
(Oh, man... Why'd I have to go and blow it now?) The child Hunter moaned within his mind while sighing aloud.
"Yes," Axl lifted his hand just enough to make eye contact with Zero, "you are hearing my thoughts in your head. I can hear yours too, Zero, and no, X, it's not because your internal radios are on. Which they're not. No matter how much I wish they were, they're not."
This was becoming one of those rare times when Zero's jaw managed to wiggle itself just loose enough to hang unchecked in disbelief. Whether or not that was worse than X simply staring at him, both physical and emotional expression unreadable, Axl wasn't quite sure.
"...This... is going kinda be a... sorta long... explanation..."
'Why?' Axl silently implored the universe. 'Why couldn't the earth just open up and swallow you when you wanted it to?'
2 Weeks Later
"One order of slap-jacks, hold the pig!"
Blond hair cascaded behind well-toned shoulders, the owner of said hair ignoring the constant ringing of the chef on duty. Blue eyes, closed for a moment in exasperation, turned back to glare at the spiky orange haired chef assistant.
"You're just getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" blonde growled. The orange-haired boy smiled innocently.
"Hey, it'll be your turn next time."
The long-haired blond just growled. He straightened his typical restaurant work clothing, taking the plate of food with more force than was necessary. With a grace normally reserved for taking people apart, he turned, heading towards the bustle of the diner. He passed his short, brown-haired, green-eyed companion on his way towards his waiting customer.
"X," he growled.
"I know, Zero." X sighed, punching another order into the register. "If it helps, I'm starting to want to kill him, too."
Zero smiled slightly to himself. "Here's your flap-jacks, pal. Anything else I can get yah?"
The large bald man smiled up at him, his slight girth adding to his gentle warmth. He was wearing a black jacket over his blue Air Force uniform and, from the looks of it, seemed to be wearing a General's rank.
"Just some syrup, son." He smiled. Zero nodded, walking back towards the bane of his existence - more commonly known as Axl's kitchen.
"Yo, spike-pit for brains!" Zero sang back into the kitchen.
"You summoned, oh blond lord of lack-luster fashion?" Axl shot back, his face appearing in the pickup window.
"We have any maple syrup back there?" Zero demanded.
"What? Did you run out of gel?"
"Are you mad, boy! Me? Use gel on my hair!" He grabbed the offered amber-colored semi-liquid in one fast swipe. "Unlike you, child, I know how to handle my hair, and gel is a definite no-no."
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean!" Axl shouted after him.
X sighed from his spot at the cash register. The last two weeks had been a blur.
First there had been Axl's confession of sorts. Then, once he had returned to the scene of confused chaos that particular bombshell had dropped on them, he dropped two more bombshells. His first bombshell had involved the fact that they were still on earth but not in the year 21XX. His second was that his favorite radio station had been playing a celli quartet instead of its normal rock and roll.
At which point X had been forced to restrain Zero in an effort to stop him from strangling the poor boy.
Then there had been moving from job to job, always moving farther and farther away from their landing zone. He realized it would make it harder for them to be tracked, but it was a necessary evil. They had to get some form of cash. The Class-S Hunters' wanderings had finally landed them near the base of NORAD and, for the moment, a stable source of income.
Zero had come up with their identification. He hadn't really said how he'd gotten them legal IDs, or social security numbers, or checking accounts, or any of the like. Nor had the Bloody Hunter said what, exactly, he had put into their backgrounds. Whatever it had been, it was good enough to get them several odd-end jobs here, there, and now in Colorado. He did recall, however, something about Axl's high school record involving a lot of prank-earned detentions...
The more X thought about it, the less he really wanted to know.
Trouble came walking in. The Blue Bomber eyed their new patrons carefully.
Shiny bald head, beady brown almost black eyes, tight poorly fitting bad-all-around black leather, more than one of the same kind of person... Yep. Somebody had recently loosed a pack of organic Sigma clones. And, from the looks of it, they were not happy.
Just to prove his point, the leader pulled a six-shot revolver. X looked down at it, barely even blinked, before looking back up at the leader of the six person biker gang. The larger man smirked, echoing the clicks of at least twelve more guns, all of differing calibers, armed and locking in on X's brown haired head.
"Cash," he growled. X was very glad he could turn off his olfactory sensors whenever he wished, because the man's breath was...well... nasty beyond words.
"There's an ATM around the corner," X answered. He caught Axl slipping out of the kitchen, taking up a position between the bikers and the remainder of the innocent patrons. Zero was still bustling around, keeping the patrons from panicking by filing their orders in record time.
"Sorry, but we lost our ATM cards." The first biker snickered.
"Then I highly suggest you contact your bank." X placed the restaurant's cordless phone on the counter. "Here's a phone, in case you've lost yours."
The trigger clicked back, locking the hammer in place. "You're gonna be our bank. All the money in the register, now!"
And before anyone had a chance to blink, X had hopped the counter and disarmed the first of many organic Sigma wannabes through the use of an uppercut and a shove back outside through the main entrance, leaving Axl and Zero to quickly disarm the remainder. Realizing he was not about to get back in with X standing between him and the diner doorway, the leader grabbed a spare gun from his black motorcycle and took aim. X moved fast, disarming him again by flipping him over the side of his bike. Once the bike gang boss was stomach down, the Blue Bomber proceeded to give the man something his mother had apparently forgotten to give him when he was younger.
General George Hammond stared, wide eyed, as the man whom he was about to write off as another lost cause for an assistant to Janet began to give the gun wielding intruder a spanking. He slowly put his coffee down, flagging his blond waiter.
"Check please."
"Be a minute!" the blond waiter snapped back. Hammond leaned out of the booth he was in slightly, looking at why his waiter, who had seemed like such an even-tempered man, was suddenly yelling at him.
Low and behold, he was helping the young orange-haired chef tie down the remaining six or seven members of the intrusive biker gang. All of whom were several times larger than the two boys put together.
The blond haired man stood up, patting his hands together so as to get the dust off. He turned back to face Hammond, his eyes twinkling slightly in hidden pride.
"Go ahead, Z. X should be about done with the first loser. He can help me carry this trash down to the station." The spiky orange haired boy smiled, his green eyes also lit with the sparkle of victory.
"Z" walked over to Hammond, withdrawing his notepad and pen. "Sorry about that, sir. How can I help you?"
Hammond played with his coffee cup for a moment, looking up at his young waiter slyly. "How would you and your two associates be interested in an extreme job advancement?"