MEGA MAN X: THE SOUND OF MAVERICKS
By Erico
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: DISMAL PROSPECTS
It was close to Midnight when all the Hunters finally arrived back at base. Some of the newer ones opted to throw a party in the Cafeteria, and lacking crate paper, they relied heavily on spiked punch and loud music. The leaders of the various strike teams, minus the group known as the Foregone Five, were all gathered in Cain's office for a massive debriefing.
Cain had the good hooch out. But Wycost was absent, back in the Medical Bay recuperating from his wounds and taking a well deserved rest. Doan took his place as the Cairo team.
Cain, settled back in his fake leather chair and his cool blue lighting, looked down on his ragged Hunters with silent eyes.
"So we lost more than 75% of the 17th Unit, none from Zero's, Bastion lost two, and Wycost's force of four lost Andante." Cain sighed, shaking his head. "We won, but Sigma was right. We can't keep being mopped on the floor like this."
Zero gently tumbled the seven year old scotch around in his shot glass thoughtfully for a few moments, then in a swift motion swallowed the entire dose in one gulp.
"Is there any good news to come out of this?" Cain nodded slowly, his wrinkled hand reaching to his keyboard. He typed in his password, then brought up his vidmail box.
"There was. With Emilius Cristoph killed in the attack on Washington D.C, the GDC has reconsidered its Ultimatum and withdrawn it. Sigma's reappearance warrants an extension on our organization's life." Cain's eyes sparkled angrily. "It's not much good news, but it's some."
"So we're alive…we're alive because we're being asked to cause more death." X said acidly, his voice seeping with his inner rage. "Sigma's out there somewhere in one of his hidden bases, laughing his head off and planning his next strike. And there's nothing we can do about it." The glass in X's hand began to shake, his anger quivering through his body.
Bastion raised a hand.
"Hey, no matter what, we have a job to do. I joined up here because I wanted a reason to fight. A good reason. Saving the world seems as good as any…and I'm a lot better off here than I ever was before." Cain had heard from Zero about Bastion's shady past in the Jihad, and merely nodded his head.
The Hunters had often been considered to be where the most violent reploids went, to vent their anger and crush others. Bastion was not the typical example of that.
Soft-spoken, well mannered…and yet able to wield his sabers with a skill surpassed only by Zero.
"No matter what happens, it's up to us to set it right." Doan said, his own eyes tired from the night's exertions. "I joined up because my life was torn apart by Sigma's twisted ambitions. Let it happen to no other while I'm here."
Those words silenced the somber and quiet doubts of all those in the room. Bastion calmly put his glass down and looked over at X with a questioning glance.
"Is Bristol all right?" Cain coughed.
"I can answer that, Bastion. She showed up here about twenty minutes before you and X did. She gave me a quick report about Cristoph's death, then…" Cain's voice trailed off as he failed to grasp the right words. Bastion frowned.
"What? Then what?" Cain lifted his shoulders and dropped them in defeat.
"Bastion, she had this look on her face as if she'd seen a ghost. Something happened out there in Washington D.C. that just completely changed her. She walked out of my office, and I haven't seen her since."
Bastion rubbed his chin for a moment.
"She couldn't have gone far." Bastion looked around him. "I think we're done here. Let's all just take it easy the rest of the night, and wake up refreshed tomorrow. Sigma's return means we need to keep ready…but for now, we relax and forget the world rests on our heavy shoulders."
Bastion walked out of the room. X and Zero looked at each other.
A pair of old friends that had been through it all.
Hell and back. They shrugged. Zero spoke up.
"We gonna go get drunk?"
"Cognac?"
"Naah, Rum."
"You buying?"
"Sure."
"All right then." X said with finality. They left the room as well, making tracks for whatever port they could attain their alcohol from.
Finally, only Doan and Cain were left, looking at each other.
Doan's silent eyes and frozen gaze unsettled the old man.
"Why do you do that, Doan?" Cain asked, shifting in his seat. Doan blinked.
"Do what?" Cain frowned.
"Stare. It's eerie as all hell…"
"So?" Doan retorted, still staring. "I'm the Ghost Wind…or I was before I joined."
Cain wrinkled up his nose.
"Why do you name yourselves after such crazy things? The Ghost Wind? The Desert Fire? The Crimson Hunter? Even Wycost called himself Mean Green every now and then."
"Do you want to know why?" Doan said silently. Cain nodded.
"It's what I asked, isn't it?" Doan tapped the side of his arm.
"We're reploids. We aren't born with a family name like humans. As far as most people are concerned, we're nothing more than above average tin cans. We have to MAKE a name for ourself. Out there in the world, Cain…I walked the streets. I lived the life of a poor man." Doan stepped back a few steps, his voice growing a bit softer.
"A name like that gives us something we lack from our activation. A sense of being…pride in who we are. It gives us a little glimmer of hope to go on. Whether or not we call ourselves that, or other people call us that, it's the same thing. We've been given a NAME…and that means more than jack when you're a reploid."
Doan turned to face the door, then stopped and turned back around. He looked at Cain with a questioning gaze.
"You coming to join the party?" Cain waved his hand.
"In a minute…I have to compile the reports for databasing." Doan shrugged.
"Suit yourself." Doan slipped out quietly, leaving Cain to himself.
The old man sat motionless for a few moments, then sighed and pulled a personal audio recorder from his desk.
It was the same one he had used before the First Uprising, when he had discovered X. It had served him well all these years.
"May 23. A little more than a year after Sigma's supposed demise at the end of the Fifth Uprising, he has turned up…It seems that he survived by joining with his only surviving Maverick General at the time, one that went by the name of Fluid Ferret. The details are finally coming into focus, as well. Over their long wait, Sigma and Ferret infected a group known as URFAWP, created by the wallets and moralistic goals of a reploid known as J.K. Horn. Their plans resulted in the pair of reploids called Allegro and Andante believing Horn was responsible. Sadly, they realized too late like the rest of us the horrific truth…and now I have learned that Andante was killed in Cairo, saving the life of his brother, Allegro."
Cain shifted about in his seat, turning to open his office window and look out at the night sky.
"Thankfully, the five pronged attack launched earlier today by Sigma across the globe was blunted. Many innocents, and many Hunters and others like Andante gave their lives to stop this menace…I can only hope their sacrifice was not in complete vain." He winced, feeling the pangs of pain well up in his head again. He reached into his desk for more aspirin.
"The aftershocks of this latest occurrence are immediate and all consuming. X is suffering from his own guilt at the loss of his Unit, and his inability to stop Sigma's return. He is flawed in that last belief, but nothing I say can sway him."
"Wycost returned to us infected. While he overcame it with an internal deletion, I was surprised to learn that it was not the first occurrence. At times, I wonder of the hunters are protecting each other too much…In any case, Wycost's role is uncertain. Not too many people here trust him greatly, and on the opposite end of the scale, many would like to skin his hide. About the only friends he has left here is Bastion and Doan…I've seen a remarkable decrease in his respect for X and Zero. His secrets are his own, and no one's talking."
"Hazil now has legs, instead of his wheel base which he came here with. Odd how he's kept that outdated tread system since the First Uprising, and only now after what some are calling Sigma's Sixth, he decided it was time for a change. In any case, his demeanor has improved because of it…if his demeanor can. Hazil possesses a genuine gruffishness I haven't been able to trace to any other reploid, yet at the same time he is a perfect medical provider, caring and seeing to the last details of cleanliness and health treatments. I'm due in for a full checkup in three weeks…He may have some answers about my constant headaches."
"J.K. Horn is perhaps the most destroyed of any because of this new strike. It was his organization that was torn asunder to suit Sigma's devious purposes, and it is that organization that has been completely dismantled by order of the GDC. I suppose that even the best well wishing can be usurped, under the right conditions. But it seems almost like they carved out URFAWP's heart and transplanted it into the Hunters. After all, the roles have changed. J.K. Horn once said he wished only to live in an age where Hunters were not needed, and there was no Sigma, no Maverick Virus, no ultimate threat to civilization." Cain's face lit up as his fingers traced the open air from star to star in his favorite constellation, Orion.
"Undoubtedly there are others who I could mention…but I grow weary and tired. We have witnessed the rebirth of Hell this night. I wish only to pass away into blissful slumber and dream of Heaven."
Cain clicked the recorder off. He quietly placed it back in his desk, and with his head pounding even with the Aspirin dose, he calmly reached out to grab his cane, leaning lightly against his desk.
He got to his feet, and he noticed a decreased amount of spark in his step. He grimaced, and shook his head.
Old age was catching up with him. And when he was dead and gone, X, Zero, and the Hunters would still be fighting Sigma.
It was all such a terrible waste.
"Time to wake up and face the music, bub." Hazil grunted as he set Wycost's bed to shake him out of stasis.
The green Hunter groaned for a few moments before he finally let his eyes shift open. He was still in full armor, he noticed. And from what he saw, Hazil had managed to buff out all the dents and dings…it seemed to take on a new luster of life.
Wycost lifted himself off the cot and blinked at his arm. After living with the scars of the Virus for more than a year, he found it hard to believe it had completely vanished. No jagged black line down his arm, and no surviving parts to the Virus's program.
He shifted his right hand into a Buster. The bulbous stump emerged, and he shifted through his abilities; they were still all in place. Strobe Flash, Narwhal Striker, and his Level four X-Buster charge.
"You did a real nasty number on that popgun of yours." Hazil grunted calmly. "I had to go in and reset some of the wiring. You must have overloaded the Matrix by using a new weapon so soon. Usually, you wait at least five minutes before pulling a stunt like that." Wycost shrugged.
"If I hadn't, Cairo would be flooded out to the Mediterranean. I had to use my new homing projectile to blast Narwhal's bombwork away from the dam." Hazil sighed.
"All right. I'll be sure to tell your mommy that when she calls here and asks why her little boy's almost dead." Wycost snorted.
"Don't bother. I'm heading out, bub." Hazil raised an eyebrow.
"Eh? Say again?" Wycost jumped down onto the floor, and activated his warp generator. He shifted his armor design back into data storage, and brought out another set of apparel.
In a flash of green light, Wycost was calmly standing, with his hands jammed in the pockets of a black leather jacket. A set of blue jeans covered his legs, and underneath the coat he wore a dark green T-Shirt.
His hair, short and ruffled up into spikes, seemed out of place on a reploid that was usually only seen with his helmet. And his eyes were covered by a pair of sunglasses that was a perfect match for his sunglare goggles in his helmet.
They should have been. They were one and the same.
"Out, Hazil. Gone, never to return." Wycost's face was grim and quiet, decided with a firm jaw.
The Medical Reploid harrumphed for a moment, crossing his arms.
"I see…I suppose it has to do with the fact not a lot of people here have any faith in you?"
"Among other things." Wycost said quietly. He set his gaze so he was looking right in Hazil's eyes. "Hazil, I'm tired…I'm sick and tired of being nothing more than a destroyer of life. The Hunters, NYPD, it was all the same. I pointed, I clicked, I blew them away. I went home, I drank a beer, and tried to forget about it."
Wycost shook his head.
"Eventually, you can't. And all the voices of the people you've killed come back to haunt you. I have to go someplace away from here, Hazil…get my head screwed on straight. And considering I never re-joined the Hunters, it's no big loss for anyone."
Hazil chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. Finally, he sat down in his chair and kicked his feet up on top of his desk.
"Well, at least tell Bastion you're going." Wycost grunted.
"I was just about to." Wycost turned around, and walked out the door. But his voice trailed off, and the Medical Officer could still hear him.
"Thanks for everything doc…You're a great guy." The door slid shut behind the ex-Hunter, and Hazil was left alone once more.
"And underneath it all, Wycost…" Hazil sighed, "So are you. Just don't lose who you are." Hazil stood up. This quiet was killing him.
Time to join the party.
Bastion's heavy soled boots made their usual clomping noise as he walked about the circular passageways of the Hunter base. His hair bounced off of the back of his head, and for once he was not happy, and not sad. Just at a midpoint.
The Mavericks were back. That was offset by the fact the GDC no longer had their guns pointed at them.
J.K. Horn, the only person to survive Bastion's life as the Desert Fire in the Jihad had returned. Their hot rivalry had vanished in lieu of bigger events, and Horn had unknowingly helped to aid in the design of Bristol's gift to Bastion…the Angel's Advantage. Bastion's left hand reached behind him, lightly fingering the base housing still in place. He had kept it there, not wanting to waste time removing it right away.
Wycost had also returned…but he was far different from the driven, devastating Hunter Bastion had known him as for a year. Wycost was now completely secluded, and he'd made it all too clear he would not be staying with the Hunters.
"He wanted to stop the killing." Bastion said calmly. "My spirit goes with him…"
He shook his head to drive back to more important thoughts.
"Bristol's room." Bastion said, standing in front of the door that led to her cabin. He keyed in his override command and slipped inside the door as it hissed open.
The room was pitch dark.
"Lights." Bastion said. The overhead lamp flickered on, casting a cool glow on the room, but not too bright. Bastion frowned.
She wasn't in here. Even more surprising, the place looked picked clean…
Bastion shrugged.
"So she moved all her stuff to my room. I suppose that was the next logical step anyhow." He smiled. "Back to my place then."
It wasn't too far to his own quarters. The computer identified him and allowed him entry without complaint.
His room as well was pitch black.
"Lights." Bastion said, a light tint of annoyance in his voice. When the lights came to, he had a similar sight.
No Bristol. He frowned and spoke up.
"Computer?"
"Yes, Bastion?"
"Trace Bristol's saber signature." It would locate Bristol's beam saber, and therefore her, anywhere within a two mile radius to a pinpoint location. The computer whirred for a moment, then chirped back on.
"Bristol is not in the Hunter compound." Bastion's eyes widened.
"No…that's not right. Computer, run self-diagnostic." Another fraction of a second as the computer performed the quick command.
"Scan complete. All systems are nominal. No errors detected." Bastion frowned.
"That's not right…"
His door chittered. Someone was outside. "Enter!" Bastion said quickly, raising his head. Perhaps Bristol had lost her saber in Washington D.C…
"Hey, Bastion." It was Wycost. Bastion's eyes fell. The civilianized Wycost grunted, slightly miffed.
"Well, it's good to see you to." Bastion waved his hand.
"Aah, it's not that. I was looking for Bristol." Wycost shrugged.
"Happens." Bastion turned his attention full on to the green reploid that had been under his command in all the chaos of the late Fifth Uprising, up to his departure to URFAWP. Both sat down in the comfy padded seats nearby.
"So you're really going through with it then." Bastion said. "You're leaving the Hunters." Wycost nodded.
"I'm afraid so." Wycost flipped his glasses up. His eyes looked tired and ragged, like a beaten dog. "Only you and Doan have any respect for me anymore around here…and it's time I had a change." Bastion snorted.
"Then use a beam saber. We need you, Wycost! With Sigma's return, the Hunters need every able bodied warrior…"
Wycost's fist slammed down on the desk beside him, and his eyes welled up in frustrated despair.
"Don't you think I know that, Bastion?" Wycost choked out. "I know that all too well. I brought the problem into focus for the Hunters again." Wycost's fist unclenched, and he wearily brought his hands together in a double fisted grip. He stared up at the ceiling. Bastion scratched his head, finally taking off his own helmet to let his hair fall completely free.
"Why, then?" Bastion said. He fixated a gaze of true concern on the ex-Hunter and stared into his pooling eyes.
Green eyes.
"What happened to you that's changed you so much, Wycost?" Bastion asked.
Wycost shut his eyes for a moment as the horrific images began to pound into him. Of what he had faced…and what he had been forced to do to overcome it.
"The best way to phrase it is HELL, Bastion." Wycost flickered his glasses down so his former leader wouldn't have to gaze on his tear filled eyes. He leaned back in his seat, his hands squeezing together in a vise as he relived the nightmare…
"When I fought the Virus, it had mutated, Bastion. It was worse…far worse. Its original form, nothing but a droning mass of blackness and wires and that never ending chant of the Maverick's three main goals, was something I had faced before." Wycost tilted his head back down, looking into Bastion's face.
"It changed…" Wycost's voice grew quieter, and Bastion had to turn up his auditory sensors a tad to keep proper hearing. "It had mutated, gained a consciousness that was based partly on the ragged thoughts of Sigma and Fluid Ferret, but even more so by my own memories. It knew me, Bastion. And because it did, it knew how to face me."
"The Virus mutated. It gained a voice, a snide sinister tone of superiority. It taunted me, prodded me, tried to goad me into giving up. I faced that thing for an immeasurable period of time…And every time I came close to raising my Buster at it in the field of my mind, it shifted. Shifted into the form of one of my friends." Wycost shook his head, tightening his eyes behind his glasses.
"It turned itself into you. Or Doan. Or the one guy that taught me how to live again in URFAWP…Isaiah. I couldn't shoot them…not while I still had other options." Wycost planted both feet firmly into the ground, his arms unwrapping and settling on the armrests of his chair.
"When Hazil began the reactivation procedures, all those options ceased to be. I knew then that no matter how weary I was, I had a duty to purge myself of the accursed Virus. If I failed to do that, others would be forced to destroy me…or they would be killed by my Maverick controlled body."
"So I counterattacked. For the first time in days, I knew that no matter what, I had to defeat it. For my survival alone. I fired my Buster, wounding it. Then it kept changing into the forms of my friends…Isaiah. Doan. YOU." Wycost said menacingly, pointing. He shook his head. "I destroyed them all. There was nothing in focus but my own survival. And finally, the Virus…changed into me."
Bastion sat up a bit more alertly, his worried eyes betraying the surprise inside of him.
"And that was what tore it. I could always shirk off killing the guises of my friends that it took…but not after the Virus faced me as myself. With all the sadistic pleasure that Virus could muster in its evolved form, it laughed in my face, and told me that I was no better than it was." Wycost raised a hand and pushed back his hair.
"I knew it was right. All my life, I'd created death. The same went for it. But I still killed it off…and now I have to answer for the shambles of existence I've lived in. That's why I'm leaving, Bastion…I'm so screwed up in my head because of that blasted Virus, I gotta get it all straightened out on my own time."
Wycost got up. "I'd best be shoving off then." Bastion sighed, and also picked himself from his seat. He extended a hand, and the two friends firmly shared a handshake. Bastion let out an easy breath.
"Care to help me find Bristol first? She must have lost her saber back in Washington D.C, because I can't trace her." Wycost shrugged.
"A mission of aid…that I can handle." As Wycost picked himself up, he took one final sweep of the room that was Bastion's.
He caught something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of white that seemed out of place in the well kept room, tucked nearby Bastion's desktop Vidphone.
He walked over, quietly plucking it free. The blot of white was a letter…
With a flowing script handwriting on it that would cause Shakespeare to ponder his skills. Most surprising was what it said.
To Bastion…
"Hey…" Wycost spoke up softly. Bastion, already halfway out his door looked behind him.
"Yeah?"
"I think I found something here." Wycost said. He calmly turned it over, noting that it was sealed with a sticker in the shape of…a heart? "This has gotta be from Bristol." Wycost muttered. He rolled his eyes at the sight and quickly extended it out to Bastion.
The Desert Hunter plucked the note from Wycost's hand and broke the seal.
His dark blue eyes scanned the interior of the note with an exacting precision.
First, interest. Then, Wycost could see a sudden shift…to surprise. Bastion's mouth fell slightly open, and then his hands began to shake.
Finally, Bastion let out a sob. He stumbled back a few steps until the back of his knees connected with his bed. He dropped onto it without so much as a peep.
He only stared blankly, his eyes growing even deeper. Wycost could see tears welling up in the corners of Bastion's optics.
"Hey Bastion…" Wycost said uneasily. "You all right?" Bastion's shaky hand lifted the letter up to his close friend, his face downcast like a beaten dog's.
It was as if the great orange and reddish colored Hunter had suddenly shrunk ten sizes. As he spoke, it seemed like he was nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
"I'm not…I'll never…I've lost her, Wycost." Wycost's eyebrows went up. He picked the letter up, unfolded it completely and set to work reading it. Bastion sunk his head into his hands, his sniffling growing louder. Wycost shut out the outside noise and calmly examined the cursive script.
My dearest Bastion…
When you find this letter, I will be miles away. Don't worry about me, though… Horn was kind enough to provide me with money for this trip.
That's what it is, luv. A trip. And it has a reason…I'm out looking for my past. I thought I had managed to get past it, admit that there would forever be a dark void in my memory I'd never be able to shed a light on.
But when I was in Washington D.C. Bastion, something happened I didn't expect. I regained my past…a small sliver of it, at least. A gentleman by the name of Emilius Cristoph died as I tried to save his life, and in his final breaths, he mentioned two names: Mine, and a thing called MI9.
A torrent of images accompanied that sudden bolt of light in the shadows, Bastion. I suppose I never lost the memories…only the connections to them were exiled. And now they're coming back…Slowly, Bastion, so slowly it's driving me mad.
I don't know what I'm chasing after, or exactly what I'm looking for. I have only a single lead in a world of dead ends. What I do know is I have to do this…if only to destroy the demons that have been dug up. Now that they've returned…as small as they are, I need to carry it out to the end. I must know it all. Knowing little will only consume me with a fire no one can cure. The only other option is to have my memory wiped…
But I could never do that, Bastion. That would mean losing you. And now that I've found love, I have no intention of letting it go. So now I wander the earth, searching for the answer to a riddle locked inside my skull, and that of the dead Emilius Cristoph.
I hope that I will find the answers I seek in short order…if only so I can return to you a whole person. A person who knows her past, and can have a future…
With you, Bastion. It is my love for you that will keep me going on this escapade. That sole force represents so much in my life now, and I hope it has had the same effect on you.
But my time is short…I must leave here now. Being in the Maverick Hunter Headquarters any longer would be risking NOT doing this…and I must, Bastion. For my sanity, I must.
Keep me in your prayers, luv. If the great cosmic genesis wishes our union to be so, I shall return. But don't trust blindly in fate.
Keep yourself alive. Only if you do that can there be a tomorrow.
Always holding you in my heart,
Bristol.
Wycost put the letter down on Bastion's desk, shaking his head in disbelief.
"She left…" Bastion was sobbing into his arm now, trying uselessly to muffle his cries. Wycost shook his head.
"She said she'd be back, Bastion. That lady can more than take care of herself." Bastion lifted his head. His eyes were tearstreaked and glazed over with his intense emotional pain.
"And what if she doesn't make it back? What happens if I lose her…Forever?" Bastion wiped his eyes on his arm. He bowed his head back down and waved his hand. "Please, Wycost…I need to be alone."
The New York reploid calmly nodded his head, his icy eyes hidden by his glasses.
"Keep yourself alive, Bastion." Wycost said, echoing Bristol's last words.
Bastion's final vestiges of composure completely vanished as Wycost said that.
Wycost quickly slipped out of the room, making sure that Bastion's breakdown didn't assault the rest of the HQ. He shook his head as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to make the long trek to the front door…his exit…of the Hunters.
"Time to make a fresh start." Wycost muttered to himself. "I have a huge penance to pay for my life…"
He froze in midstep. Flipping his glasses up, he blinked several times before finally nodding. "That's it!" He said in surprise. He flipped his glasses back down and resumed his walk.
At last, he had pegged what his penance…his reparations for a life based solely on destruction would be.
He had to smile.
It was a goal that would have made Isaiah proud.
The Maverick Hunters were all gathered about in the Cafeteria now, and even X and Zero were there.
Someone had to keep them in line.
The punchbowl was already empty, and the strobe lights that had been flickering crazily in the semi-lit room had been shot out by a Buster.
Zero's.
Gavin, Jad and Kol had rediscovered the long lost beer limbo stick of the Hunters, left unused since before the First Maverick Uprising. And they were putting it to good use, as everyone made a trip through the line. It was set so low, everyone got a thorough dunking. Of course, that's why it was there. So they could make fools of themselves and still blow away their woes.
Zero casually swirled his glass of rum around in his gloved hand, then tilted his head and gulped the contents. X shook his head and only sipped his.
"You gonna be all right, X?" Zero asked, his eyes somewhat blazed by the liquor, but not too much. X nodded, a quiet gaze of discontentment his only feature.
"Aah, yeah. I just have to get used again to the reality that Sigma's alive and well, with more than enough power to keep us on our toes for another twenty years…or more." Zero slammed his glass down and nodded.
"Hey, you still got your armor sets. Besides, you've told me that whenever the situation gets serious enough, more capsules pop up outta nowhere to help you. So what's the worry?" X gave a sidewards grimace.
"The armor data can't last forever, you know. Eventually, the older sets will degrade."
"Can't you preserve them?" Zero asked in shock. X shook his head.
"Afraid not. Light was thorough…the Armor sets seem only to last in their perfect form for a set number of years. I guess that was part of his hope I could be more than a warrior. Maybe he thought that over time, the need for them would be decreased." Zero raised a hand.
"All right, all right. I get the drift. So lemme get this straight. Over time, you'll completely lose all your armor?" X nodded, his head growing weary.
"Yeah. Unless I find some more capsules, or someone can take the armor designs and create a more permanent version for me." Zero grinned and wrapped an arm around X's shoulder.
"Well, doncha worry your pretty little head off then. I'll save your ass like I always do until you find your new supersuits. It's the way of things, you know. Sigma starts a new revolt, you run around like a chicken with your head cut off, looking for armor parts, whilst I stave off the main threat." X raised his glass.
"Amen to that, brother."
Aside from the leaders of the Hunters, there were other occurences in the Cafeteria an observer might pick up on.
One was Allegro, tucked into a corner, his head laid on his arm as he slumped against a table. Sitting all alone, he was nothing more than a drone pondering his fate.
The death of Andante had shattered him completely. His fast paced attitude, his grufish edges, his snide comments had all faded.
It was those traits that had gotten his brother killed.
"All my fault…" Allegro whispered hoarsely to himself. "It was all my fault…"
Footsteps approached him. Allegro didn't lift his head until he heard the voice.
"Hello, Allegro." The somber reploid lifted his head up. He knew who it was.
His past mentor, J.K. Horn. The aged reploid pushed back his gray hair, and Allegro noticed that his hawaiian T-Shirt was missing.
Horn had adopted a more formal lab coat. Allegro blinked and pointed.
"What's that for?" Horn shrugged, clicking his teeth together.
"The GDC just issued the order to disband URFAWP. After what Sigma did to it, I can't say I'm too opposed. So what's this for? I need something to occupy my time, and helping out the Hunters seems like the best way around it." Allegro blinked, still only half paying attention.
"I thought you disliked the Hunters." Horn nodded, his eyes narrowing.
"I do. URFAWP was designed to create a world in which the Hunters were no longer necessary. With no Maverick Virus, that role could have easily become reality. But now that Sigma has returned…" Horn shook his head. "Well, all the bets are off. I still want to work for the goals I founded URFAWP on; World peace and acceptable human/reploid relations. I just have to use a different way to reach it. But to accomplish those, that means putting an end to Sigma for good. And before I founded URFAWP, I made my living designing weapons."
"For the Global Military." Allegro snuffed. Horn guffawed.
"Sorry, that was the coverup. I actually made them for the Israelis, believe it or not." Allegro smiled weakly.
"What fun." Horn stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking down for a moment.
"So, I came here for two reasons, Allegro. One was to see that you're still feeling alive. To some degree, you are." Allegro shut his eyes, chuckling weakly.
"Am I? Am I truly all right? My brother DIED because of me, Horn." Horn's eyes dimmed and he shrugged.
"Yes. But Allegro did that for a reason. He suspected there was something in you that needed to be allowed to be brought out."
"What?"
"Him, of course." Allegro blinked, looking up in surprise. Horn laughed.
"What, you haven't noticed? There's been a change in you, Allegro. You've become more like him than you would realize. While your fire has not completely gone out, it has been focused, surrounded. Andante provided the campground for your marshmallow roast, as it were. And now you have both." Horn nodded. "I could sense something in the both of you when you first joined. That was your bond…and even though it's ripping you up inside to have lost him, you'll survive. The both of you were survivors." Allegro's face gave into dismay.
"But why did it have to be him? Why not me?" Horn shrugged.
"I wasn't there, so I can't provide the answer. But I can provide a pathway for you." Horn sat down across from Allegro looking into his eyes. "Tell me, now that URFAWP's belly up, what are you going to do with your life?" Allegro curled his mouth up into a frown.
"I hadn't thought of anything yet. I'll probably just wander for a few years." Horn clapped his hands together.
"That's probably not the healthiest choice…but I do have another option for you." Allegro looked up, somewhat interested now.
"Yeah?" Horn smiled broadly and put his hands on the table.
"I told you I was going to be making weaponry for the Hunters, correct?" Allegro nodded. "Well, I'm gonna need a helper…eventually, several if things pick up. For now though, I need someone I can trust, someone I know. And you're it, my dear Allegro. Besides, Andante told you one thing; keep the world safe. If you join me in this goal, you'll be fulfilling it."
Allegro pondered over it for several moments, finally awakening himself completely. He looked up at Horn, his eyes somewhat surprised.
"After we tried to kill you, you'll still provide me with this offer?" Horn nodded, smiling again.
"You were trying to kill me because you thought I was responsible for the Maverick Virus infecting URFAWP. Once that was proved wrong, the both of you felt as guilty as Hell…and I forgive easily." Horn cracked his knuckles and extended his hand. "So, whaddya say? You interested in helping an aging reploid with his world saving science experiments?"
Allegro set his jaw and thought hard for a few moments. Finally, he nodded, and reached out to shake Horn's hand.
"What the Hell. All right Doc, I'm with ya." Horn laughed.
"Please, use my first name. Julius."
"Jules, eh?" Allegro mused. "All right Jules. Now what?" Horn sighed, scratching his head.
"Order another round, I guess. I have some preliminary designs here…wanna take a look at 'em?" Allegro smiled back.
"Why not?"
Mentor and student had finally forgiven each other.
For them at least, the future seemed bright.
Far away from the party in the main area of the MHHQ, a few had chosen to remain in solitude. Some, like Bastion, were suffering. Others like Doan, were merely lone rocks in the wind. He sat on the side of his bed, quietly pondering the most recent events.
Doan's private phone silently chirped into life, signaling he had a call. Doan lifted his head from his chest and frowned at it. It was three in the morning.Who in their right mind would call at this hour?...
Doan picked it up anyway.
"Hello?" Doan waited. Finally, a grunting reply.
"Nice to hear you again."
"Wycost." Doan said softly. He turned, still holding the receiver to his head. "Where are you?"
"Someplace far away..." In truth, Wycost was right outside the HQ, using a phone booth to reach his old friend.
"Why did you leave, Wycost?" Doan asked, his voice just a tinge sad. Wycost sighed.
"You know why, Doan. More than anyone now. You saw what I've been through."
"About as much as I have, but I'm still here."
"You've never been infected." Wycost snapped tersely. Doan cringed.
"Good point." Wycost was silent. He spoke up again.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you." Doan shrugged.
"You've been through a lot, Wycost. So when are you coming back?" Wycost paused again. He breathed through his nose.
"Maybe never." Doan raised his eyebrows.
"That seems a little severe."
"Not for what I need to accomplish, my friend." Wycost said sadly.
"There's a lot of stuff I need to sort out in my head." Doan chuckled a bit.
"Tell me about it. You nearly turned me schizoid."
Wycost paused. Doan fell silent, realizing he'd hit a nerve.
"Wycost?"
"Yes?"
"Is there any way I can help you?" Wycost was silent at the question for a moment...a long moment, in which both reploids pondered the unknown. Finally, Wycost grunted.
"Keep yourself alive, Doan. That's the best thing you can do for me. I've lost too many friends to those mavericks already." Doan nodded.
"I'll keep that in mind. Do you want me to relay any messages?" Wycost clicked his teeth together.
"Just one. It's for Bastion..." Doan perked his ears up.
"I'm listening." Wycost laughed just a bit, sadly and with a depth he hadn't used since Isaiah had left his life.
"Tell Bastion that I'll be wandering around." Doan waited, and sure enough, Wycost continued.
"If he's so upset about Bristol picking herself up and leaving, tell him I'm out there. I consider it a part of my penance now. If I find Bristol..." Wycost chirped his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
"Tell him, if I find Bristol, I'll keep her safe." Doan was just about to reply, but the phone connection went dead at that moment.
Doan waited a few more moments, then put the phone back on the hook. He had kept a single image from Wycost's mind in his memory.
Doan turned to look out his window.
Sure enough, there he was.
Doan smiled, just a twinge at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh...And Wycost, I forgot to tell you something." Doan spoke softly, almost as if Wycost could hear him from such a far distance.
The green reploid turned away from the phone booth on the street corner, then tucked his hands into his black leather jacket pockets. Wycost slowly walked away.
Doan ran his right hand down the window, nodding his head.
"You keep yourself alive as well."