MEGA MAN X: THE SOUND OF MAVERICKS
By Erico Lawson
CHAPTER FOUR: PAST AND FUTURE CLOUDY DAYS
"Watchit, commander!" Storm Eagle yelped. The purple green hawkish reploid in front of him blasted into the sky at the call, nearly avoiding a blast of gunfire. The depleted slugs buried into the ground, kicking up dirt as their devastating power fizzled into nothing.
Storm followed his leader, Bolt Eagle as closely as he could. They were both members of the British Royal Air Defense, the 324th Battalion, also known as the 'reploid division' in the military. Both had been cast from the same mold, the same model. But their attitudes and colorations were completely different, and Bolt had a small tuft of gray hair he kept tucked behind his head.
"Storm, that's another time you've saved me bacon from the ever lovin' beyond!" Bolt cawed in his thick Gaelic accent. "Ah tell ye lad, it's great to be flying high ageen!" Storm tucked his head down and expanded his wings, going faster and higher.
Below them was chaos. It was the final struggle between the Radical Separatists of the IRA and the English Military, and it didn't look to end soon. While Ireland had claimed its independence shortly after 20XX, a radical wing had broken off, claiming to be moving on to exact the toll in lives that had been shed for so long.
And by some miracle, the small cluster of humans had somehow managed to crack into one of the R&D bases along the Western coast of England, finding hordes of new weapons in the armory labs. Hovertanks with weapons bristling at every pore, new energy reflective shielding technology and pestersome drone fighter/bombers had all been activated at their command.
The loss of life had been severe, and there had been a call like no other.
The reploid forces of Britannia's glory had been ordered to fight, stop and destroy the humans within. It was a call of lunacy, a call which should have never been made.
But it had just the same. And for all of Britain's promises of non-retaliation upon success, Storm felt uneasy about the whole thing.
He punched his commbadge, growling into the mike.
"Hazil, status report!" Far below, hidden behind a chunk of burning rubble a reploid on an odd wheel base worked feverishly to save the life of a human troop bleeding from his arm. He lifted his head to the call and angrily activated the two-way transceiver.
"Storm, if you ain't dying on me, I'm kinda busy!" Storm shook his head from high above, peering down to try and find the medical reploid specialist. His hawkish optics finally homed in with precision clarity and found the medic on wheels-and more than that, a tank fast approaching the hidden cluster on the east. Storm swore.
"Hazil, there's a tank coming your way! You've been spotted!" Hazil had kept the link open.
"Listen, I'm not moving this patient until he's stabilized. Storm, just blast the thing to shreds like you usually do!" Storm groaned and whistled to Bolt.
"Bolt, we gotta help Hazil! He's about to get run over down there by that ta-" Storm didn't even have time to finish his sentence, being shut off by the sound of an explosion beneath him. Storm turned back in befuddlement, and found Bolt Eagle casually deactivating his Buster.
"Just helping out a wee needy comrade, which is what Hazil has always done." Just then, Bolt's comm bleeped. Bolt slammed the chest speak button. "All right ye maggots, what kin ye tell me?" His Gaelic got even worse with his leisurely mood, Storm noted with a smile. The response was less than cheery.
"Commander, we've got a new report; the IRA Radicals have obtained an experimental Antigravitational Juggernaut." Bolt cursed.
"And did the bahstards who told ye this say exactly what kind of mass destruction this smashing bugger's capable of?"
"They did. And you're not gonna like this; Armored hull assembly, twin chainguns, missile launchers, and rotating plasma cannon." Bolt swore again. He looked over to Storm, asking one final question to his comm's relay officer.
"All right. Where exactly is this thing?"
"COMMANDER, BEHIND YOU!" Storm squawked violently. Bolt's eyes flew wide, and then the two of them blasted away from their position. They had barely cleared ten feet when a concussion missile exploded right in the airspace they had inhabited beforehand. Storm and Bolt turned, wings expanded and Busters ready and charging.
And there it was; The Juggernaut. The thing looked like one of the infamous Doctor Wily's inventions at first, but this craft was built by and inhabited by humans. Bolt's eyes flashed blue fire at the sight, and he fired off a shot. The green tinted plasma burst sizzled through the air, only to be shot down by an equal powered shot from the underbelly rotating cannon. The thing was a semisphere, more like an elliptical ovum. It was obvious from the design that its smooth lines were meant to try and deflect attacks. But hidden in the sides were the exit ports on the launchers and the gunports as well. The only highly visible target was the rotating turn cannon underneath the assembly. Storm's eyes homed in on it, scanning it with his low power optics. Finally he nodded and flew in.
"Give me some cover fire, Commander! I think I've found a way to ground this false bird!" Bolt gave a huge squawk in reply, and began to fire at the craft for all his Buster's worth. Storm ducked underneath the smoke trails of the missiles, keeping underneath the gun's line of fire. That left the plasma cannon for him to worry about, and it was the biggest worry to him at the moment. Most likely it was capable of rapid-fire, or worse, multishot capabilities.
The thing fired off, and Storm gaped at his optics, not wanting to believe it. High powered plasma, visible only to Infared sensors shot from eight different portals on the cannon. Then a small beacon popped out from the center of the cylinder, to which Storm couldn't guess at.
But then the plasma acted like he'd never seen it do before. The craft seemed to be CONTROLLING the plasma bursts, making them fly about the air like fireflies. And then, they flew at him. Storm cawed loudly in anguish, ducking and weaving his way through the storm as best he could manage. Six he avoided, but one slapped him in the arm, and another hit him in the small of his back.
"Blast you!" Storm cried out. Gritting his beak to ignore the pain, he beat his wings in a mad dash to reach the autocannon before it could fire another deadly storm. He could detect the heat plume from it-not much time left. "Forget this!" Storm yelled, raising his Buster and firing shot after shot.
The Autocannon absorbed hit after hit, the metal growing hotter and hotter, overloading the delicate circuit controls within the weapon. But Storm didn't stop, he kept firing.
And at last, the plasma within the device tried to fire. But the controls had been blasted by Storm's attack; and it backblasted. The explosion shook the entire craft, and Storm's eyes picked up a quiver in the metal's covering, small but distinguishable.
There had been a shield protecting the entire craft, most likely possible because of its shape. Storm gave a small nod of satisfaction before realizing without their bubble of protection, the occupants would be much more frantic in the fight. He threw himself away from the craft shortly before the disk turned downwards and sprayed the air with gunfire.
"Commander! I deactivated a shield on the prototype! It will be vulnerable to our weapons fire now!" Storm's cry was a welcome one to Bolt, who gave a nod.
"I noticed it when me shots started to burn through. Good work, lad! Now we'd better finish the job!" Bolt's eyes grew cloudy as he kept an eye on the gunports. "Storm, spread as much fire as possible on that blasted heathen's gunports. Maybe we'll get lucky and knock it out of commission!" Bolt took off in a wide arc, maintaining a wide loop around the outside of the craft. Storm followed in the opposite direction, to keep two constantly varying targets to confuse the gunners. Their similar build would also add to the confusion of the gunners inside the craft.
The pattern worked wonderfully, both hawkish reploids spraying the craft with fire patterns of perfection. The ship tried furiously to score a hit, but the missiles were easy for the skilled flyers to avoid, and the gunfire storms were rarely a serious threat once Bolt blasted one gunport shut with melted metal.
At last, Storm held back his charge, holding it until it grew strong. And then he let it fly.
This time, the hit did more than knock out weaponry; it did a number on the ship itself. The brunt of the charge burned through the charred metallic hull, and the last parts hit crucial circuitry. A puff of smoke rose into the air, and Storm gave a smile of satisfaction.
"We did it, Commander!" Bolt nodded.
"Aye. The wee ship's falling like a brick in the Loch!" And true enough, it was. The hovercraft flailed furiously, whining in pain as it flat-spinned into the ground. It shuddered loudly for one loud moment, and then was silent.
Bolt and Storm landed on the ground, and they shut their Busters off. Like Bolt had said often enough-"No sense in keeping the wee things running when we're facing humans!"
The hatch on the craft opened, and three grimy human males climbed out. They glared angrily at the twin birds, and then even more fiercely at the approaching Hazil, who carried another surviving IRA member on a hovergurney. Hazil gave them a begrudging nod.
"Face it, buds. You may not like the hand that's been dealt to you, but there's little to be said otherwise. Now come out of there with your hands up." Storm's words came strong, and one human finally emerged all the way from the craft.
"Reploids are an abomination, every single one of you. If Malloy was still conscious-" The man motioned to his comrade by Hazil and spat angrily. "He'd be ashamed to be saved by one." Hazil frowned, rolling forth.
"Hey, now just a minute here, bub. Storm and Bolt here were told to stop you, and if they had wanted to kill you, they would have done it by now." The man's eyes flew wide.
"But that goes against the First Rule of Robotics!" Storm guffawed.
"ENN. News flash, Mr. Bad Person who was shooting at us. We're REPLOIDS. We can make our own choices like humans can. The British Military told us to do whatever needed to be done to stop you hoodlums. Lucky for you we're CIVILIZED-unlike some humans." The man glowered even brighter. But then a noise from the craft brought all their attentions to bear.
It was whining. Whining louder and louder, because it hadn't been shut down, the craft screamed its rage. And Bolt knew what was going to happen.
"Oh, no-LADS, MOVE IT NOW!" Storm and Hazil reacted instantly, backing away with lightning speed. But the humans who had emerged were stunned and surprised, and Bolt screamed at them. "I SAID MOVE IT!" But the humans didn't even comprehend that. And at last Bolt threw himself at them, picking them all up with his mighty talons and hurling them towards Hazil and his troop.
That was the last act Bolt Eagle ever performed in Service of 'God And Country' as was custom. The prototype craft had given its all, and taken damage beyond repair. It blew apart in an explosion of shrapnel and atomic fire.
When the light had died down, Storm screamed in dismay.
"COMMANDER!" Hazil rushed towards ground zero with as much speed as his wheels would give him, being gashed in the cheek by a stray burst of metal. Storm stopped himself as hard as it was, and stayed with the humans.
Hazil finally arrived, and saw the carnage of war again. His eyes darkened and he went to work.
Bolt Eagle's majestic form was broken and torn. His wings had huge gaping holes, his armor was charred, and he had puncture wounds all over him. Worse than that was the condition of his head-
It was half gone. Bolt looked up at Hazil with an unresponsive eye. Hazil blinked in dismay.
"Oh, God no. Bolt, why did you have to be a hero?" Hazil went to work, whipping out his diagnostic scanner and trying to seal the wounds that leaked Bolt's lifeblood. Bolt's beak opened slowly, mechanically. The fluidity of his movements had vanished as his body desperately tried to repair the extensive damage. But he talked in a cracked, hoarse voice filled with pain.
"Hu-mans, say-fe?" Hazil nodded.
"You threw 'em clear of the blast. But you're a wreck, Bolt! Just hang on, I'm trying my Damndest to put you together again."
"Hump-ty dumpt-ey? Ha-zil, I am not-"
"No, don't you say that, Bolt!" Hazil snapped. Fluid clouded his optics as he continued to work on the limp torn figure, but Bolt blinked as a signal.
"You and St-Storm: He-help out the world." Hazil shook his head, glad that Bolt was fighting to hold onto his spark of consciousness.
"We are, Bolt. We keep the world safe in the Military!" Bolt's head tried to lift, but then slammed into the ground again.
"N-NO! Whole World-not just Br-Britain. The Hunters, Ha-zil." Hazil frowned.
"The Maverick Hunters? Bolt, we could never leave you! You're our commander!" Bolt coughed softly, and Hazil's scanner bleeped anxiously. Hazil looked at the grim results.
"Oh, no. Oh no nononono-Bolt, STAY WITH ME!" Bolt shook his head.
"Ha-zil. Keep me lad Storm s-saaafffeee!" Bolt's final words faded into nothingness, and then his last sensor died with a small whine. Hazil still couldn't believe his scanner, and he threw it aside, pounding on Bolt's chest.
"NO! BOLT, DON'T DIE ON ME! DON'T DIE!" Hazil continued to scream, pounding CPR on the reploid Commander with all his might. His screams flew around the dead battlefield, doing little to improve the mood. Bolt Eagle was dead forever, his body shattered and his Control Chip fried beyond all repair.
Far away, Storm felt his own loss, and the humans shook their heads in awe. But no person felt worse than Hazil.
Hazil had been unable to save a life.
He couldn't heal the wounds.
Death.
Murder.
MURDERER!!
Back in MHHQ's Medical Bay, Hazil screamed himself out of stasis. Gasping in shock, he took stock of his surroundings. The lights were off, save for the soothing blue lights which were always on. He wiped back his gray hair, and nodded his sweaty head.
"Just a memory." A memory which had taken place many years ago, before he even joined the Maverick Hunters as their Doctor. After that incident, he'd never been the same. His hair turned gray, he became constantly grouchy.
"All because I still feel guilty about not saving Bolt's life." Hazil growled. New tears came to his eyes on the same wounds. "Why, damnit? Why?!" Hazil slammed his hand on the table next to him and the lights flickered on. "Bolt, was your life worth theirs?" Hazil turned the lights off again and shook his head, reactivating his sleep mode.
But the question still lingered as his mind quieted down;
How much was a reploid's life worth?
"Rise and shine, all! Time to get up bright and early!" Came the call. Wycost silently shook himself out of stasis, taking in a deep breath before flipping his shades back down.
He, along with all the others who had ridden the hover-transport, were in one of URFAWP's training facilities. This one was based in the wilds of Siberia, and Wycost had found the biting cold of solitude to his liking.
Groans, curses and threats arose from everyone else, but Wycost watched the rest of his Bunker buddies get up with a sly smile. As Wycost had been a Hunter(A DAMN good Hunter to boot) he'd always followed a strict code. One of which was getting awake fast, and with no gripes.
"Fools." Wycost muttered silently. The figure next to him stirred, rising from his own sleep chamber with a bleary, but grouchless swift motion. Isaiah blinked his eyes and nodded to Wycost.
"My, aren't we up early?" Wycost shrugged. Isaiah sighed, having had several days to get accustomed to Wycost. And Isaiah could pin that Wycost was, if anything, in a semi-good mood this morning. Isaiah shook his head, trying to jar the last vestiges of unconsciousness from it.
"What's the time, Wycost?" Wycost grunted in response.
"Oh-Five Hundred." Isaiah frowned, and Wycost gave a quick smile and a nod. "Sorry. Translation; Five in the Morning." Isaiah nodded, slapping Wycost on the back. Wycost took it in stride, but still cringed somewhat when he was touched. Less now, than when he and Isaiah had first met, though.
"That's my boy, Wycost. Soon we'll have you De-Militarized completely." Wycost shook his head.
"I think that some strict order helps to maintain efficiency. If they all hadn't been partying to the crack of Midnight, they might be more cheery about now." Isaiah sighed.
"You say Potato, I say Po-tah-to. It's a difference in lifestyle, simply. Most of these reploids aren't ex-fighters like you are. They never had that structured of a life." Wycost grunted again.
"I never said being a Hunter was happy hour. But it was the one thing I did well." Isaiah shrugged.
"Aw, C'mon. You had to do something besides being one of the best Hunters ever!" Wycost flipped his shades up, the last comfort piece of his former life.
"Yes I did. And no, I'm not telling you." Isaiah frowned.
"Why not?"
"Let's just say it has some very painful memories attached." Isaiah nodded slowly, realizing Wycost's softer voice, and the implications that went with it.
"HEY, WE ALL DEAF IN HERE?! TIME TO GET GOING!" Isaiah cringed at the loud voice of the taskmaster who had poked his head in the door, but Wycost simply stared blankly ahead.
At last, he got up and flipped his shades back down one last time.
"Come on, Isaiah."
"I'm with ya, buddy."
"Oh, no." Cain mumbled. His eyes were wide with shock, and his hand trembled. Fingers shaking, he pressed the flat screen of his desk display one more time.
The image didn't change. Now his head really DID hurt. Shaking it, he reached over and pushed his call button to Hazil.
"Hazil!"
"Wassup, boss?"
"Aspririn. NOW."
It wasn't much later Hazil's weary frame rolled into Cain's office. Hazil frowned at the dazed figure sitting in the chair, then plopped down two white pills. Cain swallowed them and a gulp of water, waiting for his headache to subside.
"What time is it, Hazil?" Cain asked, covering his eyes with his good hand. Hazil brought up his internal chronometer, accurate to the nanosecond with the global uplink's main computer.
"Ten at night."
"EXACT TIME." Hazil winced.
"Sheeze-do a guy a favor and he yells. All right, Cain. It's 10:03 and-25 seconds." Cain nodded.
"Thanks." Hazil peered at the human for one long moment, then sighed.
"All right, Cain. Spill the beans. What's the deal?" Cain shook his head, then reached over for his walking stick. Hazil looked on with annoyance, wondering why Cain didn't answer him. But as he approached the sliding door, Cain paused.
"Come on then, Hazil. You'll get to hear my announcement like every one else." Cain pushed the call button by the door controls, a main switch that boosted the sound all over the building. "All Maverick Hunters please report to the main operations room by 2215 hours. I have something to share with you all." Cain released the button and walked out the door. Hazil watched him go, then looked back to Cain's monitor. His eyes zoomed in, and then widened in shock.
"Oh, Good God no." Hazil shook his head.
He knew what Cain was going to announce-and it wasn't good news for them at all.
"Can you believe it?! They pull us out of advanced training to do FIELD WORK. Why do we get called in for a reploid disturbance?" Jad grumbled, kicking a tattered pop can across the barren alleyway." Kol leaned against a crumbling building, watching with disinterest at his fiery comrade's antics. Then he leveled his gaze at the trio's leader; Gavin.
"What's the news, boss?" Gavin peered anxiously at his scanner, watching the meter climb up.
"79-85-99-100% done." Gavin sighed. "Sorry, boys. This wasn't maverick activity. No trace of the virus whatsoever." Jad cursed, and fired a round from his Buster into the air. Kol shrugged again.
"So what is it, then?" Kol asked loudly. Gavin picked himself up, distancing himself from the completely destroyed reploid lying on the street. It was totally unsalvageable, a mess of torn limbs, scarred wiring-and worst of all, a fused and melted control chip. This reploid could never be given life back again.
"Well, it wasn't maverick-or if it was, they didn't try to infect." Gavin scratched his chin. "But it doesn't fit how the mavericks work. They kill humans-they recruit reploids." Jad finally calmed down and posed a question.
"So if it wasn't mavericks that decimated our gray and scrapped friend here, who was it?" Gavin held the reploid's obliterated control chip between his fingers and peered at it.
"Whoever it was fellas, it was someone-or a bunch of someones-who knew how to take out a reploid and keep them down for the count. Period, end of discussion, case closed." Kol frowned.
"I think this is far from open and shut. We have no motive, no suspects and one very unusual murder on our hands. Reploid murder. I think we should draft a report on this. Take it back for Hazil to run a complete scan." Gavin suddenly tapped the side of his head, and the commlink to HQ that was with it. His eyes darkened for a moment, and he shrugged.
"Later, boys. Right now, Cain wants us all back at base like good little boys and girls. Priority one message." Jad and Kol's eyebrows went up; Priority one meant serious business.
"Whatever you say, boss." Jad finally uttered. The trio of the 21st flipped their danger sensors off, and then vanished into the night, warp trails bright and incandescent in the dark city streets of Osaka.
It was a lucky stroke that they had left when they did. Further investigation of the scene would have turned up nearby heat signatures-
A pair of them.
A pair of beings.
Armed with glowing dual beam sabers.
"Hey Zero, any indication on what Cain might be getting us all here for?" X asked quietly. Sitting in one of the kooshy chairs in the main room, X kicked his feet back and forth, nervous and even apprehensive for a strange reason he couldn't identify.
Across the way from him on the other side of the room, Bastion and Bristol with her attendance sheets watched quietly. And Zero finally plopped down besides his friend X, frowning.
"Not a fargin' clue, which makes me one VERY unhappy Hunter." X rolled his eyes.
"I thought it was no mavericks to eviscerate made Zero an unhappy Hunter." Zero chuckled.
"A lot of things make me unhappy. We'll leave it at that." X finally tapped Zero on the shoulder.
"Here comes Hazil." Hazil rolled in, his face more glazed than the others there. And that look caused many to wonder just what was wrong with the doc on wheels.
"Hey Hazil!" Zero whistled. Hazil turned his course, parking himself besides the Hunter's best. "You look like you've seen a ghost, lad." Hazil shook his head, finally facing them. His eyes were dark, his mouth drooping.
"A few from the past, my friends. Voices forever extinguished. And worse yet-the voices very soon to be lost from our midst." It was a prophetic statement, one spoken with severity.
Hazil never talked like that. Unless-
"Thank you all for coming." Cain finally announced, walking into the room and going to the center pavilion. His walk was slow, and he winced when his bad leg hit ground. X's face darkened, his eyes narrowed.
Cain's leg only bothered him when he was under severe emotional stress. At last, Cain sat down in his command chair and faced his Hunters.
"Tonight at Ten o Clock and three minutes past, I received a troubling E-Mail from our good friends at the Global Defense Council." Cain blinked, then pushed ahead before the mutterings would overpower his voice. "To ensure that there's no whisperings, I'll just tell you what I received. Mr. Cristoph has gained a majority vote in there, and has delivered an ultimatum to us. To the Hunters." Cain wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the aspirin even now begin to wear off.
"Mr. Cristoph's ultimatum, indeed the ultimatum of the entire GDC and their respective countries is this; the Hunters will drastically reduce their forces within a month from tonight."
THAT brought shouts of outrage.
"Please, just listen to me!" Cain pleaded. The voices silenced themselves. "That's a month. Thirty days. I have to make a very crucial choice; which three Hunter Units to keep out of the thirty. Only 10% of our strength as of now will remain." Cain shook his head.
"It is indeed a dark day for us all. Darker than even our early days when Sigma and the First Uprising nearly destroyed all the Hunters and the base itself."
"So what can we do, Cain?" Zero hollered. "Sit on our duffs and wait for those biased monsters to change their minds." Cain's eyes were doused, their spark of fire and passion forever gone.
"I don't know, Zero. I just don't know."
And as the Hunters sat there in deafening silence, shaking their heads at the misfortune that had befallen them all-
No one else did either.
"Let's see what's on the telly today." Horn whistled softly. He picked up the remote, activating his window to the world. He was skipping through the Big Five News Channels, and finally settled on CNN. It was then it skipped from weather to a screen with 'Special Bulletin' on the front. Horn sat up, raising his sunglasses up in surprise.
"Hello, what do we have here?" Horn turned the volume up and sat in silence. And then it switched to a human female, finely dressed but obviously flustered.
"This just in to CNN News. The Global Defense Council has issued an Ultimatum to the Maverick Hunters, based in Japan. The Hunters must reduce their forces to 10% of what they are now within a month, or face charges by the Council itself. This reduction is believed to be necessary, in the wake of the Maverick Virus's disappearance one year ago. William H. Cristoph, the delegate of the AmeriCanadian region and also the most avid anti-reploid member led the ultimatum, saying that 'In a world where there is no infection to fight, and only mild skirmishes from time to time, keeping a large well equipped army of potentially dangerous reploids operational is more of a danger than what they claim to fight against.' We'll bring more to you as it comes in."
Horn shut off his TV. Stunned, he sat back and rubbed his good eye for a moment, then blinked and ran a self diagnostic.
No, he wasn't hallucinating. It was truth. The GDC had finally taken steps to eliminate the Hunters, the antithesis of Horn's philosophy. He finally cracked a smile.
"At last. I've won! I'VE WON!" Horn laughed long and hard, letting the joyous and maniacal noise fill his mansion.
Then he picked up his cell phone.
This was news URFAWP should hear from their leader itself.
"Hey Wycost! I just heard-we're all supposed to meet in the main hall for an announcement. Isaiah ran up towards the walking ex-Hunter, hands still jammed in his black leather jacket.
Wycost turned his head, frowning oddly. His glasses were safely tucked away in his pants pocket, and he brushed his hair back.
"Whyzat?" Isaiah shrugged.
"I dunno. Something important though." Wycost sighed.
"All righty then. You got dash systems Isaiah?" Isaiah contorted his mouth into a half grin.
"What do I look like, a Hunter? I'm not you." Wycost chuckled.
"You certainly aren't. In any case, hop on then." Wycost overrode the safety protocols on his Dash Systems, disengaging the short bursts they normally used. Isaiah grabbed his hand, and then Wycost grinned. "You're in for a wild ride, pal."
He lit the thrusters.
The ground charred instantly where he blasted off, and the long blast of processed oxygen and hydrogen burned brightly behind him. Wycost was jarred forward, but he was used to it. Isaiah on the other hand became a screaming mess of himself.
The two jetted across the compound, drawing odd looks from everyone they passed. But Wycost didn't care much. It had been a while since he'd jetted. It always felt good.
At last, he turned off the motors and let his own friction slow him down. His boots dropped back down to earth, no longer hoisted slightly in the air by the thrust. A quick scan showed him he'd used 75% of his dash fuel in that jaunt. He shrugged.
It would recharge soon enough. Not like he was in wartime. While Wycost skidded to an easy halt, Isaiah was less lucky, having been held to Wycost only by a hand. His grip fell apart, and he was flung airborne, still screaming. Wycost frowned, then winced as he saw Isaiah skid along the ground and then finally stop up against the Main Hall's outside wall with a 'crruunch.' He decided to check on his friend, and ran over. Isaiah got up, a dazed look on his face and also a little anger.
"Isaiah, you all right?"
"NEVER make me do that again!" Wycost laughed.
"Oh, come on. Your grip was wrong, you didn't land feet first, and even then you could have rolled to slow down. But what do you do? Slam into the turf, then skid along like you're a bodysurfer." Isaiah slammed a hand into his head a few times, wincing.
"What are you doing?" Wycost finally asked, folding his arms.
"I'm checking to see if I went nuts. Because if I was thinking normally, there would be NO WAY I'd let you pull that stunt with me." Wycost smiled broadly, and then giggled.
Isaiah, the lighthearted one couldn't stop himself. He too began to snicker, and then the two of them became contagious. Within seconds they were rolling on the ground laughing their eyes out. Finally Wycost shook his head.
"Thanks, Isaiah. It's been months since I've laughed. Heck, been months since I SMILED." Isaiah slapped Wycost on the back, and for once Wycost didn't wince. Isaiah wiped fluid from the corner of his eye and smiled wider.
"Then perhaps something good came of this after all." Wycost could only nod. "Come on then, my ex-Hunter. Let us see what is the ruckus."
They walked in, and Wycost felt refreshed.
More than that, for the first time in a long while, he felt truly ALIVE.
X shut the door to his room, and left the lights off. Leaning on the wall for support, he tossed his helmet off.
This was definitely not a good day. His eyes glistened, and finally sat down on his bed. A stasis chamber would have been more effective for sleeping, but X liked the rustic feel. It sunk in, and X fell backwards into the sloshing waterbed.
"Cristoph finally did it. He convinced all those humans in the room to axe their only hope for survival." Only three Units would remain in the Hunters thirty days from now. The question was; which ones? That was the unknown.
"Maybe talking to Cossack for a while'll cheer me up." X finally muttered. He plopped himself in front of his personal computer and activated it. But before he could send a live-cam request to Cossack deep in Siberia, a new message placed itself on his screen. X's eyes narrowed, his mouth pulled back to reveal his teeth.
"Cristoph." The elderly Cristoph smiled broadly, evilly.
"I told you and Cain to not take my power lightly." X stared, unblinking.
"Especially when you use it for evil." Cristoph growled back, his mood turning even more sour.
"You and your kind are a threat to everything humanity has built." X scoffed.
"Then explain why you dinged the Hunters today! We RISK OUR LIVES to save humanity from total devastation, and yet you have the nerve to be so ungrateful, you sever the hand that protects you from extermination." X spoke forcefully, tears beginning to cloud his optics. Cristoph didn't waver.
"Sigma is GONE, X. The days of the Hunters are in the past. It's a new age. If I had had my way, I would have eliminated ALL of the Hunters. But there are still some in the GDC who view your work as necessary." Cristoph calmed down, brushing his shirt down.
"X, I'll see you soon. And when that time comes, you had best watch yourself. Soon, the Hunters will be nothing but a blood tarnished memory on the earth."
"And just what do you plan to do when we're gone, Cristoph? Twiddle your thumbs while the natural mavericks continue to fight against the humanity that has tormented them?" Cristoph laughed.
"X, have you ever heard of URFAWP?" X nodded. Cristoph continued. "They are the future. They will prevent them from taking action, because they fight with peaceful means of negotiation. I believe it was their founder who said-"
"I know what he said, Cristoph." X barked. He snapped the connection off, then flipped his PC off.
"Sometimes there's better ways to save the world than popping off a plasma Buster." X muttered. "J.K. Horn." He fell on his bed, his armor fully gone now in place of a flannel blue nightshirt.
He didn't feel like calling Cossack any more.