The nipping, harsh weather that normally accompanied the later days of the autumn season was definitely not something that the average middle-aged human was not used to. While it was popular belief that the coldest weather of the entire year occured mostly during the months of January and February, when the holiday season had been long snuffed out and people were prompted to return to their mundane, workaday lifestyles, the year passing had brought with it some of the worst early December chills to ever grace the city. And, while there were plenty of people in the city who never really minded a numbing cold once in a while, there were also still those who hated every aspect of the clouds' dance with every thriving bone in their bodies.
But, luckily, the man who was usually cold to the rest of the world was never really affected by the sharp cold that nature conjured up.
The man sat against a chilled, metallic wall, in the corner of a somewhat small and uncomfortable room. He was almost shrouded in the shadows, his darkish clothes naturally blending with the blackened areas of space that light had kept untouched; he was very skilled at blending with his environment, as if he were a chameleon. Had somebody entered the room just then, they would probably have had a difficult time trying to pinpoint the solitary figure sitting beyond the florescent lighting that covered mostly the room's center. And he would enjoy it, too, watching the naive newcomer amble by him as if he didn't exist, like he were a ghost. Some people believed being ignored to be a bad thing, and the man didn't quite understand why that was... if anything, a person being oblivious to your actions just made things much, much more entertaining in the long run.
Allowing his cloak to conceal most of his body from the neck down, he adjusted his position a bit, letting his knees bend in front of his face as he leaned his crossed arms against them, keeping his head pointed below. The matted, blackish fibers that formed his hair were all that could be seen of his head now; he liked keeping his face out of the light, only deciding to fully face forward when it was completely necessary. He wasn't the most trusting of people, but that was understandable; most of his past experiences with modern members of society had just ended up making his life even more unpleasant than it already was, forcing him to pent up feelings of annoyance and impatience for most living beings that he didn't consider an ally. But that was fine with him... he never did have any use for those who annoyed or pestered him, those who brought him down or made an enemy out of him. The less, the better, he believed with all of his will.
Then again, allies were harder to come by these days. The man, in reality, didn't have any actual friends; that was impossible, considering that he didn't believe in the concept of friendship or fraternity. The closest that one could get to being his friend would be being an ally... but, even then, it would be doubtful that this 'ally' of his would be trusted any more than an enemy. But that was just the way he was, and if people couldn't deal with that, then it was their own problem, not his.
It wasn't long before the poisonous sting of boredom began to drive itself through the man's skin and penetrate his blood. Lazily, he lifted his head, directing his glance to a business counter on the other side of the room. There, two men were arguing - the one behind the counter was a stocky man donned in a regulation employee uniform and glasses, with dark brown hair and narrow eyes. The other, who seemed to be painfully stressed out, appeared to be a young blonde-haired man in his mid 20s wearing a dark red shirt and long, whitish pants. He also wore a dark-hued utility belt, with a gun holster at his right side that was mysteriously empty. The man knew the latter of the two; The silent man considered him an ally, and had done so for almost a year now. The young man could've been considered an apprentice of his, but that wouldn't make much sense, consdering that the man in the corner didn't really have any kind of steady career. But he still held authority over the blonde boy, and thus was persistent in keeping him under his watch at all times.
But now, it seemed that the man's young associate was beginning to lose his self-control, which was never a good thing. The boy looked positively angry at the clerk behind the counter, with his face twisted in surmountable frustration and his fists each tightly clenched. A surge of interest spreading throughout the silent man's body, he tried as hard as he could to listen to the conversation, his left ear waiting for any kind of signal. Soon enough, the banter became so loud that it overcame the monotone buzzing of the flourescent lights. He could hear them clear as day:
"C'mon, this is ridiculous!" exclaimed the young man, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. "Don't you understand the situation we're in? We NEED a transport to take us to the desert. NOW. Can't you just..."
"Listen, kid, I dunno what to tell ya," the clerk interrupted nonchalantly, his tired eyes glued to a mundane sports magazine at his desk. "But I can't find clarification on your reserved transport. Maybe it got misplaced - things've been backed up like hell around here in the past week. Tons of customers, all complaining about not getting this-and-that... lack of workers around here... riots breakin' out... you know how it is. You can't appease everybody."
"...what do you mean, 'tons of customers'?" the young man retorted. "There's barely anybody in here, and during the day, I've only seen about seven or eight people in this room at the same time. And even that's a stretch."
"Well, for one thing," the clerk began, "it's 3 A.M. Legally, this store shouldn't even be open right now, let alone have much business. And secondly..." He leaned over the counter, his eyes narrowed at the surly customer, "I honestly believe that you need to learn a bit about patience, my friend. For the last time, sir, we can't find a reservation for a transport under the name that you apparently registered. Maybe there was a slip up with the system, we've been getting those quite a bit lately..."
"Slip up! Oh, come..." His voice trailed off into a series of inaudible grunts and curses, followed by a deep sigh. He lifted his head so that he could look the union worker right in the face. "Alright then. How about you check that computer of yours again."
"Ugh... fine," the employee huffed, turning back to the small computer monitor on his left. "What was the name again...?"
"Mercutio Braunwood," the boy said slowly, as if the clerk were hard of hearing. "M-E-R-C-U-T-I-O, B-R-A-U-N-W-O-O-D. Got that?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," the employee replied, huffing a bit at the customer who assisted in making his morning even worse than it usually was. Crackling his knuckles a bit, he pressed his bulky fingers against the keyboard buttons before him. The young customer rapped his fingers impatiently against the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish his sluggish typing. Soon enough, the man pressed one final button to imput the request, followed by a series of three low-toned beeping sounds. The clerk shook his head in sort of an "I told you so" manner.
"Well, kid, what can I say?" the employee repeated. "There's no 'Mercutio' guy registered on this system. I'm afraid that-"
"Oh, COME ON!" the customer shouted furiously, pure rage in his blueish eyes. "No! I placed an order on here, dammit, I know I did. You know I did! This must be a scam! A setup! Is that what it is?!" He pointed a damning finger at the clerk, his eyes narrowed like a hawk's. "This whole place is just one big conning, isn't it? You wait for average joes to wire you money, and then you claim that they 'aren't registered', or some alibi like that? And then you swim in the profits...!"
"Sir, please," the flustered clerk ordered, the tone beginning to raise in his voice. "I'm sorry, but this is the way things have to be. Mistakes happen, and-"
"MISTAKES?!" the man shouted, is face reddening beyond the breaking point. "What do you mean, 'mistakes'? This is a business you run here, and in businesses, there needs to be something called 'competence' and 'reliability'..."
"Alright, sir! PLEASE!" the employee almost shouted, his voice resonating and bouncing in between the walls of the closed-in room. "That's enough! I think you're blowing this way out of proportion. Now, listen... we can still iron this out, maybe." He paused for a moment to rub his forehead a bit, which was idlely beginning to generate a piercing headache. He began speaking again before the young man could begin yet another tirade. "Okay, let me ask you this, kid. Who is this 'Mercutio' guy? You?"
The color began to return to the young customer's face as he slowly calmed himself down, taking a minute to answer the question. "Well... no, actually," he responded. "Mercutio's just an associate of mine, and he's the one who placed the order. He asked me to get everything taken care of, though."
"Oh, well, what a wise choice of him," the clerk rebuttaled, trying his hardest to keep the sarcasm down to a minimum as to not provoke another sudden outburst of anger from the perturbed customer. The last thing he needed was for his headache to launch a full-fledged blitzkreig. "Well, is this associate of yours around here right now? It'd be easier for me if I had a talk with him."
The young man gave the clerk a narrow-eyed, suspicious look; he knew that this scruffy union employee didn't want to deal with him any longer. "Yeah, he's here," he mentioned coldly. "I don't know if he would want to talk to you, though. He has kind of a 'thing' about having conversations with complete strangers, you know? You can just let me take care of this."
"Buddy, I need to talk to this Mercutio fellah," the clerk stated, refusing to give in. "He's the guy who placed the order, and thusly, he's the guy who I need to straighten things out with. So you either get him, or you get no service from me. We clear on that?"
Now the customer just couldn't stand it anymore. With a swift and sudden motion, he reached for his gun holster attached to the back of his utility belt. He gave his new adversary an evil smile as he patted around anxiously for the location of the deadly weapon... but was crestfallen upon remembering that he had lent it to a comrade of his only a few days ago. The former look of sadistic pleasure that had formed on his face changed immediately back to an embarrassed and sour one, and he groaned as he glared at the man who had intended in putting a gaping hole in just a moment ago.
"Alright, fine! I'll get him," the young man sighed, finally forced to admit defeat. "But believe me, you got off lucky this time. I would've KILLED you if I had my gun."
The employee huffed. "Yeah, well, you don't."
With that, the frazzled blonde-haired customer flashed him one final glance of poison before turining a full 180 degrees and calling out to his apparent associate. "HEY, MERCUSH!" he blared all too loudly. "We need you over here for a minute. This guy's been giving me grief, and want to talk to you about something!"
The man in the corner huffed. He'd seen the situation slowly unfold from beginning to end, and he didn't like where it was going at all. And now, the young man who he trusted to take care of the situation had been remiss in his duties, forcing him to intervene. And he hated social confrontations, even the slightest ones, because he had never had an easy time trusting strangers.
But still, it was inevitable now. As silently as possible, the cloaked man rose above the corner's darkness so that his full figure could now be partially distinguishable. As he walked into the pool of illumination generated by the flourescent lighting above, all of his physical features were made much more distinct; his cloak covering the majority of his body, sans thCore muddy shoes that he wore and the upper part of his dark-grey shirt. He maintained a medium height, about 5'9", somewhat shorter than his coleague. His face didn't appear to be all too welcoming; his eyes were a lightish shade of blue, but still intimidating, and he kept something of a dissatisfied frown in his expression. Once he had approached the front desk, he glanced over to the young, blonde-haired man before even batting an eyelash at the disgruntled clerk.
"Corsair," the man addressed him, a bit of poison recognizable in his tone. "I thought I told you to take care of all this yourself. You're a big kid now." His speech held a hint of a British accent, which seemed to contrast his partner's crude, obnoxious voice.
"Hey, don't go blaming me!" the younger man named Corsair countered, his voice rising in desperation. "I had things perfectly under control, Mercush. No problems. But that clerk guy, he has NO idea what he's doin' over there. He was just real nasty to me, you know? Probably had a lousy childhood, if you ask me. Maybe he was raised by serial killers, or wolves, or zombies, or something..."
"Alright, Corsair. Enough," the older man Mercutio ordered, the impatience slowly rising in his voice. "Just tell me now, if you don't mind. I'd like to know what this man over here wants to talk to me about."
Corsair lifted an eyebrow. "Well, ah... I guess he wants to talk to you about the order, 'cuz he can't find your name, or something. I swear, I spelled out your name PERFECTLY, and he still couldn't find it..." His voice lowered to a whisper. "I mean, jeez, maybe it's a conspiracy, you know? Maybe he knows what we're trying to do, or something? We can't trust anybody, Mercush, and this guy just seems like a..."
"Whatever," Mercutio briskly interrupted, sounding completely apathetic about his colleague's words. "Just keep quiet and let me take care of things from now on, alright? Go wait for me near the benches. I won't be long."
A frown formed on Corsair's young, pale face. "...hm. Fine." He crossed his arms in a primadonna-esque manner and ambled over to the benches on the far left of the room. As he sat, he didn't even bother looking over at his senior and grudgingly searched for other ways to entertain himself.
Showing no further interest in his disgruntled comrade, the stately Mercutio approached the impatient man seated at the admission counter, rapping his fingers against his desk. The employee gave the black-haired ruffian a look of mistrust.
"So I'm guessing you're this 'Mercutio' guy," the clerk began snidely. "Please tell me, buddy, that you aren't gonna spaz out on me like your friend over there."
Mercutio mentally shuddered at the word 'friend'. "No, I'm not going to 'spaz out' on you, so to speak. But if you don't mind, sir, I think it would be easier if we just disregarded his sophomoric actions for a minute and focused on whatever the problem is here." He rested an elbow against the counter, not even looking the clerk in the eye. "My 'friend' tells me that there was a problem with the order, or something like that. Couldn't find it in your records..."
"Well, yeah, I'm guessing that's the problem," the employee confirmed, nodding his head. "I couldn't find any orders under the name 'Mercutio Braunwood', and I checked twice with the correct spelling. Nothing."
Mercutio paused in thought for a moment, pondering the situation. "Alright, well, I fail to see where the problem is," Mercutio responded in a very brief and apathetic manner, still not looking the man behind the counter in the eye. "Screw the 'reservation'. We can just make the transaction now. You have the transports, I have the money. Simple as that."
"...well, I don't know if it's that simple," the man replied skeptically. "Our reservations have been a little booked, you see. Lots of transports have been held in reserve lately, and I'd have to bend the rules quite a bit in order to just open another one up..."
His words were interrupted when the black-haired stranger quickly placed some money on the table somewhat forcefully, revealing a small mixed wad of 20 and 50 dollar bills. Without even bothering to count it, he slid it slowly towards the man. The clerk eyed Mercutio with narrowed eyes before looking down at the cash presented to him.
"There. That should be enough," Mercutio calmly stated, as if ingoring the man's previous words entirely. "Go ahead, count it, if you want. Trust me, it's all there."
And the clerk did so, mostly out of a servere mistrust of this shady newcomer. After taking a second to count up each and every bill in the pile, he raised his eyebrows and nudged the bills back to Mercutio, shaking his head in rejection. "Well, sorry, buddy. This ain't enough... far from it, actually. So unless you've got more than this, I'm gonna have to ask you to-"
"Okay, fine," Mercutio quickly interrupted, a chilling tone starting to grow in his previously casual voice. "Let's make a new proposition, then." He leaned over the counter somewhat threateningly, his eyes now piercing into the employee's own. "Now listen. Last time I checked, the time was 3 A.M. I don't doubt for a second that you would sell your soul to get the hell out of this miserable rut of a place and go home to... well, whatever it is you have to go home to, if anything. I, for one thing, want to get to my destination as soon as possible, just like you. So consider this: you take the money, give us a transport, and we'll be off. Out of your life. And trust me, we'll probably bring the transport back before any 'reserved' customers start to whine. But if you deny our order, then, well... we'll stick around. Me AND him. And trust me, my 'friend' over there will be sure to make your life as miserable as possible before we're gone." He chuckled to himself sadistically after that bit. "So, take your pick. I leave you to your common sense."
The clerk, his eyes still narrowed with suspicion at the untrustworthy 'customer', took a moment to deliberate this. It was true; the last thing he wanted was to deal with that psycho of a sidekick again, something that would undoubtedly conjure up the legendary Migrane of Non-Mercy. His face began to convulse with frustration, knowing that he was finally stuck between a rock and a hard place. "...ALRIGHT, fine!" he reluctantly belted out, snatching the money and angrily computing Mercutio's order into a computer to his left. After he had completed the order, he snatched a keycard from an upper shelf and handed it to the cloaked devil.
"Here," the employee snuffed, still bitter about the situation. "Use this to get in. Go down the main hall, take your first right, and keep going straight until you find it. It's transport #706. Greenish-looking. Not too hard to find."
The now-satisfied customer took the keycard with restrained joy, a wicked smile spreading across his usually dour face. He inspected it only for a second and then began walking off. "Good, glad to see you finally complied," he said snidely as he walked off. "Continue with... well, whatever it is you do when there's no customers. Best of luck to you."
"Yeah... whatever," the stressed union worker muttered in regret as he watch Mercutio signal to his colleague, prompting him to follow his lead. He did so, and within seconds they were out the right door and headed down the hallway to wherever the hell they needed to go. The clerk didn't care anymore; the only thing on his mind right now was the beautiful, far too distant dream of retirement and, eventually, eternal rest. He sighed at the thought; at this rate, it seemed as if neither would ever come.
"I wasn't exactly pleased with your performance in there, Corsair," Mercutio lectured casually to his younger ally as they both ambled down the empty corridors, making their way to the transport. "If I had to pick the worst ten ways of handling a situation like that, your actions would most certainly be up there."
"Oh, come ON, Mercush!" Corsair begged him, a bit of anger rising in his voice. "That guy was criminal, stealin' our money, you know? How am I supposed to take that sitting down, I ask you?"
"I don't know," his elder said loudly. "Figure out a way to, though. You haven't been living up to your expectations lately, Corsair, and if you're going to constantly be traveling with me like this, then I suggest you get your act together. In case you weren't aware, you're easily expendible."
Corsair scowled; he hated it when his comrade used that word. Out of everything he could imagine himself being considered as, a 'tool' was the one he believed to be the worst of them all. He would NOT be used, manipulated, or any of that crap, by ANY means. And, as hard as he tried, he couldn't get Mercutio to understand where he was coming from.
"Nevertheless," Mercutio continued as he rounded the first corner, "I'm still going to need you around. This entire business with the fortress... I just want to get it out of the way, as soon as possible. Then, after that, we find the runaway, and deal with him. And then, well... we'll see what plans I've got after that."
Corsair raised an eyebrow as they approached their transport, #706. Mercutio liked keeping his plans under the radar for as long as possible, even with his closest allies, and needless to say it bugged the hell out of the young mercenary. That was the feeling he had always felt since he got involved with his crowd; whenever he did so much as walk through a door, he had no idea whether or not 50 armed guards would ambush him out of nowhere, or that the floor would collapse, or that he'd ram straight into a brick wall. His entire life was completely unpredictable, and he still couldn't tell whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.
But he knew what they were going to do, at least, after they reached the desert. There was a fortress, some months ago, that had been completely decimated and turned to rubble. It had been territory of the rebel reploid group, the Mavericks, and had been the area where one of Mercutio's top agents had infiltrated. However, that very same agent soon betrayed him and cut off all communication with him. Since Mercutio had a firm belief that this agent held far too much incriminating information, he was very determined to find him, and Corsair dreaded what kind of lengths he would stoop to in order...
Before he could continue his constant mental pondering, he was suddenly stopped by Mercutio, who used an outstretched arm to signal a quick halt. Corsair soon saw why; directly to their right was the door leading to transport #706, exactly where they needed to go.
"Well, this is it," Mercutio stated, swiping his keycard through the slot planted on the door. "I'm just hoping that you're ready for all of this, Corsair. You've been with us for only a little more than a year, and even during that time you haven't spent much of your days traveling like this."
"Nah. I'm ready, trust me," Corsair assured, though knowing deep down that he would probably never be ready for anything Mercutio planned out. Breathing in a bit heavily, he followed his elder into a medium-sized room, a plae-green color all around, with small cushioned seats placed on seperate sides and a sizable vending machine. Before he or Mercutio could say another word, the door behind them automatically snapped shut, and a calming voice rang from the intercom:
"Welcome to the Global Transport System. This transport, #706, is slated for a non-stop arrival at the Terencse Desert Transportation Bay. Predicted arrival time will be in approximately 3 hours and 30 minutes. Food or drink may be ordered at anytime using the call button, and restroom facilities are provided near the front of the transport. Thank you, and please enjoy your trip." With that, the entire room began to make a kind of clanging noise, and soon enough it began to slowly start moving. Mercutio, unfazed by the entire situation, callously stretched out his arms and took a seat at the other side of the room.
"Well, we've got some time," Mercutio stated, a wry smile forming across his face. "Just remember what we're doing after we're out of here, Corsair. We have something very important that we're looking for, and I won't accept screw-ups. But for the time being, just relax, and prepare. That's all we can do for now."
The sun rose that morning, for the first time in months. Due to the chilling December weather that had spread throughout the bustling town of Terencse City lately, almost entire days at a time had been covered with a relatively dark and misty sky, with the sun being completely blocked out. But now, the sun was beaming bright, something that had rarely accompanied the morning lately; one might say that this new sun would serve as a sign, signifying a new beginning of sorts. But to most of the natives in Terencse City, they could care less about symbolism - they were just grateful to have the source of heat, and rightly so.
But the sun was very, very illuminating that particular morning. Its rays beamed far throughout the countryside, bringing light to every corner of the continent, and serving as a shining beacon for those seeking guidance. One could describe in a multitude of words the kind of beauty that morning sun happened to radiate...
...well, that is, if a tiny hint of sunlight weren't to direct itself straight into one unsuspecting reploid's vulnerable eye.
Mega Man X could barely shield his left eye from the superheated ray before he was forced out of what used to be a very peaceful slumber. The burning was incredibly harsh; even after he had thrusted both hands tightly against his distressed-looking face, the painful sensation was still implanted deep within his retina, and it spread itself so far that now it seemed as if his entire face were swelling up like a ball, regardless if machines were actually capable of such an action.
"...ARGH! My FACE!" he shouted in his usual less-than-masculine tone, shaking his legs and rolling his torso back-and-forth on his bed like a 3-year-old who just had his favorite toy taken away. Of course, that 3-year-old probably didn't have to endure excrutiating pain, much like X did; his kicking and screaming didn't seem like it would come to a halt. Soon enough, without warning, the black-haired azure-armored Hunter had rolled around so many times that he ended up falling right off of his bed, taking the sheets with him. His cry of surprise was soon met by a sharp, searing pain in his right knee, one that quickly helped him forget about his scorhed eye. After a few more minutes of kicking, thrashing, twisting, groaning, and yelling, X had finally lost almost every ounce of energy he had left in him; admitting personal defeat, he lay spread-eagle on the floor, gasping for air, with the sheets still covering his dormant body.
With that, a dead, awkward silence filled the room, sans the monotone inhaling/exhaling of X. His mind still trying its hardest to understand what had just happened, the black-haired soldier poked his head through the sheets, just so that he could examine the situation. He made a very weak effort to get back on his feet, but knew that he lacked the energy to do so. The pain in his eyes had finally subsided; actually, he suddenly realized, that stinging really wasn't anything too serious. X had overreacted, and it hadn't been the first time.
It wasn't very long before the silence that had become endemic to his room was shattered to pieces. His face still directed only towards the ground, X could hear some faint voices outside, ones that he could barely recognize at first. It wasn't until the noisy squeaking of the door opening that X could really determine who the voices were coming from. Summoning as much energy as possible, he cracked his neck upward enough so that he could see at least the bottom half of who had entered the room; it was a man, no doubt, one wearing a pair of navy-blue, baggy pants, which extended far down his legs and slightly covered the light brown loafers he wore to cover his feet. Though he struggled to get a better look at the man standing before him, X realized that any further straining would probably end up breaking his spine. He thrusted his head downward once again, letting his chin rest against the carpeted floor.
It was then that X could have sworn hearing the man chuckle a bit to himself, as if the sight of him in this kind of state was comical, in some bizarre way. Then, finally, the fallen reploid heard the man say something out loud in a calming, yet amused tone of voice:
"Well now, X. Nice to see that you're finally awake. Tell me, how's that knee injury of yours been holding up?"
The battered X groaned audibly; being a machine with human emotion, he was fully capable of expressing emotions such as self-pity, woe, and even frustration. Now he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who that man was in front of him; the voice had become strangely infamous over the course of the years. Looking upwards but still only able to see his mentor's feet, a grimace slowly formed on his face as he spoke.
"Hey... Dr. Cain. Nice to see you too," the embittered reploid replied, followed by a woeful sigh. X really, really hated being in embarrassing situations like this.
"Hmm," the doctor pondered. Suddenly, though X's field of vision was pretty limited, he began to notice that the man's figure was beginning to become relatively shorter; his knees were bending, his arms and torso were coming into sight, and finally, the man's face had lowered to the same level as X's. Dr. Cain's face was easily distinguishable - it was a bit wizened, but not too much so, as Cain was still in his mid 60s. His greyish facial hair formed a somewhat ruffled mustache and beard, which withheld a sharp contrast to his completely smooth, hairless scalp. In his left hand, he held a mid-sized cane, which he carried around almost all of the time he was mobile in order to prevent himself from straining his partially-limp right leg. From X's point of view, a half-smile could be clearly seen on the doctor's face.
"Now, X, I'm a little afraid to ask," said Dr. Cain with some caution, "but some of the medical workers and I were hearing some pretty loud and painful screams coming from this very room. Now, I find you laying on the ground, your hair all matted up and your eyes reddened, with a bedsheet on top of you. I'm guessing that you either abruptly awoke from a horrific nightmare foreshadowing dark events in the future, or you mistakably swallowed a fly. But maybe it'd be best if I heard it from you."
X mentally cursed the decisions of fate as he looked his mentor straight in the eye to give him an answer. "I... got burned in the eye by a ray of sunlight," he replied, trying his hardest to quell his embarrassment only to fail miserably. "It startled me... and I fell off of the bed, right on my knee. And it hurt, and that's... why I was screaming."
Cain rolled his eyes a little bit before making eye contact with X again, adjusting the upper part of the long, blueish coat that he wore. "Well, I guess that is pretty rough, eh?" he said with a chuckle, now pushing his cane against the ground in order to return to his original stance. "X, I still don't understand why the smallest inconveniences seem to effect you so negatively. There really is no reason for you to overreact like this so much."
Oh, shut yer hole, old man... X rambled in his mind; even though he and pretty much every other Hunter in the building withheld a deep sense of admiration and respect from the doctor, there would always be times in which X just couldn't stand him, even if he knew that the doctor was right - well, ESPECIALLY if he knew the doctor was right.
"I know, I know..." X muttered, keeping his sight aimed at the ground again. "I can't help it if I'm startled by something."
"Well, nevertheless..." Cain began again, his voice becoming a bit more serious. "I'm actually very glad to see that you've finally woken up... well, not in the most graceful manner, but let's just forget about that for now. There's something else I need to talk to you about, and it is a bit important." Looking back down at X, he extended a free hand. "Need a little help?"
"No, no, NO thank you!" X suddenly huffed out, a new wave of desperate energy running through him. He began to push himself upward with his arms and legs, knocking the bedsheet right off of him. "I can get up myself, I'm fine, I'm fine! See? I'm up. I'm fine, I - AGH!" His rambling was cut short when he pressed down a little too hard on his right leg, causing a searing pain to spread through it. In complete agony, X impulsively grasped onto his bandaged knee, his eyes doubled in size and his teeth tightly clenched. Cain, forced to witness the disturbing spectacle, raised his eyebrows and shook his head before approaching the frantic reploid.
"Alright, X... calm down, now," Cain said comfortingly, placing an arm on the Hunter's shoulder and trying to have him relax. "There now. You see what happens when you get to energetic? C'mon, have a seat on the bed, and relax that damned leg of yours before in snaps in half, please. I'm only going to talk to you for a minute, and then you can go back to... well, whatever it is you do in here besides sleeping, if anything."
X's lips began to form some curses, but unfortunately for him, they were barely audible. Reluctantly heeding his mentor's words, he slowly limped over to his bed, making sure to be as cautious as possible this time around. He sat down gently on the empty mattress, keeping his right leg hovering above the floor. Glad to see that the reploid had finally cooperated, Dr. Cain grabbed a chair from the other side of the room and sat on it right in front of X's bed, so that they could talk in a more direct manner.
"Well, first thing's first. Your leg injury. Jenn and the other doctors have been telling me that it'll take about week to fully recover. And, thusly, I'm required to keep you out of any strenuous activities until that week is over. This would most definitely include training, battling, and the like."
"Wha - a whole week?" X questioned, sounding a little surprised and crestfallen. Though X was well known as a reploid who very much disliked war and fighting, he always had felt very secure in training, since he knew well that a new threat to the peace of the world could just pop up at any moment and he needed to be prepared at all times. "But doc - I honestly don't think the knee injury is that bad, per se..."
"Well I'm sorry X, but it's what I have to do," Cain interrupted him. "Don't blame me about it, though. Blame that new weapons instructor who 'accidentally' shot that laser at you."
"Oh yeah, that guy. Has he been punished yet?"
"Well, he was suspended for a month."
"...oh, c'mon, that's weak! You've made me scrub bedpans before, just for doodling a bit on some stupid capsules."
"Well, they were extremely fragile capsules, you see," Cain argued, trying to get X to stop his babbling. "But nevertheless, I think it's best we get to the issue at hand here. Now listen up. Since you're detained for the time being, I have an interesting job for you that won't involve fighting or anything like that. You'll probably like it; it has to do with the Repliforce."
X paused for a brief moment. "Oh... Repliforce."
"Yes. I've been very pleased with the kind of progress that the branch has been making lately, as you probably know. There haven't been any traces of Maverick breakouts lately, or at least since the Soul Eraser incident. They're an extremely accomplished militarial and peacekeeping power already, and they've only been in power for... what, six months?"
"Almost," X corrected him.
"Right," Cain agreed. "Well, anyway, though the Repliforce has been very useful and supportive to our cause over the past few months, they aren't without a few problems. Nothing major, but they're there. You see, since the force is completely ran by reploids, humans are rarely ever seen around there much. Many of their soldiers also retain a strong sense of honor with the Repliforce, and aren't fond of the fact that they're really under Hunter control. Because of these facts, some of them have been harboring resentment towards the Hunters, believing them not to be personable, or that they're too cocky, or whatever. I'm not completely sure of the situation, but still, I feel a bit guilty that they feel that way, as the Hunters mean no harm to them at all."
X was nodding consistently, though still showing a lack of interest. "Mmm hmm. So, tell me, what does all of this have to do with me?"
"Well..." Cain began again. "I've decided to send a Hunter or two over to the Repliforce HQ, so that they can visit with the General and talk to the soldiers staying there. I think that it would be very healthy for their morale, and it'll show them that the Hunters aren't driven on crushing their honor or anything like that. And you, X... you're definitely the main person that I want to send."
Upon hearing this news, X raised his eyebrows a bit, unsure of how to respond. Though he wasn't averse to the Repliforce in any way, he always had a feeling that he wasn't exactly idolized among them. More specifically, he'd never felt comfortable around the Colonel, who had never really seemed to acknowledge X's authority before. Colonel was definitely much more of a friend of Zero's, elite Hunter and X's best friend. Zero was much more liked among the Repliforce soldiers, mostly because he had this kind of social charisma that X could never imagine himself having. Furthermore, X couldn't understand why Zero...
"Well, why not just have Zero do it?" X suggested to the founder of the Maverick Hunters. "I mean, Zero doesn't have a limp knee, and he's more of a 'likeable' person than I am anyway."
"Well, I would have Zero do it too," Cain admitted, "but for the time being, he's off doing something else. Actually, I think he's off on a scouting mission with the Colonel, Iris, and some of the Hunter forces. So while they're off doing that, you'll be staying at the Repliforce building for a bit. So, how does that sound to you?"
X paused for a second, thinking this through. "Hmm... well, I don't know. I'm not a very convincing person, you know. You sure you can trust me to represent this entire place's opinions?"
"Oh, nonsense, X. Of course I trust you!" Cain enthusiastically replied, making it sound as if the Hunter had just muttered a string of gibberish. "Not convincing? Who ever gave you that idea, my boy? You're VERY convincing, very personable. Hell, that's what your creator built you for, remember? He wanted you to be a contributor to the good of society, and only to fight if the world would really benefit from it. So yeah, X, you're perfect for the job." He gave his surrogate 'son' a pat on the shoulder. "Trust me. The Repliforce complex is a very nice area, and I've made sure that you'll have a warm welcome. The General will take care of everything for you when you get there, I assure you. Everything's set up, and everything'll be fine. Does that sound good to you?"
Sighing a bit, X looked to the doctor and shrugged lightly. "Yeah, well... I guess it couldn't hurt. I've been needing something to do, anyway."
"Good, good! That's the spirit, X," Cain said pridefully, beaming at one of his best soldiers. "You'll be leaving at around noon this Wednesday, so be prepared. Trust me, you visiting there would definitely help in strengthening the relationship between humans and reploids. Oh - and I almost forgot to mention... you have the choice of who you want to bring with you. Just as long as it isn't some wino you picked up off the street or anything."
"...well, I don't know why it would be," X replied, a bit confused at Cain's statement. "But yeah, I guess I'll be prepared."
"Alright, then. That's all settled," Cain concluded as he lifted himself from his chair, letting his cane support him. He said a little bit more before heading for the exit. "I'll leave you alone for a while so you can get some rest, X. Jenn may come around in a few hours to check up on your progress so far. So just remember that you're leaving on Wednesday, and I'll talk to you about it later. Arrivederci."
"Well... okay then. Bye," X replied before the good doctor finally ambled out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.
Finally allowing himself to stretch out his arms and legs, a distressed X pressed his back against the soft mattress of his bed, letting his entire body just lay flat. So... Zero's on a scouting mission, eh? he mentally recapped. Well, it figures. This is what he always. Literally charming the pants off of that Iris, while having a spot of tea with Colonel. Mr, Charisma strikes again. Although X knew he was exaggerating that a bit - for one thing, Zero and Iris weren't exactly pursuing eachother or anything, but X had always felt that the two of them had something going on. Iris, the Colonel's sister, was somebody Zero had been forming a friendship with for a while now, and knowing Zero's nature, X didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out the situation.
It was then that X's thoughts wandered back to his future visit with the Repliforce. The blue-plated reploid still felt somewhat uneasy about it - he couldn't really pinpoint why, but there was a strange feeling inside of him that advised him to watch his back while he was over there. But X, being as tired as he was, wanted nothing more than to just forget about all that for the time being; resting his head against the pillow and gently shutting his eyes, he let his mind wander to thoughts of tranquil valleys, gentle ocean waves, and Zero getting conked over the head with a frying pan until he had fallen into a deep, calming stasis.