MEGA MAN X: DEMONS OF THE PAST
By Erico
CHAPTER THREE: UNCOVERED TRIALS
The Medical Bay of the Maverick Hunter Headquarters was certainly impressive. Looking like something out of Star Trek: Voyager, the only thing it was missing was the Holographic Doctor. Blinking lights, sparkling clean beds, operation utensils laid out in steri-stasis, a main entrance with a sliding door, and a separated area from the rest of it for the doctor's office and living quarters. Currently, only one patient was occupying the very spacious facility, lying dormant on a cot with his eyes shut, and barely breathing.
His helmet, a rather floppy thing that might have resembled a Junior High School Wrestler's helmet, were it nor for the imposing metal points on either side and the focused green crystal right over where the forehead would go, lay at his side. Almost all of the top was sliced off, thanks to one Maverick known as Megavolt Meerkat in the Fifth Uprising. It was this that made it so imposing and memorable.
His armor had been given a complete spit shine, and underneath the semi-bright fluorescent bulbs above, the reds and orange and the bright yellow, almost gold trimming of his boots sparkled with a brilliance that would leave most breathless. Most surprising was the combination of his facial features as for the first time in two days, he opened his eyes.
His hair was an imposing mass of well trimmed mane that was two colors of brown, one light and one dark. His facial skin was a tanned bronze that if he were human, would speak of many years under the sun.
Of course, like so many others in the world of today, he was not human. He was reploid. A robot with superhuman abilities and the odd quirk of a mind that worked exactly like a human's. The ultimate step in robotics yet.
His white gloved hands, lying at his sides uselessly, clenched up into fists as the realizations of it all crashed down upon him. And then from the office close by, a gray haired reploid came walking in, staring absently at a datapadd in his hand while whistling an old Irish tune.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Bastion." The gray haired reploid announced. The brown haired Bastion pulled himself free from the cot and snapped his helmet back on, making sure all of his hair did not get pinched by the metal.
"If I'm alive, Hazil, why do I feel dead?" Bastion replied tersely. Hazil shrugged, ignoring Bastion's obvious plight.
"Don't try to get sympathy from me, ya wetnosed Hunter." Hazil replied, finally putting the datapadd down and focusing his dark gray eyes on the blue orbs of Bastion. "I see more Hunters shipped through here a complete mess than most docs will see in their lifetime. Playing psychologist is something I never had time to do. Especially since I'm always sewing up Buster wounds and the like. And make no mistake, Bastion. Your problem is psychological." Hazil turned about and picked up his datapadd. Typing in a request, he shut down all his files and secured them with a password, then brought up Bastion's Electronic Mailbox. He grunted and handed the small plastic device over.
"You've got mail." Bastion ignored the ancient AOL quote and tapped in his access codes for message availability. Instantly, they popped up. He put it aside for a moment, focusing once more on Hazil.
"So the problem's in my skull. That makes perfect sense." Bastion snapped raggedly. Hazil made a weak grunting noise and shrugged.
"It's the best I got. And I have a 95% probability of correctly assuming its because Bristol walked away." Bastion's eyes dimmed out.
"Great. Is it that obvious?" Hazil gave a wise, all knowing smirk and crossed his arms.
"Funny thing about us doctors. We see more of you than you usually see of yourself." Bastion narrowed his eyes in a look that spoke of indignance. Hazil merely gave a quick grin and waved his hand. "Just read your mail already." Bastion scanned through the list again, before bringing up a message from Cain. As he read, he also spoke to Hazil.
"Just asking, what was the other 5% probability chalked up to?" Hazil spun a finger in the air.
"The fact that Sigma's back. But knowing your rather…well, let's say, INTERESTING past and the fact you don't mind kicking a little Maverick arse every now and then, that seemed unlikely. As a matter of fact, it usually cheers you up." The doc picked up another datapadd and began to review his patient list for the day. "So you find anything good in that list of two day old tripe?"
Bastion shrugged, not really paying attention to Hazil. "One from Cain…figures. He tried to send me one of those funky dancing flower get well programs. YEESH. Here's one from Gavin…I placed him second in command." Bastion's eyes went up for a moment, then crashed down. "It seems that most of my Unit's raring to demote me down. PERFECT." Bastion shook his head. "All of this is just GREAT news, you know that?" He said sarcastically. "Here's one from that friend of Wycost. Doan. I wonder what he has to sa…"
Bastion's grumbled mutterings ceased as soon as if he had vanished in nuclear fire. The silence so disturbed Hazil, he turned about with a quizzical look on his face.
"Bastion?" Came the soft and almost unnoticeable voice of Hazil. Bastion's mouth gaped for a few moments, and then the Hunter did something he hadn't done in two weeks and two days.
He smiled. Hazil rapped the side of his arm, then coughed loudly. Bastion shook his head.
"Wycost…He's following her." That made Hazil raise his eyebrows in surprise.
"As what? Like a bodyguard of sorts?" Bastion nodded.
"As far as Doan could make out, Wycost is trying to protect life, rather than destroy it."
"Sounds like a fair idea to me." Hazil grunted back. "Now, howabout you and Mister Doan go have a nice long talk about this? I need to get this place prepped for my first patient today." Bastion nodded.
"Gladly. And Hazil?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for patching me up." Hazil scoffed.
"Physical wounds are one thing. It's up to you to get rid of the inner turmoil inside." Hazil pointed to the door. "And you're not going to find the answers in here. OUT!"
Bastion placidly trotted out the door, once more leaving Hazil alone. The Medical Doctor smiled for a moment and crossed his arms.
He'd been with the Hunters since before the First Maverick Uprising. And along the way…he'd seen it all. The strangest surprises came with the new bunch of hotdoggers from the Fifth Uprising and beyond.
Doan, Bastion, Wycost, Bristol, Jad Kol and Gavin…
"Never a dull moment when you're around these guys."
The caves underneath Cossack's Citadel were as much a part of the overall design as the towering spires, seeming like Red Square itself had been uprooted and placed in the middle of the Siberian Wasteland. Dug out by robotic hands, and filled with a bustling complex of facilities, mini-power plants and maintenance bays, the intricate construction served double duty for anyone daring to try and infiltrate the place.
Of course, no one would ever try such a thing. Because no one suspected the deep underground caverns existed in the first place.
Save those who worked in them. The great Sergei Cossack, his middle aged daughter Kalinka, still a looker while over the hill, and the robots inside of the lair.
There were Metools and surface sweepers for basic duties. Hovering sensor probes scanned the power grid for anomalies and reported back. The waterways and sewage plants of the castle flowed smoothly, not once having gone out of balance in over 30 years of service.
The castle was completely self sufficient, with its own underground river and water storage tanks. It did not rely on external power, using a combination of solar, wind, and cold fusion power cells to maintain efficiency.
All of this would seem to be too good to be true. But then again, it was paid for by the revolutionary robotic designs of Sergei Cossack back in 20XX. His schematics were second only to Doctor Light's, and perhaps Doctor Wily as well.
But unlike Wily, Cossack had no intention whatsoever of world domination.
And now many years later, in the age of 21XX, Sergei Cossack wanted only one thing.
"WHERE'S MY TEAAA?!" His lungs were sturdy even in his waning days, thanks to the excellent care he had given them when he was younger. Smoking was something he had avoided.
He tapped his left arm's fingers on the chair's armrest, staring out into the semi-dark interior of the second sub-basement where he usually kept tabs on things. Finally, a response arrived as in a flurry of dust and concrete, a reddish metal mass flung itself free of the ground only feet away from the doctor. Cossack frowned and readjusted his glasses.
"Drill Man, NYET. Didn't I tell you to lay off of the floor drilling? Pravda, walk normally like the rest of us hulking bipeds." The Robot blinked his almost cartoonish optics and shrugged, raising a drill capped arm in the air.
"Apologies, doctor. I was under the impression you required assistance most urgently." His voice was clipped, terse, and without emotion. Robotic.
Which is exactly what Drill Man was. Like all of the servants in Cossack's Siberian Citadel, Drill Man was a robot. Having been kept activated for many years, he had gained a little more of what humans might call 'bedside manner', but he was still a far cry from the ro…no, REPLOIDS that Cossack had laid eyes on with X, Zero, and Hazil.
So far, the only three outsiders ever to set foot in this lair. Cossack shook his head and pointed to the empty china cup beside him.
"I needed tea. Drill Man, you don't have hands for pouring. I didn't build you with them." Drill Man nodded his head, choosing not to issue a verbal response. Cossack sighed and looked behind Drill Man.
"So, who's bringing the tea then?"
"Mistress Kalinka is currently in the secondary galley on this level, boiling water for your brown, caffinated H20 beverage." Cossack rolled his eyes at the annoying term Drill Man used.
"It's called tea."
"Doctor, forgive me for mentioning this, but tea IS an H20 based beverage, where leaves have been added to put in a brown coloring and caffeine. My term is accurate."
"It's also annoying." Cossack pushed his glasses up so they rested in his grayish hair and rubbed his eyes. "Where are the others?"
"Clarify."
"The other ROBOT MASTERS, blast you." Drill Man crossed his arms and let his eyes widen.
"What's the magic word?" Cossack dropped his glasses back down and stared annoyedly at the inflection and goofy look Drill Man had used just then.
"The lot of you must act oafish just so you can surprise me in cases like this. All right Drill Man. The Magic Word is PLEASE. PLEASE tell me where the others are."
Satisfied with his victory, Drill Man nodded his head and continued. "Dust Man is…pardon the expression, making a sweep of the tourist areas." Cossack shook his head.
Down here, that joke was almost older than him. "Also, Bright Man and Skull Man are working on polishing the dome spires on the outer walls. Toad Man is currently in the waterways, checking up on a small leak. Dive Man has opted to shut himself down until five hours from now. And Ring Man and Pharaoh Man are in the converted training room training." Cossack's gaze lit up.
"Aah, so they're practicing to save the world." Drill Man blinked obliviously.
"That is our primary function as the Foregone Five. Should I join them, Doctor?" Sergei Cossack shrugged.
"As long as you take me with you." Cossack grunted and pulled himself free of the computer chair, using a metallic walking cane to ease himself into the nearby motorized wheelchair he used to get about the fortress. Drill Man gave another short nod of his head, then walked alongside his creator, plodding slowly at the wheelchair's pace.
Aside from the hum of the cart's motor and the whining overhead fluorescent lights, it was quiet for the two of them as they walked along. The quiet did not disturb Drill Man, but Cossack was left ill at ease.
"Drill Man?"
"Yes, doctor?" came the automatic response. Cossack shook his head, then looked up at the robot he had built so many years ago.
"Do you ever think that you have become more than you were?"
"Clarify." Cossack struggled with the doubts in his head.
"You have been online for more than thirty years now. In all that time, have you…evolved?" Drill Man blinked again, an involuntary movement he had picked up from Pharaoh Man.
"In some ways. In others, I choose to remain as I am."
"You mean, you do not wish to become more like a reploid?" Drill Man's eyes narrowed and he lost pace for a moment, but he resumed his gait. Still, Cossack noticed what it had done to him.
"That is essentially correct, doctor." Cossack cleared his throat and adjusted the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
"Why? Why do you not wish to evolve?" Drill Man shook his head back and forth.
"The reasons are…illogical. I find myself unable to find the proper term for it." Cossack's eyes flashed open. Turning his head ever so slightly, he blinked at Drill Man.
"Are you afraid?" Drill Man paused, then looked down at his creator. A quick nod of his head, and then the robot walked on.
"Affirmative. That seems to be the most rational term to use. Yes…I am afraid."
"Of what?" Cossack asked, pushing farther on into Drill Man's thoughts. "What are you afraid of?" Drill Man shrugged, and Cossack could see his eyes narrow down even farther.
His mind was coming close to overheating, because puffs of hot air pushed themselves free of his head from time to time.
"I am afraid…" Drill Man shook his head. "The best answer I can attain is I am afraid of losing myself." Cossack finally let out a knowing aah and nodded.
"Da, Drill Man. That is a powerful force. The fear of self-preservation." Sergei let out a small cough. "But whether you like it or not, all of you, my eight children…you are all growing more and more like the reploids in thought."
"That is most unnerving." Drill Man said drily. "After all, reploids suffer from the affliction known as Mavericks."
"True, true." Sergei replied. "But they also can be helpful. Like Hazil, the reploid that upgraded you." Drill Man shrugged again, and then pointed at the door to the newly created training room.
"We are here, doctor." Drill Man rapped lightly with one drill tipped arm on the metallic door, hearing a great conflict beyond the sturdy surface. "Pharaoh Man, Ring Man. Suspend training activities immediately." The noises ceased, and then the door slid open.
Cossack and Drill Man walked through the open doorway, blinking for a moment as their eyes readjusted to the brighter lights. Pharaoh Man and Ring Man walked over, the two of them looking scuffed and battered. Drill Man raised an eyelid further.
"Making a mess of things as usual, I see." Pharaoh Man shrugged and threw back his Goldenrod turban and neck cover.
"And a good afternoon to you as well, Spock. Hey doc, howzit going?" Unlike Drill Man's shorter and more clipped speech, Pharaoh Man's patterns were more human, and filled with inflection. Talking to X, Zero, Hazil, and the doctor himself over his years had resulted in the most complex Artificial Intelligence matrix of all the Robot Masters.
It was only natural that the silver black and light goldenrod robot then would lead the special Maverick Defense Unit known as "The Foregone Five." So secret, only Hazil, X, Zero, Cain, and of course Cossack himself knew about it. So secret, no one knew who had saved Moscow in Sigma's Sixth. It had been them, of course.
Pharaoh Man prided himself in this leadership role, and by some miracle had kept his entire team alive. He himself had suffered a powerful leg wound, but Cossack had fixed it up and given the robot a stern warning about high intensity focus laser turrets.
"I am sorry for the noise, doctor." Pharaoh Man said before bowing slightly. "But Ring Man and I just perfected a new move here. Care to see it?" Sergei shrugged.
"Why not? Very well." Pharaoh Man raised his voice.
"Computer, send in a blank Cossack generation road paver." Cossack raised his eyes. That particular robot was seven feet tall, orange and red, and with a very nasty spiked stomping surface underneath it for a leg. All in all, a powerful juggernaut that Mega Man had had to face time and time again.
Within moments, a wall had opened up and sent in a road paver 'bot. Pharaoh Man nodded to Ring Man, who plucked a metallic circle free from his armband and expanded it. Pharaoh Man took his own time to focus a ball of his plasmic energy into his hands, and with calm precision, stuck it into the center of the ring.
The modified ring bomb hummed and vibrated a little in Pharaoh Man's hand before he flung it at the road paver with deadly aim. It whistled along through the air just like a normal Ring Boomerang, but as the metallic circle ground through the outer hull plating, the plasmic energy ball exploded outwards, burning a bigger hole and causing the ring to convert into shrapnel.
Ten different holes were blown out of the robot, sparking circuits and whining with failsafes before it shut down three seconds later. Pharaoh Man's eyes beamed at the pride he felt, and Cossack laughed and clapped.
"DA! That is very good, Pharaoh Man." Pharaoh Man shrugged, then jerked a thumb to Ring Man.
"Congratulate him. His idea." Cossack looked between the three robots standing in that room alongside of him and shook his head.
Odd how they had a purpose at last.
Wycost's travels had finally taken him to the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. He stuffed his hands into the leather jacket he wore and shook his thick jet black hair back for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day.
"It may be the mile high city, but I'll be damned if it isn't windy to boot." The reploid finally grumbled. He activated the internal circuits of his head and brought up the command codes to his sunglare goggle's HUD display. It silently blinked into life, the yellowish brackets, numbers and words flashing brightly onto the inside edge of his dark glasses.
He swiveled his gaze around, the powerful sensors embedded within the goggles sending out an X-Ray signal. Even the ground was suspect, but Wycost found nothing.
No buried broken metal pieces of reploid, no hidden weapons caches…this place was clean.
But a little less than two months ago, this site had been host to a particularly dangerous firefight between the Hunters and the uninfected Mavericks. Bristol had emerged in the locale, scuffed, worn out, and with a wiped memory.
"And nothing now." Wycost finally sighed, disabling the scanner and the HUD figures. They faded slowly, lingering as if disappointed before vanishing completely from his view.
Wycost chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. Tia Xiang had told him he should go here next…but he'd turned up nothing in the two days on full alert. And to top it off, he was getting worn down again. He'd have to find someplace relatively safe for a semi-stasis charge, a step below full stasis that allowed him to wake up if external stimuli were suspicious or dangerous.
But one thing at a time. Where to go from here. And here was nowhere.
"Great. I'm lost." Wycost grumbled a bit more loudly than he should have. He didn't expect an answer, but he got one.
"Och, then I'd say you're in a wee spot of trouble then. Ye canna go where ye want to if ye donna know where ye'are already." Wycost bit down on his toothpick a bit and unconsciously clenched his right hand up. Strangely, his left one didn't. And it should have.
The voice was feminine and Scottish. And it came from behind him. Close. Probably…Five feet?
Wycost turned and gauged the distance with his eyes. Yep, he was right.
"Pardon me, miss?" Wycost replied calmly, doing his best not to let his dour mood from sinking into his voice. The lady standing behind him returned his gaze with a half smile and folded her arms.
Arms that were slender white, that vanished into a jungle green T-Shirt. Wycost was glad he was wearing his glasses, as he could look her down completely without betraying his line of sight. Blue denim flare pants, a bluish green sweater, piercing jade eyes, and a fiery orange red hair coloring. Her bust was modest, but not overpowering, her ears were small and lobed, and her nose had a definitive point in its impish form.
God, was this lady Scottish. She grunted and shook her head again.
"I said ye seem lost, traveler. And with a voice like that, ye don't exactly hail from around here, I'd wager."
"Yer point being?" Wycost grumbled back, suddenly realizing how different his voice was. He'd slipped back into Bronx English, a guttural New Yorker lilt on the language that sometimes could cause him to slur words together. The woman narrowed her gaze.
"A wee bit on the clippy side. Does that sharp voice have a name to it, or are you a stranger to that as well?" Wycost set his jaw and stopped himself from issuing a similar taunt.
"Wycost." He finally said acidly. "Now what's yours…Erin of the High Hills?"
"Ye wish it'd be that easy for ye." She shot back with another half smile. "I go by the title of Willow, a wee Scottish lass just trying to make her way in the world."
"So you're from around here, then?" Wycost asked, letting his voice take a softer tone to it. Willow's eyes narrowed a bit as she reached a sturdy hand with thin but supple fingers up to rub her chin.
"Aye, I suppose ye could say that."
"Were you around here about two months ago when the Mavericks attacked?" Wycost asked, flipping his glasses up at last. Perhaps showing his eyes would disarm the woman, and help her talk more.
But to the contrary, the mention of Mavericks brought a dark scowl to her face as she shook her head.
"Aye. And I donna ever want to remember aboot it." Wycost nodded, looking into her eyes.
"I'm sorry. Did you lose someone close to you?"
"I'm not about to be telling that kind of personal information to strangers now, am I?" Wycost grunted.
"You know my name. And that doesn't make us strangers anymore." Willow shook her head.
"Just what are ye doing here, Wycost?" Wycost shrugged and flipped his glasses back down.
"Looking for someone."
"Someone special?" Willow suggested, her green eyes gaining a glint in them. Wycost frowned and shook his head.
"Just someone important." Willow shrugged.
"We're all searching for something or someone in life." Willow began to walk towards Wycost, then walked around him and kept on going.
Like an invisible magnet was dragging him, Wycost followed.
"And what are you searching for, Willow?" Willow showed no sign of response to Wycost's question, as her eyes misted over and she shook her head.
"When those Mavericks struck here…they did more than just kill people. They ruined the lives of those who survived. I'm looking for someone who was ruined by their actions. I'm looking for someone who I have an old score to settle with." Wycost took in a small breath before responding.
"So where do you go from here?" Willow paused, then turned and looked with her fierce eyes into Wycost's own, hidden behind his glasses.
"I go my way, and ye go yours. But I have no doubt you'll find who you're looking for eventually."
"I wish you luck as well then." Wycost said in a soft tone. Willow nodded, then walked off.
Wycost shook his head sadly and turned around. A part of him wanted to go along with her. But the majority of him warned it was a bad idea, and of the fact he still had his own mission to worry about.
He began his first step, then froze and swiveled about. He could still make out Willow walking towards the roadside, her red hair waving about in the wind with a life of its own.
Then it all clicked together for him. The title, one word, no last name. Not even sounding like a traditional human's. The odd combination. The Scottish accent out here in the middle of the United States. The gleaming glints of sunlight flashing off of partially hidden metal on her feet as she walked along…
"Willow…is a reploid." Wycost finally mouthed softly. He pushed aside the nagging doubts in his mind, then harrumphed and turned back around, walking down his own path.
If he had kept looking, he would have seen Willow swivel about similarly with a frown of consternation.
"His eyes…they aren't human. Wycost's a reploid. And they burn…" She shook her head. "They burn like fire within a wee glacier…" She shivered for a moment and turned about.
Willow also had her own doubts about this Wycost fellow.
And whether the two of them realized it or not, both had made the same halfhearted wish.
That they not cross paths again.
Sadly, fate rarely listens to pleas.
Hazil whistled an old British tune he knew as he put his utensils on final sterilization cycle, then turned to his computer.
According to his calculations, he had exactly two minutes before Cain was due in for the reassigned checkup. And that wasn't the most pleasant of time constraints he'd ever had to work with. Of course, there'd been worse, like when he had to get X running shipshape after all the times he was pounded out of his life in the First Uprising. Pushing his gray hair back for a second, he rolled his tongue about the inside of his mouth and shrugged.
"I forgot the spinach artichoke dip. Damn…" Hazil's eyes crinkled up into a grin, and his serious façade vanished into one of a jolly gruffish old man. "I guess little Jimmy's going to have to get his cavity removed without a trip into the dentist's toy box." Hazil knew Cain wasn't the only one today. Right after him, X was due in for a full physical, the kind he hated most because it usually meant he had to put on a rubber glove and look squeamish at what he was doing. X didn't appreciate those much either, but they were necessary for proper internal wire maintenance. Of course, X had always suggested Hazil just hit him over the head with a sledgehammer and spare him the agony of going through it fully active, but a proper checkup had to be made while all circuits were alive and kicking.
Hazil's door chittered loudly, telling the doctor someone was approaching. Halfheartedly, he swung his hand in the air.
"Enter!" He said gruffishly. The hydraulic hiss filled the air and in filed two beings, one hobbling on a wooden walking stick and the other dressed in full blue armor.
Cain and X, the Laurel and Hardy of the Hunters.
"Hey Haz…" X said glumly, his face downcast. Hazil allowed himself a small grin as he was turned away from them, already hearing the moody voice of doom overcoming the father of the reploid race.
"Aah, if it isn't my two favorite customers." Hazil pulled down a portable diagnostic tool and activated it. In the side of it he plugged in a stethoscope device, then pointed to the cold and paper covered medical cot close by. "You're up first, doc. Have a seat." Cain swiveled his wizened head about a bit uneasily and shrugged.
"Why don't you do X first?" X nearly choked on the mint he had already taken from Hazil's ever present 'jar of smiles' by the door.
"Whuh?!" X shook his head vigorously. "Ooooh, no way doc. I owe Hazil a full physical, and I plan to put that off for as LOONG as I can." Cain rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Please, X? Be a friend…"
"No, doc."
"Don't make me pull rank on you, COMMANDER…"
"Your mind is warped if ya think that'll stand up in court."
"I'll give you pizza…"
"What kind of crust?"
"Uuuh, thin?"
"Natch that, ya fogey. I want stuffed."
"AHEM!!!" Hazil bellowed, turning about and brandishing a big syringe with an imposing needle. He squeezed out a small stream of liquid from the tip and fixated the two of them with a stony glare. "I don't care WHICH one of you is first, but someone is going to climb up on that table and be a good boy, or I'll give BOTH OF YOU a temperature check the way your mommy did. RIGHT UP YOUR ASS WITH THE MERCURY GLASS." X let out a small yeep and shut his mouth, and even Cain paled visibly. With Hazil's knack for painful medicine in the face of stupidity, they both knew he'd do it. X shook his head.
"All right you doddering old coward…I'll go first." Hazil dropped the angry gaze and put on a big fake smile before setting the syringe aside and clapping lightly.
"That's the spirit! Hop on board and ol' doc Hazil will fix you right up!" X shook his head and begrudgingly set his metallic body upon the cot.
"Okaaay…let's start with your blood pressure. X, give me a helmet dataport, please." X grimaced and hit a button on the right side of the bluish headgear he almost always wore, feeling the metal slide back, and then farther up into the helmet, exposing a connector. Hazil slipped a dataport jack into the side of it, paying little attention to X's grunt as he shoved the metal probe in with a little too much force. Hazil plugged the other end into his portable scanner and hit the access key. He let out a satisfied grunt and rattled off the numbers.
"Well, X…Your Blood Pressure's in the green. You might want to lay off the alchohol for a bit and stop hanging around the bar…you feeling signs of a hangover?"
"Not currently…" X grumbled, rubbing the side of his head. "Keep shoving more wires into me and I'll sprout an ulcer just to spite you."
"You do that and I WILL cut ya open." Hazil threatened back. "Now I'm almost done…just got a few final procedures to follow."
X let silence hang over the room, aside from the beeping Hazil's scanner emitted when he punched in commands. Satisfied, Hazil unplugged the jack from X's helmet and patted him on the back.
"Well, X. You've got a clean bill of health for the next 50 years or at least until the next Maverick Uprising. Hopefully the first, but I wouldn't hold my breath."
"Well, you could…"
"If I didn't have this excessive need to act human and get drunk, yeah." Hazil snapped his fingers. "X, OFF! Cain, UP YA GO!" Cain didn't even dignify Hazil's morbid sense of humor with so much as a harrumph before easing his aching body up onto the table.
Hazil stepped up, already his tense body slackening as he worked with less force. He may have been gruff, but his respect for Cain, not to mention the man's frailty onset by his age was something Hazil tried to tiptoe around. He was a doctor dedicated to saving life, and human life was more precious to him than reploid in a pinch.
After all, reploids could be resurrected. Not so with the flesh and blood humans of earth.
"All right, Cain. Let's check the reflexes." Hazil said softly, his face suddenly tightening as he swung a fist up to coldclock the man. Cain's eyes didn't flicker for a moment as with lightning speed that should not have been possible, his wiry hand drew the full measure of his wooden walking stick up to clash against the metallic fist.
Wincing a bit, and also satisfied with Cain's response, the Medical Reploid drew his fist back and shook it out in pain.
"Reflexes are fine. Hand eye coordination?" Cain gave Hazil the bird and a grim half smile. X chortled back from his leaning position against a wall of the Medical Bay.
"Whaddya know, one finger. I'd say that's fine." Hazil rolled his eyes.
"That's great, Cain. Wanna see if the others work?"
"Oh, they do."
"Keep this up and I'll splint the damn middle finger so you're walking around all day with that digit waving in the wind." Cain snorted a bit and drew his hand back, letting all his fingers extend out into a flat palm. Hazil tapped in a few commands onto his small scanner, then made a smacking sound with his mouth.
"All right. Now to see the real reason you've come in here." Hazil pulled out another syringe, tested it, then walked next to Cain. "This is a radioactive tracer. It'll help me track your bloodstream for the five minutes before it disintegrates." Hazil smiled. "I love these bi-chemical formulas. Saves me wear and tear on disposables." Cain nodded his head and braced against the needle as Hazil thumped the human's arm a few times, then satisfied he had found a vein, calmly slipped the metallic needle underneath his flesh and slowly injected the mixture into Cain. Cain let his face turn red in stored anger and swore a Yiddish curse he knew. Hazil finally removed the needle, then sprayed Cain's arm with a sealant with a chemical that would later be rubbed off by Cain's own skin cells.
"Quite done yet?" Cain grumbled under his breath. Hazil made an odd whining sound and shrugged.
"Almost. Just let me bring the scanners online and we'll see what's floating around on the inside of your head." Hazil walked over to his desktop computer located away from X and Cain, then promptly sat down and began to type in the necessary commands. He looked at them for a moment with a grin, then hit one final command.
"All right. Now we'll see what's ticking inside of your skull, doc!" X looked over to his mentor and waggled his eyebrows.
"Think he'll find anything interesting?" Cain fixated a disgusted look on his protégé and made a tsking sound.
"Doubtful. All I think about these days is my bowel movements and my liver spots." X scrunched his face up and held out a hand.
"Stop, PLEASE."
X and Cain were so busy hemming and hawing with each other, they never once bothered to look over and see what Hazil's facial expression was doing.
If they had, they would have seen his mouth drop in shock as his eyes danced with fear. The mouth closed a moment later, but Hazil's head began to swing back and forth disbelieving.
"No…it can't…not even possible…" Hazil hit a diagnostic toggle and checked to see if his computer had been corrupted.
All green. The data his monitor was showing about Cain was dead accurate.
And it was far from promising.
"Cain…" Hazil began softly, his voice so wrecked it seemed like a croak. Cain stopped himself in midsentence to X and looked over to Hazil with a puzzled stare.
"Yeah, Haz?" Hazil shut his eyes for a moment and drew in a huge breath of air, which he let out just as fast with a ragged pace. Then he opened his gray orbs and stared into the eyes of James Cain.
"Cain, you're going to die." Cain raised an eyebrow as his heart began to speed up.
"Whaaaat…" X narrowed his eyes.
"You're not playing a trick on us, are you?" Hazil bared his teeth, glad to be able to eliminate his stupor for rage.
"I never joke about death, X. And Cain will die."
"From what?" Cain asked softly, his hand reaching up to the side of his head as if he already knew the answer. "Is it…cancer?"
"That I know how to treat. But this…" Hazil shut his eyes again. "I don't suppose you two gents have ever come across a condition known as an aneurysm, have you?" X blinked.
"A bloated and worn out blood vessel, capable of bursting and causing massive strokes and death?"
"That's what it is, all right. And Cain has one."
"There's been other aneurysms like his before…they were all safely removed in those patients." Hazil raised a finger to X's response.
"True…but their aneurysms were always close to the surface of the brain. Cain's is special…it's smack dab in the middle of his fleshy gray right hemisphere. And that's why he had all those headaches, too…it was expanding against his flesh and causing massive migraines." Hazil's eyes began to glimmer with tears of rage.
"This is one thing I can't treat. It's too weak to be targeted by sonic disruption, and I can't dig in there and remove it…not without destroying Cain's higher brain functions and turning him into a drooling potato."
Cain let his head droop as his shoulders hunched forward.
"So that's it then." He said quietly. "After all that I've been through, I'm going to be killed not by Sigma or the Mavericks…but by a freakin blood vessel in my head that didn't know when to stop growing."
Hazil, X, and Cain couldn't bear to look at each other after that.
They couldn't even speak.
Death breeds silence…
And theirs was deafeningly quiet.