MEGA MAN X: DEMONS OF THE PAST
By Erico
CHAPTER FOUR: A NEW STRATAGEM
God, there were a lot of reploids in the world.
Tall ones, short ones, ones of every color…some that looked liked extinct animals, those who resembled more domestic critters of the world today. Some looked more robotic than others…
And then there was the worst kind of reploid. The one that looked HUMAN. The worst abominations. Those were the reploids that he liked to destroy the most.
It had been a while since he and his partner had been allowed out to do some general 'weeding' of the world. The last time he had, a certain reploid in Tokyo that was later identified as Canark had died.
The hooded and cloaked figure narrowed his eyes, gripping his beam staff tighter. That particular mission still angered him. That Maverick Hunter—the one with the brown hair and Arabic features…
He didn't know that Hunter's name. And he didn't care to know it. Names were meant for people you cared about. Like his partner, Tim.
He blinked and brought himself back to his senses, just in time to hear the horrific dying screams of another reploid. A grisly grin smirched itself onto his face, although no one could have noticed through the dark fabric that hid his face.
His partner Tim pulled back the dark purple and black tinted beam staff from the still twitching body of their most recent reploid kill.
This one had been incredibly alluring, with raven black hair and pleading hazel eyes atop bronzed synthskin that seemed to shine like the very twilight sun itself. She had not been built for battle, and when they had tracked her down she had just left from a photo shoot. According to what they had surmised, she had been a model.
Had been. It was an abomination…no reploid should look as…humanly beautiful as she had.
It was a simple matter to activate their 'berserker beacon', focus it in on her and watch with the never waning sick pleasure as she panicked at an unknown foe, charging through the streets until she reached a dead end…a barren dead end with no witnesses.
Her forehead was now a sick and twisted nightmare of what it had once been. The flesh had burned away, the hair was singed…and the silicon and metal of her skull, mind and control chip now existed as a steaming pile of molten slag.
One less reploid. Tim sighed for a moment and extinguished his blade.
"Come on then, Geoffrey." The hooded figure nodded, then tucked his own blade away.
The two turned away from their target and quietly slipped their beam staffs into the dark confines of their cloak. Geoffrey and Tim…
Two names that meant nothing.
Their presence meant death.
No reploid was safe now.
"Come on. We might as well report back to base and see how the other teams did on tonight's hunt."
They were most definitely human. No reploid in their right mind would commit slow genocide of their own race.
Mavericks at their worst killed the weak and enlisted the strong.
No, these were humans.
Genocidal, barbaric humans.
And then the metallic devices on their wrists began to blink softly in three tones…
It surrounded them with light, and dissolved them.
The cloaked humans, Geoffrey and Tim vanished into the fury of warp signals, blasting free from the ground and streaking up into the sky on their way home.
But that was impossible…warp technology was not advanced enough for human transport! Only robots and reploids and cargo transports could utilize it…
But the impossible seemed to apply then.
Humans could now warp. And the greatest threat to the reploids was not Sigma…
But the hidden teams of genocidal humans walking about.
Doan had just got back from a satisfactory run in the holographic training room. Although he was a recognized member of the 17th Unit, X had come to respect him enough to realize that Doan was and always would be a loner. It was just who he was, a person who had walked alone for so long in life he found it difficult to change the practice.
But for a person who walked alone, he was not a complete loner. He would place himself in a crowd of people, and then just space off.
The cafeteria served that purpose well enough for Doan. He sat off in a corner of the room, tilting his seat back and leaning against the wall, bobbing his head up and down slightly. He kept his left foot dangling and used his right one to brace himself against the table he sat at. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he watched the rest of the cafeteria with a cross between indifference and caution, and every once in a while he would raise his ceramic mug up and take a sip of his lemon herbal tea.
His calm demeanor was as much of a mask as his stoic mood. And if there was one thing Doan was famous for in the Hunters, it was that rarely did the other Hunters EVER know what he was thinking. Maybe Wycost…but he wasn't here. No, last time he checked in, the mean green was out in Denver still.
Doan blinked for a moment, then slightly tightened the muscles in his mouth…Bastion was coming in.
"Looky what's coming my way. A lonely desert walker." Doan slipped down from the floor and set his chair on all four legs, quietly placing his tea on the table.
Bastion came in, his basic armor on but without the jetpack that had replaced his original Powerstorm.
"Bastion." Doan said as the Hunter came closer. He picked his tea back up, leaned an arm on the table and sipped another swig. The brown haired Hunter ruffled back his mane for moment, then harrumphed.
"This seat taken?" Doan shrugged slowly. Bastion sighed and sat down. He looked over, trying to establish eye contact with the multigray shaded reploid. But Doan wasn't looking at Bastion, and didn't give any indication he would.
"I got your letter." Bastion said quietly. Doan sipped some more tea and then placed his cup on the table, empty at last.
"Glad to hear it, Bastion." Doan clipped back. Finally, Doan looked up and focused his dim gray eyes on the blue orbs of Bastion. He slightly raised one eyebrow. "And I assume that's why you're here. To try and learn more?" Bastion nodded.
"That's one reason. Have you?" Doan sighed, then frowned and pushed his teacup away from him. A hovering server 'bot came by and filled his cup up again, and Doan took another sip before continuing on.
"Funny thing about Wycost, Bastion. Maybe you already know this about him, but he's not the type to stick to a schedule. He calls when he feels like it. Everything I know has been given to you in that letter." Bastion clenched a fist up.
"Great." Doan took a sip, then snapped his fingers at another nearby server 'bot. It hovered over and Doan looked to Bastion.
"Want something to drink?" Bastion shook his head.
"Not thirsty." Doan shrugged and the 'bot moved on. Doan thrummed the table with his free hand for a moment, then spoke up again.
"You feel helpless." Bastion wrinkled his nose up and placed his fist on the table.
"That would be a huge understatement, Doan. She's out there…and even though I know Wycost is on her trail to keep her safe…"
"You'd rather be there." Doan finished. Bastion nodded, then drooped his head. Doan shrugged and sipped some more tea, then cleared his throat. "Bastion, between the two of us we've known Wycost for damn near all of his life. And I'm sure that the one thing we can both agree on about our Bronx Bomber is that HE NEVER GIVES UP." Doan paused for a moment, then pushed on.
"That guy has been through more Hell than any of us hopefully ever will. He's been infected twice, been witness to hundreds of deaths and caused most of them…he's been shunned by his peers, alienated because of his demeanor and denied advancement in the Hunters. I've been through my own rough spots…and been changed into who I am now because of it. But quite simply, his SANITY's been sacrificed at times. No matter what we've been through, we always knew who we were and what we were about." Doan shuddered lightly for a moment, and his voice grew more bitter.
"When I used Revenant on him…I nearly lost myself. Other uses of Revenant have caused pain. That time with him…" Doan shut his eyes tightly, and Bastion saw Doan's teacup begin to crack as the Hunter gripped it tighter. Finally, Doan sighed and opened his eyes. The hollow sorrow had returned to them.
"Wycost LIVED in Hell for the longest time. And he's come out of it. This trip is his penance…his ticket from the darkness. And trust me. He won't fail you. Bristol will come back alive, and when she does, Wycost will be with her. Restored…whole." Doan thrummed his fingers on the table again and sighed.
"Well, you've successfully managed to make me feel morose again." Bastion smiled weakly.
"That's not exactly too hard to do. You've gotta be the grumpiest reploid on base. Wycost at his worse only felt like slugging people across the room." Doan nodded.
"It's the little differences that we know about people that makes it worthwhile." Doan got up and put his cup down, then tilted his head slightly at Bastion.
"Take care, commander. If you feel like talking, my door's always open."
Doan walked out of the cafeteria, arms swinging calmly at his sides. His frown had returned, and so had his moods.
The one thing he found intriguing about Bastion was his Flight Armor. First, the Powerstorm, and later on the Angel's Advantage. Bastion had always been one with the skies, despite his more grounded name.
The armor was something Doan wished he had. Then he blinked, raising his eyebrows for a moment and shrugged.
"Why not?" Doan said to himself softly. The Angel's Advantage had been made from scrap…and Doan was a high ranking Hunter.
High ranking Hunters had the option to receive enhancements if they wanted.
And Doan knew one reploid who could help him out with an armor enhancement.
The most special reploid in the world to him, a worker down in the hangar bays of the MHHQ.
Cleo. His Cleo.
Time…is merely a state of periodicals created by our inability to perceive everything at once…
Sigma had had plenty of time to ponder these sort of questions through his many days just lying in wait, one particular program that had controlled and overseen this entire facility. Patience was a virtue Sigma had learned to adopt long ago…patience because he knew that as long as there was another base, another retreat lying in wait for him, it didn't matter how many times his Uprisings failed. Eventually, he would win out. And if the humans decided to punish the normal reploids for his actions, it served his purposes. It meant less individuals who would be left to stand against him on the fateful day of reckoning.
The day of reckoning was not a fixed event, not something Sigma had bothered to mark on a calendar. He knew better than to get his hopes up about it. He was not psychic, and lacked any sense of precognition whatsoever. Perhaps that fool X had one…Sigma allowed himself a smile.
If a program could smile. The computer monitor he looked through would certainly display that particular facial expression without a qualm.
Aah, yes. His monitor.
My window to a small small world where my dreams can sprout anew.
His dreams. They had long ago ceased to be anyone else's. They weren't Wily's. Wily's dream was a world of suffering, a world where Zero was a rampaging monster that destroyed all in his sight.
It wasn't Horn's dream, either. Horn's dream had been to use URFAWP to create a world that lived peacefully, reploids and humans coexisting with ease.
And it was most certainly not Light's dream…where robotic beings like X could be allowed to choose their own path in life, peaceful paths that most humans led.
Sigma's dreams were a sick and twisted amalgamation of them all, just as his personality was a jumbled mess of Wily, Zero, himself, his rage, his scheming, and his psychotic visions of grandeur.
In Sigma's perfect world, all the humans would be dead. Extinct. Erased…to leave the new generation of their children…the reploids…able to live on their own.
And in Sigma's world, he would be their leader. Their father. Their dictator. He would control them, just as he controlled his Maverick Generals. Each and every reploid on earth would be loyal to him alone, serving his wishes for the greater advancement of their race.
I am a visionary. And visionaries are rarely understood.
There was but one other reploid Sigma knew of whose true and pure dream was close to his.
Odd how it should be the Crimson Hunter's lost love.
Iris…yes, that was her name. She was dead now, of course. Her body had been obliterated in the same explosion that had claimed the Repliforce's Final Weapon.
But in a small sense, Sigma felt a lulling, puzzling sense of attraction to her. Bleeding, dying, she had choked out her only wish…her only dream.
"All I wanted…was to live in a world just for reploids…with you…" Oh, sure. She had been speaking to Zero at the time, of course. But Sigma really didn't heed much attention to that little detail.
And Sigma had often brooded over it…secretly, of course. He'd never mentioned it to anyone else. After all, he was Sigma. He was a tyrannic monster, and he had an image to keep up.
But when no one was looking, he would often divert his optic sensory inputs and dig up the photos of Iris. Somehow, seeing that face always made him twinge the corner of his mouth up. As much of a pure smile as he could muster nowadays.
Like the girl next door…easy to see why Zero would become attracted to her. Sigma said to himself again. Her image was far too naïve and angelic for his tastes, though.
If he ever got the chance, he would have to look into dredging up and infecting a Repliforce troop. Just so he could get the schematics on Iris.
A few personal alterations…
And then when the world became his, he could give her her dream.
A world just for reploids. Sigma cackled for a moment and shook his head.
If I CAN shake my head…odd how even as a Virus Code, I feel the need to perform such…HUMAN gestures.
He looked out onto his buried facility again, and this time he examined all the capsules he saw before him. There were six…
Six very special reploids were hibernating inside of them, awaiting reactivation. Sigma smiled.
His own body still had another day to go before it was completed. And when his was, he would look into activating them.
I wonder how complete the Maverick recruitment process was…
Six of them.
He knew what their names had been before, and he knew what he would call them afterwards.
Snaps Torte…Shell Butane.
Pyre Vance…Burst Scarab.
Taurus…Cumulus Bull.
Felicity Prowl…Dash Blade.
Jetstream…Dolph Reach.
And then, the one who would be leader of Sigma's new Six.
Kazok…Kazok Gravor.
At this point, nothing more than the same dormant shells of their URFAWP selves.
My children…just waiting to be taught.
Teach them he would.
One day…
The game is afoot, X. Your dice were loaded before…but this time I bring more.
You have your monopoly dice.
I bring in the Yahtzee five.
"Hey, Bristol! Bristol!" Bristol turned her head around and blinked a few times as a figure approached.
"Good morrow, Fannir!" The approaching reploid waved and plugged on a big perky smile as he came closer to her. Bristol couldn't help but roll her eyes inside of her mind. Why, oh why did he have to show up? Anyone but Fannir…odds were he'd ask her out on a…
"Hey Bristol, did you consider my proposition? Me, you, the dance floor Friday night?" Bristol sighed and shook her head. She'd been right again.
There were times she wondered why she'd been created to look so enchanting. Beating men off with a stick may be a favorite pasttime for other people, but it aggravated her.
"Fannir, I already told you no. Why can't you see that I'm trying to avoid you?" The roguish red and violet reploid gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and waggled an eyebrow.
"Soon enough, Bristol. Just you wait, one day you'll come BEGGING for a date with the man!" Bristol scoffed slightly and shook her head.
"When the loos flush Strawberry fizzy drink, perhaps." Fannir shrugged. Bristol turned her head back down to her datapadd that she'd been scrutinizing for some time as she'd been walking down the hallways.
The hallways of her home. MI9.
Well, in all truth this wasn't all of MI9. It had bases everywhere, almost. She just spent her time in the main complex.
Fannir looked over her shoulder and narrowed his eyes.
"So whacha working on?" Bristol kept walking forward, still focusing more on the datapadd than her gait.
"Just another little project I've been tinkering with." Fannir laughed a bit and somehow managed to stop himself from slapping Bristol on the back.
"That's our Bristol. A babe with brains. So what's this supposed to be?" Bristol whistled through the side of her mouth, ignoring Fannir slightly.
"It's new Warp Technology. Up until this point in time, only robots, reploids, and inanimate objects have been able to use teleportation…"
"Yeah. Biologics have a habit of turning into piles of bloody flesh if they get transported." Bristol shook her head.
"No longer, Fannir! I've come across an extremely delicate algorithm that narrows down the search pattern even further. If I get this to work, humanity will be able to use teleportation as well as any reploid. The trick is to keep the microcellular bonds intact after reconfiguration. It just takes another pattern buffer and a few more Megs of programming code…in theory, anyway." Bristol tapped the side of her head and grimaced.
"Of course, theory isn't reality. If I was able to make truth from theory, we'd all be capable of hyperspace travel." Fannir chuckled low in his throat and shook his fiery orange mane back.
"Oh, doncha worry, Bris. You'll get it eventually. You're one of MI9's best thinktank techs!" Bristol laughed and nodded her head.
"I guess I am." Fannir shook his head wistfully.
"And you're not too bad on the battleground either." Bristol reached over and lightly punched Fannir in the arm.
"A girl is supposed to know how to defend herself, right?" Fannir winced and rubbed the sore joint.
"Oh, yeah sure…Mind telling me why you hit so hard?" Bristol laughed, a lighthearted laugh that eachoed about the cold metallic walls with an air of grace that always lifted the mood of the room.
"Oh, you're such a marshmallow Fannir. Any limey 'roidhead could mess you up, given half a chance." Fannir nodded with a sly grin.
"That's why I got into medicine. I figure, gotta learn how to patch yourself back up, right?"
They reached the end of the hallway, and the sliding doors that led to the main complex from their current section of the structure, the R&D labs. The electronic eye sensed their movement and easily opened the sliding doors apart so they could walk through.
Bristol was so engrossed in looking down at her datapadd that she failed to notice an approaching figure walking at a brisk pace with a big frown on his face.
They collided together, and Bristol squeaked out a note of surprise as her datapadd clattered to the floor. Bristol's wide eyes went up to see who she'd bumped into, and then she saw.
"Oh, pardon me Mister Cristoph…I guess I'm still a little out of the loop." Bristol put on a weak smile. "Staring at computer screens all day will do that."
Cristoph's response was nowhere near as cheery. He brushed his tousled white hair back and glared his angry gray eyes into Bristol. She shivered for a moment as she could almost feel those orbs burn holes straight through her face. He reached down, plucked her datapadd and forcefully slapped it into her open hand by her waist, then shook his head with a note of extreme disapproval and growled.
"Just watch where you're going, reploid." Cristoph picked up his pace and shoved his wiry body through the two reploids, briskly walking down the hallway to the R&D labs with the same pace that had caused him to jar into Bristol.
Fannir and Bristol watched him tromp down the hallway with his angry gait before they turned around and walked down their own path.
Bristol shivered, unable to focus on her work now.
"Why do I always become so frightened when he looks at me like that?" Fannir bared his teeth and shrugged.
"I'll tell you why. It's because there's a general air of hatred around him. And it's not just you, Bristol. Cristoph is one of the head honchos here at MI9 who's not too keen on reploids." Bristol shook her head sadly.
"Why do people hate our kind so much?" Fannir shrugged.
"Not all people do…just some." Bristol blinked a few times, then shrugged.
"I guess I'd better get going then."
"Flight 2472 to Washington D.C. has arrived." Bristol blinked her eyes sleepily a few times, then got her bearings again.
I'm not at MI9…I'm on an airliner. She shivered and shook her head around a bit, clearing the last vestiges of stasis from her mind. Her long blond hair with its pink highlights were still smooth as silk, though.
She got up from her seat and followed the line of people getting off the jet, slightly unfocused from the task as she tried to dredge up that dream.
That dream was REALITY. That HAPPENED…Bristol couldn't dismiss that singular thought from her mind. Something was happening…something that was reawakening the lost memories. It began with Cristoph and his final words of MI9. And now she knew where they fit in together.
Some time before I was found by Bastion…I was an R&D scientist with MI9. And somehow Cristoph was with them as well…An important member, it seems.
But why was she still shivering?
Bristol stepped through the end of the collapsible tunnel and entered into the airport's terminal. Hundreds of people…and reploids as well…bustled about, all intently focused on their own goals, their own destinations. Bristol drew her blue overcoat tighter around herself, feeling the soothing weight of her locket against her thigh and her beam saber against the side of her arm.
"So, what's a respectable lady supposed to do in this big town?" Bristol rubbed her hands together.
First, lunch. And then she'd do some research. But while her newfound memory was helping her, it also left her ill at ease.
Just how angry a person was Cristoph? More importantly…
Just what was he capable of?
The 21st Unit was found in yet another training session, hard at work improving their combat abilities in a holographic simulation.
It was the same simulation that they had run yesterday…when Bastion had lost his edge. And now, without him, it wasn't looking too much better.
Half of the 21st was already in dire straits, 'critically' wounded by the shots of the Mavericks.
And with Airborne Albatross and Blasé Horneck both breathing down their necks, it was tough enough trying to avoid even defeat, much less do anything to lower the Maverick forces.
Maverick controlled tanks rolled across the urban warzone, blasting shot after shot and turning the rubbled structures into scrap. They meant to deprive the Hunters of their cover, and occasionally they would get lucky and take down another bunch.
Holographic and computer generated as he was, Blasé Horneck's eyes glittered with the firefight and seemed to shine in exhilaration.
Oh, but he loved this. He folded his arms and looked down at another Hunter of the 21st Unit running crazily, dashing even in a vain attempt to outrun a tank's gunfire. Blasé shrugged and lifted his right hand up, changing it into a Buster and firing off a shot.
An insect shaped missile blew itself free of his concussion chamber and hurled itself downwards. As it went on, its wings spread out and it became more maneuverable, targeting the Hunter even more as Blasé followed it with his optics.
The bee missile burrowed itself into the Hunter's back before exploding, crumpling him to the ground as his life was lost. Blasé cackled again, a sick cackle of pure violent bliss.
"MAVERICKS ARE SUPREME!!!" Went his shout through it all. Airborne Albatross hovered down beside him and clacked his metallic teeth.
"Nice shot."
"Ducks in a barrel, Albert." Blasé narrowed his gaze and looked out ahead of him.
"I think there's only one big group left. A good six or seven, maybe." Albatross shrugged.
"Pitiful. They gave hardly any resistance, you know?" Blasé shrugged.
"There's a bunch of factors that determine it. But these guys were supposed to be pretty good. Something's happened to them, something that's lowered their morale and their abilities." Albatross harrumphed.
"Well, did we see their leader? Bastion?" Blasé shook his head.
"Nope. But you'd know him better than me. For now, let's just keep ourselves concerned with those final Hunters. I wanna get home before my favorite TV show ends."
Jad, Kol, and Gavin were hiding with the only three other surviving Hunters in this training round, wincing as their piece of cover was shredded with shot after shot of angry plasma fire. And with the odds so stacked against them, they were beginning to wonder what had ever possessed them to try and lead the 21st on this trip again.
Without a Bastion to cover them for air support…without their Commander.
A need to, perhaps. Gavin kept his saber low and looked over, growling slightly.
"You do realize we're up shoot creek here, right?" Jad and Kol looked over with knowing stares, then sighed in defeat before nodding their heads.
And they'd specifically set this round up so the simulation wouldn't end until either all the Hunters or all the holographic Mavericks were KO'd. It was looking more and more like there would be one huge checkmark on their permanent record from this encounter.
"I say we just get up there and go out in a blaze of fire." Jad grumbled angrily. Gavin shook his head tersely.
"Not what Bastion would do."
"Bastion's not here, is he?!" Jad snapped back angrily. "And if I recall correctly, the last time we did this he was the one who got KO'd." Gavin's eyes dimmed out for a moment in shock before he shook his head.
"Yesterday you were helping me defend him." Jad shrugged nonchalantly.
"A lot can happen in a day, Gavin." Another round of heavy plasma fire slammed into their barrier, and Jad could feel the shuddering holographic concrete and metal begin to give way. He shook his helmeted head and bared his teeth.
"I don't care what the rest of you do with your remaining time in this session. The way I figure it, if they're gonna knock me out for a day, I'm going to take them all with me!" Kol's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"Whoa dude! Don't do it!" Jad shook his head against Kol's protest.
"See you all later…"
Jad jumped over the barrier and quickly began his mad dash towards the tank, screaming his lungs out and firing blast after blast from his X-Buster. The return fire came soaring back over his head, and only through the intense concentration bred through many many sessions like this one did he manage to keep himself from being knocked into oblivion by a lucky burst.
The first tank close by soon erupted into flames, burned clean through by his incessant rampage. The second tank trailed him with a continuous stream of rapid fire plasma blasts, and Jad deftly darted up into the air, contorting his body so that the energy stream stitched up the side of the tank facing opposite from it, turning that one into slag as well.
He seemed to be on fire, holding a force within him that burned brighter than any before. Perhaps it was just a deeper sense of determination that gave him more strength.
Perhaps he was trying to prove something.
No matter what, though…the two Maverick Generals were noticing. And they weren't exactly pleased. Blasé tapped the side of his black and yellow head and frowned.
"Here's a new one…he's pretty good. You remember him, any idea who he is?" Albatross shrugged.
"Never seen him before. But he means trouble. Look at him go! He's taking out those tanks like they were last week's garbage." Blasé stopped tapping his head.
"So, do we deal with him?" Albatross lifted his shoulders for a moment, then shook his head.
"Let's see how he fares against the last of those tanks. If he survives…then we'll deal with him. By then, he'll be outgunned. We're airborne…he's stuck on the ground." Blasé blinked once, then let a twinkle blink in his eye.
"Sounds like fun, all right." So they watched.
Jad was truly a fireball in action as he progressed about, and tank after tank fell to his Buster. But he didn't stop.
And at long last, he realized there was not a single tank left to oppose him. And then Jad looked up for a moment, just in time to see a powerful machine gun round whiz downwards through the air…Jad leapt to the side with the aid of his dash thrusters, but his own late effort proved to be no match. He released a cry of pain as the burst burned through his leg, and then he fell to the ground, defeated at last.
"Just holograms…just…holograms…" Blasé Horneck and Airborne Albatross came down from above, hovering in the air only a few feet away from him. Blasé scratched the side of his head and sighed.
"Another one bites the dust." He turned to Albatross and shrugged. "You wanna off him, Albert?" Airborne Albatross grinned slyly and opened his mouth…
And then he was blown apart by a high intensity burst of electrical energy. Blasé was left stunned for a moment, slightly injured by the shrapnel created from the incredible explosion. And then a new voice gave him reason to break free from his trance.
"No one will be offing any more of my Hunters today." Blasé's head shifted up and his vision panned the sky. It narrowed as he viewed the upper left Quadrant of his vision.
A figure hung in the sky, motionless, save for a pair of wings that folded from a pointed position like turrets and bent back around until they hung loosely off of his back like a butterfly's. His long, dual shaded brown hair with amber highlights blew lightly in the breeze of the late afternoon, and his arms were folded in a position of defiance. His stern eyes glittered blue in the twilight, and his legs draped down from his body, dangling like powerful twigs from a sturdy branch.
Blasé narrowed his gaze.
"Well, well…if it isn't the great Commander of the 21st Himself. And look. He brought his wings. I guess I'll have to CLIP THEM!" Blasé hurled himself from his low position and flew up into the air.
He stopped when he reached Bastion's height, hovering fifty feet away from him and with a grim gaze on his face.
"So you came back, eh?" Blasé shot out angrily. "Didn't you learn your lesson the last time we tangled? You can never defeat me!" Bastion shrugged and nonchalantly raised his left hand up behind his head, scratching his hair lightly.
"Things were different then, Maverick. I was different." Bastion leveled his gaze and burned his fiery blue orbs into Blasé's skull. "Depression can have a serious effect on people…no longer shall it hold power over me. Which means that for you, Blasé…you should stop worrying about killing me…and start worrying about running for your life. Because if you choose to fight, the end result will be your death." Blasé blinked in surprise, then lessened his shock and grinned back.
He chuckled. He cackled. Then he cut loose and filled the air with a pure shout of insanity. Bastion's eyes didn't waver for a single moment, though.
It was a ruse, of course. Blasé fired a powerful burst of bee missiles, then followed closely with all engines burning.
Bastion's left hand snapped into action, grasping at the hilt of his purple beam saber, igniting it and bringing it to bear in front of him in one smooth motion.
"All right then, you mongrel Maverick…" Bastion growled lowly, his eyes now fully ablaze. "The Desert Angel is back…And he's looking for retribution."
The bee missiles were fast…Bastion would give them that. But unlike the last time he had tangled with Blasé, he was completely focused.
No hesitation, no second thoughts…just action.
His purple beam saber snaked out with blinding speed, slicing clean through one and skewering the stabilizer off of another and spinning it out of control and away from him.
Then he flipped his flight goggles down. Rose tinted crystal lenses slipped firmly over his eyes, giving him a complete field of vision while at the same time sparing them from the tortures of high speed wind. Then he growled.
"All right, Blasé. I've had your two…now take my TWENTY MILLION VOLTS!" Bastion's Wings snapped back and began to shimmer slightly, blinding skylight dancing down their ribbed forms and pushing him forth.
His speed was incredible as he was hurled forth. It left even Blasé surprised, and the Maverick's eyes went wide for a long moment before he hurled himself vertical and dropped his Buster down to try and stitch the approaching Hunter with his missiles.
But Bastion was fast, and he went in a diagonal swath upwards, tracking down Blasé's ever minute movement with pinpoint accuracy and determination. His right hand reached up and grabbed ahold of his second beam saber, pulling it out and igniting the bluish blade.
And then in yet another blink, Bastion was hovering right in front of Blasé, his gaze still grimfaced…And his blades casting blue and purple shadows underneath his eyes.
Blasé wisely chose to blink, then shut his eyes completely.
It was a wise choice because only a fraction of a second later, Bastion drove his two beam sabers in a crosscut that cleaved the once proud and deadly Blasé Horneck into four separate…useless…sections.
And then the simulation ended.
Bastion found himself hovering slightly above the ground, his sabers drawn and active…
And the remnants of the 21st lay all about him, scattered motes in the wind…A force that had taken on too much and suffered for it. He brought his Angel's Advantage wings offline and landed gently onto the floor, then walked over to the close to motionless figure of Jad. Jad cackled slightly, unable to move.
"Hey…thought you…weren't gonna show up today…" Bastion let a small smile overcome his face as he slipped his sabers back into their recharger port.
"I can't very well let my Unit go and kill themselves off in practice, can I?" Jad laughed softly and smiled again.
"Yeah. Sorry, I'd get up, but Albatross pegged me with a shot and I'm finding it hard to move…"
"Simulation wound. How much of the Unit was KO'd?"
"More than half." Jad responded easily. "Kol, Gavin, me and three others were all that were left alive from their strike." Bastion whistled in amazement.
"We NEVER sustained that much damage before…what happened?" Bastion helped lift Jad to his feet, although it was still dead weight for the most part. The desert Hunter grunted for a moment before slipping his wings away into their storage pack and giving his full effort on holding Jad up.
"Bastion, I think that me and the other two in our trio can make a pretty good point. Without you…without a leader…this Unit fell apart. The reason we flew so well was that we had you there, as an example, as support…as a source of our second winds." Bastion's eyes twinkled for a moment and he grinned.
"You guys missed me that much?" Jad coughed and smiled weakly.
"It's almost to the point where we can't SPIT towards Mavericks without your help. Bastion, we've missed ya." Bastion's eyes misted over slightly, and he blinked them to clear the lubricant.
"It's good to feel needed…" He said finally. He looked around and blinked, shaking the last vestiges of emotional exhilaration free. "Well, we've got almost an Entire Unit who's gonna need to rest up for a while. Including you." Jad grunted in approval.
"I'm not arguing…you're the boss." Jad's simple statement ringed in Bastion's ears, and made him smile again.
Yeah…I am the boss…I'm the Commander of the 21st Unit.
And I'll be right here when Bristol and Wycost come back.
Bastion had returned.
And the Desert Fire burned hotter than ever.