"Master? Master Sigma? Are you in there, sir?"
The silverish metallic knuckles of X-Hunter Agile tapped lightly on the intricately carved wooden doors of Sigma's chambers. The Maverick leader, having been humiliated from the tragedy that occured with Vile's anticipated reincarnation, had chosen to keep himself confined indefinitely behind that majesticly designed gateway so to spare him the embarrassment of facing his comrades and opponents alike.
"Be gone, foolish jester!" the hairless tyrant shouted. "Leave me to my infinite prison! There is no dignity left in me now. I am but a shallow shell of a machine!" He erupted into a sea of totally uncharacteristic sobbing.
Agile was getting quite frustrated; he was in no mood for a mindless squabble with his commanding officer.
"Master, this is ridiculous!" he yelled in rage. "I'm not going to allow you to be confined in that god-forsaken office of yours for the rest of your days! Something must be done, sir! If we all just sit around on our arses and don't do smack about Vile's... er, 'exodus'... then we'll surely be trampled upon like fleas!"
"NO DICE, you insensitive nitwit!" Sigma shouted between sobs. "You don't understand the kind of PAIN and SUFFERING I'm going through! NOBODY does! The only person that understands me is... Mr. Cuddles!"
Agile scratched his head. "Err.... Mr. Cuddles, sir?"
In an instant, the sound of an object being thrown came whizzing towards the door, hitting the wooden gateway with a silent thud. Peering through the small breach between the two doors, Agile could see the outline of a light-blue hued stuffed bear doll, with a little bowtie and a T-shirt with the word "Cuddles!" imprinted on it. It was quite awkward.
"LOOK at him!" shouted Sigma once again. "See him? That's Mr. Cuddles! Mr. Cuddles knows my pain! Mr. Cuddles consoles me and tells me that everything's going to be alright, as long as we stay in here together!"
His voice soon changed to a high-pitched sobbing yell. "MR. CUDDLES IS THE ONLY ONE WHO TRULY UNDERSTANDS MY NEEDS, AND SHOWS ME PROPER RESPECT, UNLIKE YOU AND YOUR SOULLESS BAND OF ASS-PICKING NEANDERTHALS!!!"
Agile shook his head in disgust. "Master... what happened to you, sir? You were once a glorious and fearless leader, but now..."
"NOW I'VE SEEN THE TRUTH, FAIRY-BOY!" Sigma yelled again. "There's nothing left for me in the outside world anymore! It's OVER! FINITO, palzy! Now leave me and Mr. Cuddles alone! Go drink some milk containing human feces, panzy pants!"
The violet-hued warrior buried his face in his hands. Agile knew that further reasoning with his superior would be nothing more than an enormous waste of time and energy.
"Why... why the hell does this always happen to me?" he muttered to himself. From behind him, a calm voice met his ears.
"Uhh... sir? Is this a bad time?"
Glancing back, Agile saw Darrick, the rookie Maverick Colonel clad in dark-blue armor. His normally straight face now wore a look of extreme bewilderance from what he had heard of the conversation between Agile and Sigma.
The X-Hunter smiled nervously at the rouge. "No, of course not! Everything is fine and dandy like sour candy... no, nothing wrong..." He spread his arms around the full length of the entrance, as if he were blocking it out. The same smile remained tacked onto his face.
Darrick tilted his head. "Err... are you certain of that, sir? Because just a minute ago, I heard a great deal of shouting and screaming, followed by a string of cursing and insults. It filled the entire hallway."
Agile, looking as tense as ever, kept continuously glancing back and forth from the small breach in the door to Darrick and back againd.
"No, no... seriously, that noise was probably just a bunch of hooligans causing trouble... happens all the time... there's no problem at all, really... silly to worry about such things..." he mumbled shakily, his entire body tensing up.
Suddenly, a faint yell rose from behind him. "Rodeo clown!" it shouted.
Darrick's eyes darted behind Agile's slender figure. "What was that?"
Eyes widened with nervous fear, the X-hunter attempted to fully block out any sound by stretching his body as vertically as possible, keeping his arms horizontally outstretched. "That.. that was a pigeon," he muttered shakily.
Darrick still looked puzzled. "A pigeon?" he said with doubt in his voice. "Why would there be pigeons around here? We're stationed in the middle of a humongous desert, far from the city."
Agile chuckled. "Darrick, I've been housed in this fortress for quite a while, and I think I would know what likes to fly on in here and what doesn't..."
The shouts began again, this time twice as loud as before. "Circus freak! Purple burrito! Crossdresser!"
Darrick's eyes widened. "That's, uh... quite an interesting pigeon."
The violet warrior thought hard of a believable alibi. "Err... it's in heat," he said sheepishly.
"Riiight...." Darrick muttered, inching away slowly.
A final yell came from behind the polished doors once again, this time louder and more vulgar than ever. "YOUR MOTHER WAS MICHEAL JACKSON!"
This time Agile snapped - he spun around swiftly, and in blinding rage, started pounding furiously on the office doors. "DON'T - YOU - BE - TALKIN' - ABOUT - MAH - DAMN - FRIGGIN' - MAMMA!" he shouted one word at a time.
Distressed and frightened by Agile's sudden outburst, Darrick feebly tried to calm his nerves. "Sir? Uh... sir?" he voiced under the monotonous pounding sounds.
Halting himself to regain his composure and catch his breath, Agile slowly turned around to face Darrick once again, lowering his arms fully and panting consistently. "WHAT?!" he exclaimed.
"Sir... you don't have a mother," he stated calmly.
Now Agile felt rather silly. He gave an foolish smile and began to chortle through his nose. "Yes, well... I apologize for that little mishap, Darrick. I seem to get carried away at times, and I guess I really didn't think things through. Maybe I've been fighting those damned humans too much for my own well being..."
"Sir..." Darrick began again. "Would that happen to be Sigma shouting like a mental patient back there?"
Agile gave a deep sigh and directed his gaze to the carpeted floor below him. "Yes... I'm afraid so," he said, his voiced filled with utter depression. "After our little mishap with Vile, it almost seems as if our leader's spirit has been crushed into tiny little bits. He's lost all hope for us, I'm afraid." He wearily shook his head. "It's saddening to watch, really. We were certainly destined for greatness, and I believe that it may have partially been my fault. I should've done a better job at supervising the mechanics... but I'm just too damned lazy..."
Darrick glanced at the door. "So... this means Sigma's out for good? Then what are we supposed to do about the whole Vile fiasco? Sit here and wait for Death to lower his scythe?"
Agile sprung back upright, jubilance returning to his face. "Well... at first, I did think that was the only possible thing we could do. But then, I began to think logically. I mean, after the brutal effects of the first Maverick War, we managed to pull together without Sigma's guidance, now, didn't we? I believe that we can formulate a plausible plan, all we need to do is pull together as a group... yes!" He snapped his fingers. "I've got it. Darrick, I'd like you to meet me in the cafeteria downstairs in... say... 15 minutes. I'm going to hold a small meeting with the other X-Hunters, and I'd like you to attend. Could you do that for me?"
"Sure... what the hell. I've got nothing else on my schedule, anyway."
"Great! I'll see you at 12:30, Darrick. And please hurry. You don't want your bologna to get moldy."
The jubilant Agile sped back down the carpeted hallway, the sound of metal clanging escaping his boots. Before he could turn the corner, however, Darrick's soft-toned voice chimed in his ear.
"Err... sir?"
Agile stopped in his tracks. "What?"
"Just one question... are they still serving that disgusting food from the school cafeteria we took control of?"
The purple Maverick smiled. "Only after six, my friend. Hakuna Matata."
Glacier Dragoon stared up at the small, wooden door of ex-general Wiedl's tiny basement office, with the words "EX-GENERAL WIEDL" shrouded in immense dust. He certainly needed to take a few deep breaths - he was not at all fond of Wiedl, and for very sensible reasons. Since his arrival to the ranks of the Maverick Hunters, the Maverick War veteran always managed to find some way of demeaning the azure dragon's fighting skills in some way, and always compared him to his more seasoned brother. Since those days, Glacier had been constantly trying to aviod the deranged Wiedl in any way he possibly could.
But now, the Dragoon warrior was specifically sent down by Dr. Cain to bring him upstairs to meet the new Vile (I mean, Sunshine... whatever the hell he calls himself these days). It seemed to Glacier that Wiedl was becoming all too important since the third Maverick War, and he was especially worried that he would somehow rise to another powerful Hunter rank under Cain's condolences.
So much for ignoring, he thought before lightly knocking on the crappily-constructed door.
The orange-hued behemoth of a machine answered the door by peeking his head out slightly, a mighty hand clasping the side of the wood. "Err... yes?" he sheepishly asked.
The dragon nervously cleared his throat before speaking. "Wiedl? Uhh.. howdy. It's me, Glacier Dragoon..."
"Oh, Glacier!" Wiedl exclaimed, taking the Dragoon by full surprise. "What brings you here, good buddy 'o mine? Come to bring some news from the outside world? Or did you come down here so I could share with ya some of my patented fighting techniques?"
Glacier grimaced. "Well, actually..."
"I knew it was for fighting techniques," Wiedl interrupted. "Can't catch up to your brother, eh? That's quite a shame. Magma Dragoon is a fantastic fighter, leads a great group of ground combat fighters... why can't you do something as great as that, Glacier?"
"Wiedl, if you'd just let me get a word in for a second..."
"I know why, Glacier, and I'm glad you came to me to find out why. You see, you're not FOCUSING enough, my boy! You're not training hard EVERY DAY, for about 5 hours each session. That's what your good brother does, my boy, and believe me, he's doing a great job. But hell, at the rate you're goin', you'll NEVER achieve what he's achieved..."
"Wiedl..."
"But even he can't compare to X and Zero... now those are some damn good Hunters, if you ask me. The best of the entire facility... I doubt any other reploid or human in the entire universe could defeat them. I mean, when Sigma commanded this place, we all thought he was the big cheese of Reploidiland... and look what they did to that poor fellah. Now I KNOW you'll NEVER hold a candle to them..."
"WIEDL!"
Finally breaking out of his funk, the massive reploid opened his door fully to completely face Glacier. "Yes, Glacier... what is it you want to say? I hope it's important..."
"Cain wants you," Glacier said, still gradually regaining his now shattered composure. "He wants to see you... upstairs. He needs to show you something, something extremely important. It's urgent."
Wiedl made an awkward face. "If I hadn't known any better, I'd say it sounds like Cain is coming on to me."
Glacier shook his head in frustration. "Riiight... whatever. The point is, Cain needs to show you... a Maverick. At least, we think he's a Maverick... but he seems too calmed..."
Wiedl's eyes widened to about three inches. "A Maverick? Really? Any one in particular...?"
Glacier nodded. "Yep. It just so happens to be Vile."
The ex-general's eyes widened to about another eight inches, with his mouth now hanging agape. "VILE? That whacked-out Maverick with an extreme lust for blood? That psycho that almost MUTILATED X during the first Maverick War, and then was revived by Doppler to enact his revenge during the third...?"
"That's the guy," Glacier responded. "There's something wrong, though. When he came back, he was acting really awkwardly, and went rambling on about peace and goodwill towards your fellow man, and how war should be obliterated for all eternity. We really can't tell exactly -"
But Glacier could'nt finish, as the sweeping muscular inner arm of Wiedl came crashing into his tender metallic throat, thrusting upwards into a towering amount of stairs. He could hear the ecstatic behemoth yell "To Cain's office, HI-HO!", and after feeling his clawed feet being lifted from the padded ground, he could see himself entering nothing but a mixed blur of blue and blackness.
Dynamo stroked a hand through his finely-combed grey hair, pushing a strand away from his face. His so-called "bed" really only consisted of a tattered and worn old mattress with a small towel acting as the "pillow". He wasn't quite happy with this turnout - the smell coming from the mattress was highly pungent and vile, as if a sumo wrestler had taken a dump on a flaming tire, and Dynamo figured that it had been somewhat mistreated by some other filthy Maverick in one of the previous wars. And, with a room as small as his, a horrible stench generally had the ability to quadruple its odor in mere seconds.
The luminous afternoon sun shone through the venetian blinds that shaded the window beside his bed. The days had been growing increasingly warmer over the past few weeks, as spring had started not too long ago. Dynamo despised the hot air - being stranded in the middle of a stinking desert wasn't his idea of a fun time, as it naturally produced high doses of blazing sunlight.
Damn those idiots who're thinning out the o-zone layer, Dynamo pondered. Maybe those moron environmentalists I butchered on the way over here were on to something...
Angrily shutting the blinds, Dynamo went back to take a seat on his mattress. Reaching under the matted cushion, he pulled out three objects: a small journal, a pen, and a walkie-talkie type device. Putting the talkie aside for a moment and flipping his visor away from his eyes, he opened up to a fresh page in his beloved journal and began to write his thoughts:
April 12, 21XX
It seems that things have gotten more interesting here than I predicted. That old general of Sigma's from the first and third Maverick Wars, "Vile", was finally revived last week. Awkwardly enough, the procedure got out of hand, and the warrior's revival was a complete upset. Rather than becoming the savage killing machine that the Mavericks had been hoping for, they were burdened with a pacifistic, do-gooder pro-Hunter hippie. Morons. Everything they do is a poison to their operation... why the Mavericks hire total hooligans off the streets of Terensce is beyond me. They're hardly even paid. Maybe that's why they're so damn keen to slacking off. I never knew Sigma could be such a cheap bastard...
Speaking of that bald brute, last I heard of him he was hibernating in his quarters eating his toenails in fright of Vile's return (oh yes, Vile escaped... I failed to mention that, didn't I?). Now, I need to weigh the pros and cons of this - pros, he's proving himself to really be a slow-witted and childish infidel, which will utterly destroy his perfectly steady ego and give me a good laugh (ha ha, I say!). Then we come to the cons... if he keeps that office door barricaded for too long, then I'll never get a chance to get in there and steal that information - even if I do find a way to get in, he'll find out what I'm doing immediately. And that really isn't peachy, since I need to find that info before that Boba Fett wannabe marches on back and annihilates this entire fortress. Though I'll be jumping for joy when that day comes around, if that information goes down with it, then I'm screwed. All I need is some kind of distraction...
Well... on another note, I can't friggin' stand it here anymore. Every morning, I'm forced to undergo probably the cheapest and easiest "rookie" training that a 94-year-old parapalegic could complete in a heartbeat. Makes me chuckle that my fellow trainees are struggling so much with it. That fruity one, Rosered, actually tripped into one of those spikes metal pits and ended up with a huge spike lodged into his rear end. I laughed out loud, even if that Agile fellah gave me a dirty look. It was completely worth it, though.
Speaking of my trainees, they're annoying the bloody hell out of me, and everyday I pine to take a well-charged electric shot at their tender bellies (actually, I fried them like geese right before the first time I searched for the file, but that was only because Sigma was occupied with his little plastic warrior). They're complete morons, simply put, and reek of complete immaturity. And, to top things off, they smell like dog turd. Stingrays, bats, and freakish plant thingies don't mix.
Mercutio hasn't contacted me yet, damn his blackened human soul. I'm keeping the line open on my walkie-talkie, but I still haven't even gotten as much as a belch from him. It's a pity, really - this would be a perfect time for him to contact me, since everyone in this hellish fortress is to busy whining about Vile's exodus to care what anyone else is doing. And now that my fellow trainees have left their rooms (which neighbor mine, sadly), I can get this done privately and tell him everything that's been going on in the past few weeks. I know he'll be upset that my escape out of this gaping hellhole will take a little longer than expected, but I'm sure he'll be happy to hear of the state Sigma is in. Lord knows that he isn't fond of him the least bit. Humans tend to get pissed off easily, I guess.
If anything occurs, expect to hear from me again tomorrow, or even later today. Life must suck being a helpless inanimate object, eh?
--Dynamo
With that done, Dynamo closed the timeless pages of his worn journal and set it aside, placing the pen next to it. The crimson-visored mercenary enjoyed using his journal to express his feelings, and he felt it was the perfect thing to write in whenever something was nipping at his ass. Lately, Dynamo had been alone, and he'd had plenty of time to think peacefully without distraction.
That's why he was surprised to hear someone else's voice in the room.
"Dynamo?" the voice queried. It was extremely low toned, with a hint of a British accent. It sounded quite familiar. "Dynamo, this is Mercutio. Can you hear me?"
As if he had catlike senses, Dynamo instantly reached for the talkie resting beside him and responded. "Yes, sir. I'm here."
"Excellent, Dynamo. Good to hear your voice again," The man merrily stated.
"Likewise, sir."
"Now then..." the man began, clearing his throat. "I've been hearing various stories coming out of Sigma's fortress. Something about some "Vile" character breaking on out of there and starting some sort of unholy carnage on the human race. Could you clear this up for me, Dynamo?"
Dynamo let out a sadistic chuckle. "You might want to hire different people to scout for you, 'cutio my boy. Vile was resurrected, indeed, but apparently he became some sort of pacifist and stormed out of here, vowing to put an end to the Mavericks. I wasn't present to see it myself, unfortunately, but after the incident things have begun to go pretty crazy over here. Everyone's scared as hell of Vile coming back, even Sigma. He barricaded the door to his office and now he's in there blubbering like a baby. You can hear him from here, actually."
Mercutio chuckled with devilish delight. "I wish I was there to see that." He cleared his throat once again, sterness re-entering his voice. "Now down to some more serious business. You managed to retrieve Doppler's old files, didn't you?"
Dynamo gulped. This would be rough.
"Err... well, you see..." he spewed out. "Um.. well.. funny story, really... um, I kinda... err..."
"Dynamo..." Mercutio began once again, a bit of anger entering his voice. "Answer my question. Did you or did you not get that wretched file out of Sigma's office before it was barricaded?"
The greyed reploid sighed. "No, sir.. I ran into some trouble while searching for it. Some other recruits were following me, and I searched exactly where you instructed me to search and found absolutely nothing, sir."
His commander grunted. "That's dissapointing, Dynamo. You know perfectly well that you haven't been living up to your standards... you could've easily found that file in a matter of seconds if you had just searched a little more. Don't tell me you're becoming some kind of an irresponsible fool..."
"I'm not a fool, Mercutio," Dynamo snapped.
"I don't care what the hell you are, Dynamo," he snapped right back. "You need to learn to follow orders. I instructed you to bring me that file no later than a week after your arrival there. From now on, I want you to ignore ALL distractions until that file is found and brought back to me, and I want you to do so in no more than a week. And I'll tell you this right now - if that fortress crumbles to the musty desert ground with that file still there, your entire future in this organization is going down with it, I can guarantee that. Remember, your allegance is with US, and ONLY us. Do you understand...?"
Dynamo let out another frustrated sigh. "Ugh... yes, sir."
Mercutio's voice calmed. "Good. I'm glad we have an understanding. I'll contact you in precisely a week or so, and I want the file to be found by then. I'm ending this transmission now. Good day to you, Dynamo, and for the love of Pete try to remain alive and well. We don't want to lose our most talented mercenary."
Mercutio's words were instantly followed by a mess of screechingly noisy static, which brought extreme unpleasantness to Dynamo's "virgin" ears. Switching off the infernal communicator and placing it aside, he laid back on his tiny mattress and closed his eyes, with his boss's words still echoing endlessly in his mind.
"Your allegance is with US, and ONLY us."
Allegance...