MEGA MAN X: DEMONS OF THE PAST
By Erico
CHAPTER TWO: FORSAKEN ANGELS
Bastion woke up slowly. He didn't know where he was, and for a few brief moments, even WHO he was.
But then his brain caught up to him. And the truth crashed down on him like it did every morning. He covered his deep blue eyes with his hands, taking in a breath.
Should he bother to get up this morning? Should he just lie there uselessly, like he did yesterday?
"I don't know…I just don't know anymore…" Bastion groaned. It had been two weeks and two days since Bristol had walked out of his life.
And taken his heart with her. He'd been sluggish ever since then, moody and depressed, totally lacking the fire that kept him going. Every night, he found it next to impossible to sleep. Every morning, a struggle to wake up.
"No matter what anyone says…It's hard to sleep alone after you've been with someone." Bastion sniffed raggedly. "There's just something about a warm body pressed up against you…" Bastion's hand reached over, caressed the side of the bed that Bristol had occupied on that one occasion.
Never again. Bastion shut his eyes, squeezing out the droplets of tears that fell from them onto his pillow. His angel had left him.
And left only a few feathers.
By some miracle, Bastion picked himself out of his bed and rocked unsteadily to his feet. He didn't want to. But as a Commander, he was required to keep a track on his Unit.
And that meant training them. Even if Jad, Kol, and Gavin could keep tabs on them, newcomers though they were, Bastion felt the time was not right to cut himself loose from the flock yet.
His clothes were disheveled, unwashed and rumpled by the sleepless nights he had existed in for so long. As far as Bastion was concerned, they'd stay that way. But it wasn't proper attire for what he needed to do. He primed his arms at his side, clenching his fists up as he activated his internal warp generator.
In a flash of light, the brown haired reploid, a Maverick Hunter who lived at base in New Tokyo was once more clad in the orange and red armor that distinguished him from all others. He was, after all, as burning as the fiery colors that were his dress.
He was The Desert Fire.
Or was at least. Now…
Now he didn't know what he was. He didn't know what he was doing, and suddenly Bastion realized how disillusioned Wycost must have felt when he left the Hunters. Should Bastion choose that path as well?
The reploid slipped his semi-helmet on, making sure that the protective metal band about his head didn't pinch his hair, shaking his head.
"I don't know…I just don't know anymore." Bastion whispered to himself.
Reaching down to his desk, he pulled the two silvery metallic cylinders from their standing recharge racks. He pushed the buttons at their hilts, feeling the thrum of machinery come back to life as the energy blades within sparked into life.
One purple, and one blue. Bastion's twin beam sabers, capable of magnetically joining at their bases to form a beam staff. Yet another reminder of Bristol.
He shut them off and dropped them into the twin recharge holsters of his power pack that was fused permanently to his armor. Underneath it was a vacant spot, one that remained such, but nonetheless held an imprint.
If Bastion had wished it, that imprint would be covered up by a powerful set of Flight Wings known as the "Angel's Advantage." But Bastion did not want that. His sabers were reminder enough.
His angel had left him. And in his tortured psyche, she had also clipped his wings.
The pragmatist reploid keyed in his wrist comm, while slipping his plasma reflective armband into place, grunting as it sealed seamlessly with his armor for a snug fit. He could use that armband to block enemy Buster shots. That was its intent. Wycost had indeed left a legacy behind him, his computer files showing the genius and crazed individual who worked in war, but struggled for peace.
An individual who had walked out of the Hunters with even less flair than Bristol. It was those computer files that had given Bastion his newest piece of equipment, the armband he wore. But he shook his head, feeling his eyes begin to glaze over.
"Bastion here. What's on the to do list for the 21st today?" A reploid communications officer in the main data center grunted for a moment, keying in his request. Finally, the individual turned back and sent the response.
"Commander Bastion, your Unit's signed up for a Level Seven Training Mission in the Simulator room five hours from now." Bastion's eyes glimmered out for a moment, then he gave a simple thanks and clicked his comm off.
Level Seven. Severe, Joint Unit attack of a heavily defended Maverick base. Forces variable--which always meant superior.
It'd give him exercise, at least. But it didn't excite his spirit. And as Bastion glumly walked out the door, his head bowed down slightly as he tried uselessly to disguise his sorrowful mood, he realized something.
Just what was keeping him here? Bastion froze just outside his door.
"What is…" Bastion mused. Wycost had left. Then his eyes hardened.
Wycost had also been infected, turned into a Maverick, pitted against Bastion, then nearly slagged and taken back to base. Upon recovering from the most severe internal deletion of the Virus ever recorded by the Hunter's Medical Logs, Wycost had been permanently changed.
Something had died in him. Bastion had died enough.
There was something else as well. A tiny ray of hope that shined in his eyes and tried desperately to grant hope to him.
If Bristol returned…If being the crucial word…
Bastion would have to be here.
He began to walk on again. But even though his mind had destroyed one block, his heavy heart held another.
Every moment he waited here without her was another moment of meaningless life.
Bastion was completely…and hopelessly…
Ensnared in a bond of pure love that was the most beautiful and dangerous of all kinds.
It was so strong, it could cement two together for eternity.
So strong, that when they were torn apart, the world seemed to crumble.
The cookie of his world was growing stale…
And the foot of cruel fate was fast approaching the crushing point.
In the long forgotten and barren country known as Greenland, the wind blew over the icy glacier with a howling rage. It was cold enough to freeze water in midair, and strong enough to shred a man's face to ribbons if he was crazy enough to stare into the howling air's maw.
Fifty feet underground from this flat plateau of ice, machinery whirred, and the temperature was kept at a constant sixty five degrees on the old Fahrenheit scale. Lights flickered in the darkness, silently awaiting the command to fully activate.
This base was certainly new. There was no dust, no wear or grime in the machines. And there shouldn't be. URFAWP designed compounds well. Only this compound had a much more sinister role involved with it.
The reploids of URFAWP who had been forced to build this base now slept in deep stasis, their bodies suspended in capsules of liquid that kept their armor with a shiny luster. Until they were bidden to awake.
Bidden by their new master. Not Julius Kinnian Horn, more aptly known as J.K. in the world circles. But by a Maverick.
The deadliest Maverick of them all. A Maverick who had ceased to hold true robotic form so long ago, and lived like a terrible parasite, leeching from one body to the next in his inexorable quest to destroy X, recruit Zero, and fulfill the late Doctor Wily's dreams of madness.
This Maverick was Sigma. And for a long time, he had been resting. Waiting. Expelled from his last body by X's abilities in what those human fools were calling "Sigma's Sixth", the Virus spirit of Sigma, the only shattered piece of him left had laid dormant in this computer, awakening from his recuperation period from time to time, asking only how much time had passed, and how much time was left for the construction of a new body.
The problem of his body was being taken care of by the synthesizing tubule next to the hibernating future Mavericks. For more than a week now it had been at work. Unlike the quick synthesizing run Sigma had operated last time under Ferret's guidance to recreate a previous body, Sigma had decided it was time to choose a new form.
New forms kept those Hunter fools on their toes…and gave him greater chances of success.
It had been an excruciatingly long process for Sigma, who had all the time in the world to wait, but not the patience. Directing the machinery, cursing at its slowness, his ravaged mind calmly trying to lead the schematics.
And within two days, the synthesizing computer had promised Sigma, his new body would be completed.
And then he could once more begin what was his only mission left.
To destroy. Infect. And survive.
The giant computer monitor overhead flickered to life, and a green shimmering wire frame face appeared on the screen.
Looking through eyes marked with jagged scars, eyebrows turning down in a grimace as his bald head rotated about slowly, Sigma watched his newest lair.
It was temporary, lacking the structure of his previous master Fortresses. Doppler's had been the greatest of them, weaving about with booby traps, massive Maverick hordes, heavily armed robotic sentries, and teleportation traps.
Of course, Doppler was…HAD…been a genius in the field. That was why Sigma had infected him. His body, his mind, and his lab presented a giant gift, much like a child would expect to get on Christmas.
There had been others like Doppler's fortress, like Doppler himself. Those dimwitted Repliforce fools had reached up into space, and created a Space Station called the Final Weapon. Sigma had almost succeeded in aiming the enormous laser down and obliterating the Hunter base completely. Of course, X had defeated him as usual, even though Sigma's bodies lay waste to him.
And then most recently, there had been that other fool. J.K. Horn and URFAWP. Sigma almost cackled with the sick pleasure it gave him.
Another dream destroyed. Another force for good transmuted, turned like angels into devils for his cause of the Apocalypse. Now URFAWP was a distant memory. Sigma kept up with the news at least.
But what would he attack next? Sigma pondered that question. He supposed he could do many short skirmishes over several years, with all the hidden bases of his.
But if the Hunters got smart, they might find a way to trace his airborne Virus file back to each base and destroy it at their leisure. Not to mention the bases did not have enough power in them to support an ultimate body, such as Kaiser Sigma, or Forever Sigma, or Big Gun and Ugly Head Sigma…
These were temporary solutions at best to Sigma's plots. Sitting in this computer's database for many days had given him time to ponder. Perhaps too much.
He had quickly realized how easily his Maverick Generals were taken down by the Hunters in what the news reports were cataloguing as "Sigma's Sixth". Nitro Narwhal hadn't even BEEN by the transport when they landed in Cairo, and what had surprised Sigma was the relative ease in which they found him.
Obviously, that fool J.K. Horn had helped them. But his role was minor. Those blasted Hunters…and his onboard cameras on the Hovertransports, not to mention Sigma's sly placing of the databugs in his Maverick's brains had shown it was more than the Hunters…
By some miracle, or fate perhaps, they had won. But it was more than Zero and X now. It was all of them. That impetuous flighty fool, Bastion. The twice infected Wycost, a reincarnated Hunter who had dispatched the portly Nitro Narwhal with ease and quashed the dam bombing.
And that new group that had arrived that stopped Megavolt Meerkat in Moscow. They were short, four and a half feet at best. What surprised Sigma was what they had said about themselves. Mere robots? The goldenrod silver and black robot had said with menacing words that they were more than such. Could robots evolve to a reploid's status in this day and age? Mere robots had stopped Mavericks…
Sigma realized in all his pondering there was more facing them than ever before. Not just the Hunters anymore, it seemed that rogue Vigilante groups were now working alongside them.
It was a dangerous time to be a Maverick. But Sigma could wait. His grimfaced computer model floated on the screen, watching the room and waiting.
Two more days.
Two more days…then I can begin again. Sigma laughed inside of himself, a hollow raspy sound that was as meaningless as his bodies.
He was not a reploid. He was not even a reploid Maverick.
He was just a chunk of computer code, free floating between bodies, bases, and hard drives.
Because of that, he could succeed.
And Sigma could wait for that time.
He had years left if he played his cards right. And Sigma always had an ace up his sleeve.
Let it begin. Sigma mused, looking down at the stasis filled eyes of his infected URFAWP servants. Let it begin once more. X…Zero…are you ready to play the game of cat and mouse?
My cheese holds poison even if you do find it.
Sigma laughed.
And above ground, a native crossing the icy glacier island on his snowmobile shivered for a moment as he passed overhead. Shaking his head, the native passed it off as just one of those things.
After all, places didn't give off bad vibes.
No, certainly not the harbinger of destruction.
Certainly not.
Wycost was walking along a barren desert, his leather jacket flaring out behind him as the wind kicked up sand into his face. His eyes were well protected, however. His sunglasses had served him well all these years. His green shirt was still in place, as was his dark blue jeans, neatly pressed. The ends were flared out to make room for the overtly large shoes he wore, not shoes at all, but merely a covering for his metallic boots.
"What am I doing here?" Wycost mumbled to himself. Shaking his head, the reploid realized he didn't know.
By all rights, he should be on a plane to Denver, Colorado in the United States. Not in a sandy dune that could have been the upper Sahara, the Middle East, or even the Gobi.
But nonetheless, he was here.
Still wandering, eh Wycost? Tell me, what makes you feel alone here? What you've done in life, or what you're doing to fix it? Wycost froze, his mouth falling slightly open. His hands primed at his side, and he looked about himself.
"Where…Where are you?!" The voice chuckled for a moment, and Wycost found himself being jolted out of the sleepy state he had been walking in.
You think you're so different than before…and you know so little. Wycost tore his glasses off and glared up at the sky.
"I know you're there! Why can't you come down here and talk to me like a normal person?"
A flash of light enveloped him, and the voice grew louder.
Wycost, do you know how difficult it is to speak normally when you're dead?
The light subsided, and a figure stood thirty feet away. His dimpled face shone underneath the thick folds of the full body brown cloak, and the smile was wide. He lifted his face up, finally letting his eyes reveal themselves.
"Hello, Wycost." The figure said, pulling his hood back. The brown hair waved in the wind, and his shady gray eyes twinkled with happiness of another age. Wycost blinked in stunned disbelief, then pointed.
"You…But…" Wycost shook his head, trying to block out the horrific memories. "Christ, Isaiah! I killed you!" Isaiah shrugged, then let out a small noise of what could have been acknowledgement.
"So? It was Fluid Ferret, Sigma, and the Maverick Virus that made you do it. And you never did accept it. Which means you're not a killer. Killers don't worry about being haunted by the spirits of their victims." Isaiah's eyes twinkled brighter as his cheeks went up in a smile.
"Normal reploids, however…Well, let me ask you this. Why do you think I'm here?" Wycost shook his head, brushing his hair back.
"I don't know…but it's freaking the crap out of me." Isaiah shrugged again.
"Have a seat then. This is your dream, after all." Wycost frowned.
"Eh?" A seat shimmered into existence behind him, and likewise for Isaiah.
The supposedly deceased reploid sat down in his own chair, placing his hands gently in his lap.
Wycost fell into his.
"If this is a dream…Then what are you?" Isaiah blinked in surprise, then raised his eyebrows and made a pouty face.
"Oh, I'm real enough. The rest of this may be a dream, but this is the only time I can still talk to you."
"So, what are you then? If you're not a blink of memory like the rest of my dream, what are you?" Isaiah whistled for a moment, then looked up at the fake sky.
"Consider me your spirit guide. Seeing as I departed the earth--rather hastily--I was offered a second chance at doing whatever I wanted." Isaiah smiled. "Helping you out seemed like the best thing." Isaiah stood up, and rubbed his hands together. Wycost stood up, still not believing what he saw.
Isaiah pouted.
"What? Do you doubt what your eyes see?" Isaiah pointed to Wycost. "Hey, if it's that much of a problem, I'll leave. No questions asked, you can keep on going your merry way. But you got problems, my friend. Psychological ones I can help you work out. Your quest to protect Bristol once you find her is only one part of the super deluxe car wash and wax package." Isaiah shrugged again. "So, whaddya say, Wycost? I've never known you to turn down a challenge."
The green ex-Hunter thought for a moment, then nodded his head.
"I have no reason to doubt you. You helped pull me back from depression once." Isaiah beamed.
"THAT's the Wycost I know. Now! Let me list out a few things for you. My service is temporary. TEMPORARY. I'm only allowed to stick around long enough to get you back on your feet, and then SCCHWOOOMP! I'm out of here to the great beyond." Isaiah pointed. "So make the most of your time with me. You want to talk, or you're in severe distress, knock out for a few hours in stasis. I'll find ya."
Wycost put his glasses back on, then put his hands in his pockets.
"I have three questions, Isaiah. Can you answer them?" Isaiah tilted his head and gave a wry smile.
"Within reason." Wycost nodded.
"Are you my guardian angel?"
"For lack of a better term--Yes. A temporary one. You always do manage to keep a hold on yourself most of the time. And Wycost, I'm temporary because there will come an age where someone else will take my place. Someone far better in the long run." Wycost frowned.
"That's one. Here's two: Will I find Bristol?" Isaiah laughed.
"If that isn't the stupidest question you could have asked. The answer is yes. But I can't tell you when, and what the conditions of that discovery will be. I'm here to instill hope, not innate wisdom of events that have yet to transpire." Wycost held up three fingers on his left hand, and found that they were shaking.
"Last Question: You said after you were done helping me, you were going for the great beyond. Do you mean that reploids go to the same place as humans after they die?" Isaiah rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek, raising his eyes up into the inside of his skull.
"How do I answer this one…" Isaiah snapped his fingers as a dream lightbulb appeared over his head. "AHA!" Isaiah tugged his sleeves back and nodded. "Yes, there's life after death, so to speak. Reploids need not fear that they'll miss out on the same opportunities humans constantly illusion themselves with. Because my dear Wycost, reploids are as human as anyone. We just have different bodies. The same mind, though. Capable of acts of light and dark." Isaiah frowned, and found himself beginning to flicker out.
"Aah, nuts. It seems I've used up my time here for now. Imprinting an image into a dream is more taxing than just a voice." Isaiah waved happily. "But don't you worry, Wycost. Like I said, whenever you need me, I'll be around." Isaiah completely faded out.
I'm always here, Wycost. Just believe in yourself, and stop doubting your abilities for good!
Wycost slumped onto the sandy dune of his dream, completely drained by the experience.
His mind raced. Was it real?
Wycost, here's how you'll know it's real. Look out your window when you wake up. You'll see me waving, okay?
Wycost woke up.
Jolting himself awake, Wycost realized he was still strapped into his seat on the massive jumbo airliner. But he had the sense to look out the window.
Nighttime as they crossed the ocean. And through all the twinkling stars outside, a brilliant blazing flash of light streaked downwards from high above.
Wycost blinked, raising his eyebrows. A shooting star?! He smiled as he finally accepted what had transpired in his stasis period.
"Hello, Isaiah." Wycost mumbled softly, tracing the window with his finger. The shooting star continued down, then flickered out as the last bits of itself burned up.
"I'm glad to know I have a friend walking with me on this mission."
Long ago, Isaiah had smiled down on Wycost when he had saved Cairo.
He was smiling again.
"Atteeyn-HUT!" Gavin barked out as Bastion walked in the door. Instantly, the laughing, joking mass of Hunters that was the 21st "Lightning Strike" Unit came to full attention, bouncing up to their feet and staring straight ahead in the rigid military stance. Bastion waved his hand and let the door shut behind him.
"I told you once, Gavin. When we're faced with a serious Maverick threat, then we worry about Military protocols. Don't worry too much about it now." Bastion's words were normal, but his eyes were still downcast. Jad waved from his end of the line as the Hunters relaxed.
"Welcome back, commander." Bastion grunted and turned to the training room's wall datapadd to input the training level. Jad continued on undaunted, shaking his head with a smile. "Hey, we had a bet going to see when you'd come out of there. Kol won."
Bastion ignored Jad's voice. It wasn't too hard. He was not focused on them in the least, and still was phased. Phased by lack of sleep, the normal weariness, and a genuine lack of life's influence over him.
He put in the final commands and hit the activate sequence. The room shimmered around them as the simulation began.
Bastion recognized the place that surrounded it. International Space Port. ISP. It was this place that he had gained his Powerstorm Wings from in the Fifth Uprising. Glaring through his eyes, he realized that at the level of training brought in, there would be more than one Maverick General. There'd be at least two. And even though this was a simulation, simulations still had the ability to knock you out for days.
"Spread out, guys!" Gavin roared, whipping his saber to life. Bastion's dull eyes registered the Unit dispersing, heading about to wipe out the Mavericks.
So what was he doing here again? Bastion sighed and pulled his sabers out, igniting them and slamming the bases together.
The metal seamlessly joined, forming a complete staff. One blade purple, and one blue. Flickering slightly with the crackling energy within, the electromagnetic blade barriers shone with an incandescence that could light up the darkest evening, or slice through the thickest steel armor plate.
Bastion looked through muddled eyes once again, scanning the skies for the foe he knew awaited him.
But he saw two. Airborne Albatross, for one. He was this area's token Maverick. And the menacing, elongated form of a past Maverick…
Blast Hornet.
Bastion's eyes dimmed down.
"Great…"
What a great time to leave his main Flight Armor behind. He was stuck on the ground while these guys took potshots at him. He could try and activate it, but that took time he might not have. He raised his wristcomm up.
"Jad, Kol! Start shooting at those two airborne Mavericks! Once I get my Flight Armor, worry about the ground based ones." The two close friends clicked their comms in reply, and Bastion could see a steady stream of plasma fire erupt from below, scorching the sky and racing up towards the two Mavericks above.
Airborne Albatross and Blast Hornet responded in turn, and the feathered Maverick unleashed a barrage of missile fire upon the plasma firing Hunters from above. Both him and Hornet weaved their way through the energy storm, charging straight for Bastion.
Bastion raised his wristcomm again and spoke.
"Jad, Kol…you can stop now. They're after me." Jad clipped in.
But sir! Your Flight Armor!" Bastion shut his eyes and took in a sharp breath.
"I'll have to face them without it. Bastion, out." Bastion primed his sabers again, making sure that the staff configuration was safely in place.
Not a moment too soon. Albatross and Hornet landed in front of him, glaring angrily as they pointed at him.
"Hunter! Now is the time to die!" Bastion's eyes were calm as he listened…
A closer term might have been aloof, or distant. He wasn't really paying close attention to them.
"Just shut up and fight, Mavericks." Bastion grumbled. Albatross scoffed and looked behind his shoulder to the insect Maverick.
"You want first crack at him?" Hornet's eyes went up in what might have been a twisted and sick smile.
"Sure." Hornet's wings extended, humming angrily with the same sound a true Hornet made. In a blast of speed, the insect Maverick charged at Bastion.
The Desert Fire planted himself firmly into his stance, seeing the Maverick approaching. His eyes narrowed down, his grip tightened, and he calculated the Maverick's speed.
Less than a second until contact.
Contact.
Bastion's beam staff swung up in a twisting maneuver designed to place at least one slashing surface upon the Maverick. Hornet slammed his modified Buster down, crashing upon the hilt of the blades and smashing onto Bastion's fingers.
The move caught The Desert Fire unawares, and he grunted in pain for a moment. Only a moment, as he pushed past it and managed to nick Blast Hornet in the shoulder with a diagonal cut.
The Maverick broke away from Bastion, turning about and readying his Buster. Bastion didn't see it, but the stinger on Hornet's large thorax also vanished to reveal a cannon of sorts.
A bright homing beacon from Hornet's Buster locked onto Bastion, and his thorax cannon unleashed an unusually large bomb. It struck the ground, breaking apart with a shattering crunch.
That bomb unleashed a mad buzzing storm of robotic insects, all charging towards the homing beacon Hornet had placed on Bastion.
Finally, The Desert Fire's eyes realized what was approaching. The famed Parasitic Bomb. Had it not been for the Gravity Well, X would have also been crushed.
And even in training…
This would still hurt. Bastion shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the painful jolt that would knock him into stasis for two days and signify a death on his scorecard.
Before Sigma's Sixth, Bastion would have never let this occur.
But he just didn't care anymore.
Bastion didn't care if he lived or died.
The simulation ended with a blaring klaxon, and then all fell silent. Jad, Kol, Gavin, and the other members of the 21st unit stumbled for a few moments before realizing that their training mission was over with.
Jad looked over, and spotted the reason why.
Bastion lay crumpled on the ground, his beam staff shut off and useless by his side. His eyes were closed, and the lids glistened with clear liquid…Tears?!
His armor was slightly scuffed, showing where the semi-solid holograms had slammed into him. And above Bastion, the scoreboard flashed ominously with the results.
Commander Bastion, 21st Unit. Training Outcome: Failure. Return to Medical Bay for treatment.
"Oh, Jeezus…" Kol gaped. The stunned and hushed voices of the 21st mumbled among themselves.
"Knew he wasn't all there…"
"Why is he still in charge…"
"Why didn't he use his Armor…"
"If Bastion keeps this up, we should probably find a new Commander…" That tore it for Gavin, and he stomped his foot on the ground, glaring about himself.
"The lot of you are FULL OF CRAP. Bastion has done more for this Unit…for US…than we can ever repay him for! And now when he's going through a rough spot in his life, you begin to doubt him?" Gavin shook his head. "Bastion gave me the role of Second in Command for this Unit. And if any of you have any complaints about working under him, you CAN LEAVE. Toss in your Unit insignia now, and get out of my sight." Gavin jerked a thumb at himself, his eyes burning brightly.
"I'm not leaving Bastion, and I'm not getting him kicked out. I was ready to stand by him, even if it meant my death. But I'll be damned if I stand next to a bunch of sniveling, backstabbing cowards who are getting too hot under the collar for a promotion." Gavin shook his head and walked over next to Bastion, disabling the staff and placing the two sabers in Bastion's rechargers. He hoisted the stasis going Hunter onto his shoulder, and glared again.
"I'm taking him to Hazil to get him patched up. The rest of you can do whatever the Hell you want." Gavin walked out of the door, his pace barely changed by the extra weight.
Jad and Kol joined at his side, the Trio walking out of the simulation room as one.
They were loyal to Gavin, and to each other.
More so to Bastion.
Doan walked in his room slowly, fresh from another visit to Cleo. Therefore, his usual frown wasn't as severe, and his eyes twinkled a bit with fresh life.
Of course, Cleo always did that to him. And no name was more appropriate than sunshine, for the role she filled in his existence. Doan looked about his room for a moment, wondering now at Six in the evening what he should do. It was tomorrow before he was expected to do anything.
Thankfully, the reploid was spared boredom by a phone call, chirping to life and lighting up his vidphone. Doan walked over and punched in the receive command, and was surprised to see the phone type…
"Vox…voice only?" Doan queried himself. He frowned. People didn't use vox that much anymore…His eyes lit up. "But he does!"
Doan picked up the connection.
"Wycost?" He asked softly. The voice on the other end was silent for a moment, and then a low chuckle came over the connection.
"One of these days I'll do something that keeps you from guessing its me, Doan."
"Like a sex change?" Doan said with a small smile.
"More like a secure connection." Wycost retorted. "Anyways, I thought I'd call again and get an update." Doan's eyes narrowed.
"Well, the Hunters are running a bit more training than before, now that we know Sigma's going to strike again. It's just a question of where…when is not the problem anymore." Doan wondered if he should continue…Wycost answered his question.
"You're holding something back, Doan." Doan's eyes twinkled.
"Yes…Although it's not a happy tidbit. You sure?"
"Life's kicked me in the ass so many times, I got a permanent bootprint. Just give me the poop." Doan took in a breath.
"Bastion was in training today. Full team, maximum danger level…he didn't make it."
"Ya mean…"
"Yeah. In stasis as we speak." Wycost grew silent on his end of the line, then nodded his head.
"Somehow I thought he might be terribly afflicted by Bristol's departure. Have you told him I'm out on the walkabout?" Doan's spirits sparkled up.
"No…Haven't had the time to."
"Then I suggest you complete that role before I come back there and kick your face in for letting me down." Doan chuckled softly.
"Doesn't that go against your new life philosophy?"
"Destroying life, yes. Giving you a black eye for letting me down, no." Wycost retorted. "So, will you tell him?" Doan harrumphed for a moment.
"That's in my power. Two final questions before our short communique ends…"
"I'm listening."
"One. Where are you?"
"Believe it or not, the U.S. Doing a little backtracking on Bristol's known hit list."
"Works. Second question, Wycost. You feeling any better? Not as mopey, I mean." Wycost paused for a moment on his end of the phone connection, then let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. I'd say the trip's done me good…and I've met a few people along the way. You wouldn't believe the help I've been able to give these past two weeks…"
"What did you do with Wycost?" Doan barked. The green ex-Hunter froze in midsentence, then let out a noise of surprise. Doan laughed a bit. "Sorry, Wycost. It's just you're a different person…and the good mood's infectious, to say the least."
"I'll keep that in mind." Wycost replied wryly. "These international calls eat up my salary from the Hunters like no one's business. Keep your nose clean, and tell Bastion I'm on the case. That guy deserves more than suffering, and Sheriff Wycost aims to get it for him." Wycost ended the connection, leaving Doan at the phone once more.
Doan gave a small twinge of a smile, then sat down to his PC and opened his Mail software.
Addressing a letter to Bastion's E-Mail address, he began to type.
To: Commander Bastion, 21st Unit
From: Doan, 17th Unit
Subject: Forsaken Angels
Bastion,
As you may or may not know, I know Wycost from long ago. I was able to reconnect with him shortly before Sigma's Sixth, and we've since kept up communications.
And he had an important tidbit he wanted me to tell you, as a friend and even in retirement, loyal Hunter to the Unit.
Wycost is out walking through the world, on a search for Bristol. His hopes are high, and I can honestly believe he shall find her. I suppose this role is to make sure that you don't jump off a cliff or something in anguish. Which, considering your recent lack of effort in the 21st's training session, may be remarkably accurate.
Doan's eyes twinkled as he continued to type.
"Don't you worry, Wycost. I won't let you down."
"Just like you won't let Bastion down."