MEGA MAN X: DEMONS OF THE PAST
By Erico
CHAPTER SEVEN: ADVANCED TRAINING
It was definitely a new way of doing things, Sigma mused. But then again, he'd tried so many different tactics. He'd gone all out on his own, taken his best men and split them apart to each handle a different sphere of influence. That was the First Uprising…
Then he'd tried his luck at letting his little orphan Annie Mavericks run things while he watched from the shadows of the nonphysical world, only appearing when he felt the time was prudent…he'd almost succeeded in turning Zero to their side that time. Had Zero not been the prime Maverick, and therefore impervious to Sigma's weak efforts of indoctrination.
Then he'd waited so many years…years because he waited and let time take its course, infecting that fool Doctor Doppler and having him construct a vaccine that worked…until Sigma's stronger Maverick strain came into play…he'd worked slowly that time, and the end result was a Fortress that put all others to shame. But there, the failure lay in that both X and Zero lead the assault, and those two rogue elements succeeded once more in blowing his plans to shreds.
Lurking in the shadows once more…he'd then created a series of events that caused the Hunters to turn on the Repliforce. It had been fun seeing Zero destroy Iris…After all, Sigma loved to see things become destroyed…
He loved to see love destroyed.
But each time was a failure, and so had been his last two attempts as well.
His last one had been the most surprising, tactical-wise. Once again, he'd turned to an organization and made it his black sheep. Doppler, Repliforce, URFAWP…It was all the same to Sigma. What he had done in his last attempt only weeks before in late May of 2131 was a five pronged strike all across the globe, and he'd been certain that the Hunters would be stretched to their operational limits, especially with that fool Cristoph and his anti-Hunter legislation…
Anti-reploid in the long run, Sigma couldn't help but muse bitterly. Humans like Cristoph were the reason Sigma was Maverick. They were inferior creatures, the humans. And somewhere within the pit of his stomach, Sigma wagered that long ago the fight between him, X, and Zero had long ago passed all reason or motive.
Their fight was the undeniable struggle, the everlasting conflict that plagued them all. Neither side would rest until the other lay dead…And Sigma had enough firepower thanks to that patsy URFAWP conglomerate to play the deadliest game with the man in blue and the Crimson Hunter for a very long time to come…
And yet he still lost. Sigma was beginning to accept defeat, but he knew it also had its consequences on the winning side as well. For all their strength, they couldn't hold out forever. They'd been fighting this war since 2118, this war with Sigma…
Public opinion in the matter of reploid rights had gotten better since those early days, but public opinion in the matter of the continuous fighting that shattered their lives and refused them sanity had fallen sharply. It was a war the Hunters were facing on two fronts…
And Sigma, the master tactician could tell anyone by example of the Germans in both WWI and WWII that fighting a two front war was suicide.
Which brought him to where he was now. His latest attempt would involve the efforts of Maverick born URFAWP slaves…Six of them. Six Maverick Generals, with the strength, resolve, and ability to stand taller and more fearsome than any team before.
Sigma could be quiet at times, a brooding soul who had spent more than 12 years of eternity wandering in the void, his only true periods of awareness whenever he fought with X and Zero. His eyes would dim, he'd stare off into space…It had never bothered his Mavericks before.
Dolph Reach grimaced his sleek silvery snout and bared a row of short sharp teeth. A large dolphin-like mutation on a bipedal body with dash boots and long, gauntleted four finger hands, his power lay in his hands alone…As far as special abilities were concerned.
He brought his arms up and slammed them together in front of his face. Some distance in front of him, a pair of synchronized plasmic energy hands slammed together, crushing the projectile explosive that had been hurtling his way.
Burst Scarab buzzed on above, his back armor opened up to let his flight wings with their low basso thrum carry him through the air. The insect-like Maverick frowned in frustration and fired off another round from his desert bronzed torso.
"I've figured out your weakness!" Dolph Reach cackled, slamming his hands up higher.
The plasmic energy hands under his control sprang up, destroying the next explosive mine in flight and proceeding to clasp around Burst Scarab's legs, who screamed in denial, and then finally landed in defeat.
Kazok Gravor stepped up to the two, his gray eyes calmly burning.
"Well, Burst Scarab? What can you analyze from that?" The red eyed insect Maverick bowed his head in shame.
"I'm too slow in the air…my attacks may be strong, but Dolph's energy hands destroy them before they get close enough to do damage…"
"Not to mention you leave yourself wide open." Dolph grumbled. "You need to pick up some aerial maneuverability real soon, or you'll be getting shot down worse than my lovetaps." Kazok nodded.
"Yes, but you also tend to remain planted in one spot when you use your energy hands, Dolph." Kazok let his gaze fall to each of them before shaking his head. "We all have weaknesses that the others can see and exploit. By informing each other of their shortcomings, we will learn to eliminate them…we will grow stronger, we will leave no openings for attack. We will become the most dangerous group of Mavericks that this pacified world has ever known." Burst's eyes danced at that. He lifted his head back up to Dolph.
"All right, you wanna try it again? Maybe using my air-dash thrusters in combination with the wings might increase my speed." The longsnouted Maverick gave another toothy grin.
"Gladly." Kazok waved his hand and walked away from the two, towards another section of the underground base…the elevator that led to the world above.
But he stopped as he passed by Sigma, his commander and leader both. Something felt slightly amiss, and he turned to address it.
"Lord Sigma?" He queried, turning about and clicking his heels, his long black cape billowing out behind him.
Sigma finally turned his eyes up, boring them into Kazok.
"What is it, Number One?" Came the raspy voice. Kazok blinked unsteadily.
"Well sir, I was just on my way to check and see how the others were doing aboveground…"
"Cumulus Bull, Shell Butane, and Dash Blade, yes?" Sigma interrupted, ending it with a demand for Kazok's obvious query.
"Well sir, I just can't help but notice you seem a little…aloof." Kazok finally said, wondering how the devil it was possible for him to even discuss this with Sigma…after all, he was a Maverick General…Was small talk even allowed?
But Sigma's eyes didn't turn to stone that warned of a kick to the face. He merely shrugged his shoulders and looked past Kazok into the distance, his hands tapping on a group of schematics.
"Well, I've had my mind preoccupied…on just how successful we will be." Kazok's face went deadpan.
"Sir, under my training, the six of us shall be a force to become reckoned with. I estimate that in another three to five days, we'll be ready for a trial run mission." Sigma nodded, still aloof, and Kazok continued with his original point. "Is it even, possible, sir?"
"Is what possible?" Sigma growled.
"Well, sir, you're a Maverick, and yet you seem to almost be…" Kazok danced on the word, not knowing exactly what might work the best.
"Spit it out, Kazok." Sigma demanded.
"…Daydreaming, sir." Kazok finished with some difficulty. Sigma lowered his gaze, and the two Mavericks stared at each other for the longest time. Finally, Sigma snorted and shook his head.
"We're Mavericks, Kazok, not automatons. Mindless robots carry out their task without the slightest bit of sentience of rationale, they're ordered, they're programmed, they're mindless. Mavericks can think, and I prefer them to think…it keeps them alive in battle. Just because our prime directives tell us to Destroy, Infect, and Survive doesn't mean we think outside of those bounds. To a fault, those are still the objectives we accomplish, but we do not think in such narrow boundaries. That limits your options…limits your capabilities."
"I see." Kazok replied tonelessly. Sigma's frown grew deeper.
"Kazok, I designed you to be the leader of this team because you have the highest mental aptitude of this bunch. If you don't get some emotion in that damn voice of yours, I'll personally…"
"That WON'T be needed, sir." Kazok replied with a hint of annoyed gruffishness. Sigma's frown subsided, and he sighed.
"Better. Kazok, there's nothing wrong with me. Mavericks can dream just as well as humans and other reploids. Now that you know this, you're wiser for it…and that wisdom will aid you." Kazok nodded, then stared down at the plans Sigma's hand rapped on.
"So is that your dream?" Sigma blinked, then stared down at the design schematics.
"What, this?" He snorted. "Hardly. My dream is a world with no humans, with only reploids living out their lives free of the human yoke of oppression, under my control as we march into a golden age." He looked down at the plans, then tucked them back into a folder. "These plans are just a little sidescript to my play."
"Who is she?" Kazok asked primly. Sigma harrumphed.
"The proper way to phrase that question would be, who 'was' she. She died two years ago…I'm just seeing where I might improve on the design."
"She looks aesthetically pleasing to me." Kazok offered. Sigma frowned.
'True, but her potential for devastation was rather low."
"So what of it?" Kazok asked. "Are you thinking of adding her into the mix?" Sigma shrugged.
"If I do…she won't be with you and the other five. You six are set, I cannot change that now." He slipped the folder into a file cabinet nearby. "If I bring her into this, it will be for a purpose far more tantalizing than mere explosions and chaos."
"What?" Kazok asked, obviously puzzled. Sigma's low chuckle was particularly menacing.
"Simple, my boy, simple…" Sigma rumbled. "…torture."
"Easy now, father…" Kalinka chided the elderly Cossack, tucking the covers tighter around his far too frail body.
Sergei Cossack's body wretched in another powerful series of coughs as his wearied lungs tried to clear out the horrendous gunk clogging his respiratory system, and even as he stopped, his body still shuddered from the spasms. His breathing came painfully nowadays, even with the medicine he'd been given.
The medicine also left him dopey and unfocused, a mere shadow of the great man he once was. Kalinka couldn't help but grow misty eyed as his blank stare fell up towards the ceiling, not knowing anything or anyone…lost in his own state of drug laden exile in a world of pain and sickness and old age and friends long dead and a legacy he had no chance of carrying on.
He turned up and looked into her face, somewhere between pain and a state of unawareness.
"Kalinka…" He rasped, his voice almost questioning. "Kalin…ka…"
"Hold on, father." Kalinka whispered to him, giving him a gentle kiss on his wrinkled and grayed brow. "Just hold on…"
She walked out of the room and quietly shut the door behind her.
She found Pharaoh Man standing outside, wearing a blank expression along with his face mask and green cape.
The green cape was a quirk he'd developed somewhere around 2094, approximately seven years after old Tokyo had been buried by Mount Fuji's eruption. And it was only now after the events of the past year plus, since Mega Man X arrived at their doorstep he had finally begun to show any sign of being more than just another robot.
"How's he doing?" Pharaoh asked in a quiet voice. Kalinka brushed back her own gray hair and shook her head sadly.
"Every day is a battle for him…he's just so old that fighting illness is impossible. And he suffers so much…"
"Doctor Cossack is a strong man." Pharaoh reemphasized hastily. "He won't give in without a fight."
"He HAS been fighting…" Kalinka sighed wearily. "But it's just too much. He's too old, Pharaoh Man. At more than ninety years of age, disease becomes a foe that most can't face." She looked at the robot with eyes of sorrow. "You can't understand things like this, the concept of disease…you're a robot. Yes, you grow old. But your lifespan is so much longer than ours…parts can be replaced, new bodies can be built. If you so chose, you could live for an eternity." Kalinka began to plod down the hallway, Pharaoh Man dutifully trotting beside her. "Humans wish we had it that easy."
"What good is a long life if one cannot enjoy it?" Pharaoh Man queried. "One of the things I can't forget about this new world is that although the reploid race has the mind of man and a lifespan to enjoy it, most still remain oppressed by humans. Reploids, and advanced robots like myself and the others here in the Citadel may have the age factor in their favor…but humans still remain the only sentient race on Earth treated fairly."
Neither spoke for a while as they walked on, but Kalinka finally spoke up and turned to Pharaoh Man.
"I cannot tell you why the rest of the world acts the way it does. I don't care about the rest of the world…" She shook her head, tears glistening in them. "I have never known what it feels like to hold a child in my arms, or to be at a wedding. I have secluded myself in this aging decrepit Fortress, and given my life to tend to my father in his final days." She turned away from Pharaoh, ashamed she was opening up like this.
"Oh, Hell…Why am I talking about this to you? You could never understand…"
Pharaoh Man stopped walking, and Kalinka went on, blowing her nose, all the despair of her father's faltering condition and her own wasted life drowning her away from the world as deeply as Sergei Cossack's drug induced slumber.
Pharaoh Man lowered his face mask, his firm jaw and mouth keeping themselves steady. But his eyes shone with understanding.
He understood what it was like to have a wasted life.
"Kalinka, you underestimate us robots." He shook his head and marched in the other direction, making a beeline for the elevator to take him to the Fourth Ring. "You underestimate me."
"Sigma's out there somewhere." X muttered.
Zero had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he looked over at X.
"Yeah, and your point is?" The two famous Maverick Hunters stood atop the MHHQ, the worldwide symbol of the hope for peace. X stared out beyond the lavender sky of nightfall, already feeling the temperature begin to drop as the sun fell into the horizon, leaving the cityscape of New Tokyo to be set ablaze by its dazzling lights of the night. X had come up here for air…and Zero, as his closest friend and ally, followed behind a few minutes later.
Zero's long blond hair whipped gently in the light breeze, the ends furling out with a mind of their own while the body was kept in place by the blue hairband tied close to where his helmet left his mane exit. His eyes were narrowed, not looking for answers in X's face, yet knowing why his friend was troubled. X and Zero had a connection that had developed over the years to a level far beyond words. Friends in the deepest sense, they had become able to predict the other's movements, to correlate in battle unlike anything any of the other Hunters had come close to building. They knew each other's moods, and they knew each other's minds. Thus, X knew that Zero would respond like he did.
"My point is that this cycle gets awfully tiring." X muttered, taking off his helmet and setting it down on the rooftop ledge beside where his arm lay. He leaned farther out over the balcony and stared towards the mountains, where the sun already was dancing playfully behind. "I mean, how long have we been doing this?"
"Thirteen years now." Zero said calmly. "June 2118 to June 2131."
"And through that, we've faced…what? Five classified Maverick Uprisings and a five pronged attack known as 'Sigma's Sixth?' Not to mention all the incidents that happened between them all…"
"I assume you're talking about stuff like that world trial with Cristoph." Zero grumbled.
X gave a slow nod of his head.
"Yeah…That's a big one all right." Zero sighed, then walked over to the balcony and leaned beside X.
"X, my buddy, I think you came through that crisis just fine."
"Did I have a choice?" X muttered in disgust. "The GDC gets a bee in its bonnet with Emilius Cristoph in the lead about how reploids are dangerous to the world, and puts all reploids on trial for the validity of our race's EXISTENCE?!"
"August to September 2124." Zero stated. "The pinnacle of tensions between reploid/human relations."
Neither one spoke for a while after that.
That had indeed been a dark hour for them all…For all reploids, and for X and Zero, mere prototypes to their breed, yet alike all the same. X had defended their right to life with fervor, with succinct mastery of the spoken language, with appeals to humanity's sense of morality and the sacredness of intelligent life…and on the opposing side of the argument had been Emilius Cristoph, loved grandfather figure and the GDC representative of the AmeriCanadian alliance.
And for all of X's pleas and arguments, they would have been scattered to the wind…
Were it not for the stunning announcement by the reploid scientist Doppler of an uncanny nature and timing.
The trial was ended after Doppler announced the Viral basis of Maverickism…
The Maverick Virus.
And yet three years later in 2127, it began again.
Like a ghost that would not die, like a legend that never stopped living in memory, that hated baldheaded monster returned again…
After the Third Uprising of 2127, and the fall of Doppler, certainty had been thrown to the wind.
At one time, people thought that Mavericks were wild reploids, that all reploids could go Maverick.
Then they thought that it was caused by a Maverick Virus, and that thanks to Doppler, that virus had been contained.
They thought peace could live.
But Sigma always found a way back.
And Mavericks, Viral and self-chosen alike still marched onwards.
And humanity, although not as openly, still condemned the race of its metal children.
Zero had to admit at times, it seemed hopeless. But he would never let it get him down.
And he wouldn't let X fall into despair either.
"It's simple enough." Zero said to X, as they watched the sun set. "When Sigma shows his face, we fight him. And we win."
"And more people die…" X said wearily. He spoke again a few seconds later. "Look at us, Zero." He turned his head about and stared at his friend. "We've been here forever. And after Cain's passed away, we'll still be here. Everything changes but us…us and Sigma."
"What are you getting at?" Zero mumbled with an upraised eyebrow. X turned back to face the fading sun.
"It's like the sun right now, Zero. It's that obvious." His raven black hair danced about in the slow breeze, tickling at his eyes. Yet X did not blink.
"The sun sets on today…and time sets on an era."
"You getting dramatic on me again??"
"Yes…I can't help it, Zero. The Hunters here right now will come and go…and I'm left thinking that the only constants in this war are the three of us."
"You, me…"
"And Sigma."
The Man In Blue, the Crimson Hunter, and the undying Maverick.
And Zero couldn't argue with that.
The hatch behind them opened up, and X and Zero turned about to see Bastion clambering up the ladder, a shimmering silver pack tucked underneath his saber rechargers and firmly melded with his armor.
"Aah, so this is where you two ran off to." Bastion announced with a slight smile. Zero offered his fellow Commander a halfhearted wave. X only gave the Desert Angel a sidewards glance.
"We're just standing up here and enjoying the view." Zero offered. Bastion walked towards them, a sardonic grin on his face.
"Shooting the breeze, eh? Where's the beer?"
"Not with me." Zero replied. His eyes narrowed down a bit, in a way that wasn't menacing, but focused. "When you've been around as long as us, you learn to enjoy the little things in life…like sunsets and sun rises."
"And the tide rises…and the tide falls." Bastion mouthed, quoting an old poem. He shook his wild two layers of brown hair out and stretched his arms.
"Me…I'm gonna give my Flight Wings some real air time for a while." Zero gave a slight nod of his head.
"Sure, you fly. I'll stay on the ground, thank you very much."
"Oh, flight has its advantages…if you think out of the box." Bastion mused drily. His pack popped out the silvery wings with the jagged lightning bolt design down the axes, and they stretched out to their fullest position.
The interior of his highly modified helmet stretched out two angled pieces of durable rose tinted crystal that wrapped around his eyes, sliding together and connecting on an atomic level.
Instantly, they became the goggles that they were designed to be, flashing data before Bastion's eyes as his Flight Systems warmed up for takeoff.
He gave a final salute to X and Zero, then shot up into the sky, an orange and red blur across the dark pink and lavender coated skies.
The two Maverick Hunters watched their comrade as he soared towards the skies above New Tokyo, until he finally went out of range.
X sighed and put his helmet back on, then turned to Zero.
"I'm gonna go in and bug Hazil. You coming along?"
The Crimson Hunter gave a nonchalant shrug.
"I got nothing better to do."
Indeed, the Maverick Hunters had nothing else to do besides wait.
Wait for the coming sunrise.
"All right then, here's your next lesson, my boy." Julius Kinnian Horn said with a large dose of good humor in his voice. The eager, yet slightly aloof student under his tutilage, the ex-URFAWP reploid known as Allegro perked his head up, aware that seeing as Horn hadn't spoken up in the last two hours, this one had to be important. "Actually, it's more of a pop quiz."
"Oh, geez." Allegro muttered, setting his soldering equipment down from the latest tinkering project Horn was having him construct. All in all, Horn had found a steady pace of objectives for Allegro to follow, gently coaxing the more warrior prone reploid to sharpen his engineering wit and work wonders with metal. Allegro lifted the clear safety goggles from his eyes and looked up with a hint of aggravation. "Pop quizzes?!"
"Oh, they're refreshing, at least." Horn said, his eyes twinkling behind the blue blockers he always kept near him. "And besides, it's not like you can flunk out of anything. My question is this: What metal is currently the most widely recognized alloy for plasma deflective capability?"
"TitaniTefloAlloy." Allegro retorted, relieved a bit that he'd actually been able to answer it. "But it has its downsides as well." Horn's face began to seep into a more pronounced grin as he nodded for Allegro to continue.
"Mind telling me what the downside is?"
"The cost of producing TitaniTefloAlloy is high…very high. Thus, it's mostly just the military that produces the stuff…them and the Mavericks."
"Correct. Now, we know what the military uses the stuff for, but can you give me some examples of TitaniTefloAlloy use by Mavericks?"
"Uhh…" Allegro stuttered, suddenly finding himself running into a roadblock. Horn waited a few moments before pointedly tapping a finger on his forehead. "That's not helping me any, doc." Allegro muttered in slight disdain. Horn lifted his sunglasses up into his shaggy gray hair and sighed in frustration.
"Well, two out of three isn't bad. Still, I would have thought you would have identified Nitro Narwhal as being practically made out of the stuff, aside from his main explosive launcher on top of his forehead, seeing as he was the Maverick General running the show at Cairo during your mission with Wycost and Doan there."
"Wycost took on Narwhal." Allegro mumbled sadly. "Doan, Andante and me went onto Cairo and shut down the main Maverick forces…and Andante didn't make it." Horn silently cursed himself for dredging up the sour memory, then walked over and patted his student on the back.
"Aah, I know. But realize, Andante's proud of you. You're finally doing something worthwhile to help out. More so than you could have at URFAWP." Horn shook his head sadly. "More than any of us could." He turned about and continued the lecture.
"According to the MHHQ's computer records I've been able to access, there was also another Maverick during the Fifth Uprising who somehow survived extermination up until Sigma's Sixth…he went by the name of Fluid Ferret. Ferret was a real close combat knife fighter…had a pair of claws composed entirely of TitaniTefloAlloy that made him difficult for X to deal with."
"Anyone would have problems if their main weapon's shots could be blocked by a haphazard swipe from a crazed Maverick." Allegro responded. "But Nitro Narwhal was an interesting case…constructing him must have taken a lot of resources from the Mavericks. And considering his obvious Achilles Heel, I doubt we'll ever see a Maverick like him again. TitaniTefloAlloy has its uses, but overall, it's too damn expensive to build an entire reploid's body out of the stuff."
"Right you are." Horn said, his face brightening again. "See, I knew my lessons were beginning to pay off!!" Allegro gave him a blank stare, and Horn continued. "Lemme explain: You're beginning to think from a tactical point of view, to think beyond the cloak and dagger and more like a field commander. You gotta realize that to make it as an engineer, you have to be able to think like that sometimes. That ability to forsee what something is capable of, to ponder what your enemy can use it for and what you yourself can do with it can take your designs and projects to a new level of practicality and effectiveness."
"Lemme sum up your bureau-speak." Allegro grumbled. "I'm thinking smarter, and thinking smarter is a good thing for us and the guys who are gonna use our stuff."
"Short, sweet, and one hundred percent Allegro." Horn replied, his aged face twinkling with satisfaction. He turned about and stared at his own project, a roughly replicated model of the flight systems requested by Doan's associate, Cleo.
"Aah, I need a break. Whaddo you feel like for lunch?" Allegro climbed up to his feet and grinned.
"Roasted Maverick, but seeing as there's none of that on hand, I suppose some Calamari'll fit the bill."
"Deep batter fried?"
"We're reploids, doc! Calories don't matter!!" Allegro chortled with a heavy amount of the same good humor his boss displayed. Horn led the way, chuckling all the while.
Allegro followed, shaking his head in amazement.
He'd been with J.K. Horn for a while now, and working with the man as an equal instead of merely working FOR HIM as an URFAWP recruit gave the philanthropist a new level of depth Allegro couldn't have recognized otherwise. But Allegro knew one thing about the reploid with the long and somewhat shady history;
He never passed up an excuse to laugh.
Willow blinked her eyes unsteadily as she tried to wake up, her mind racing about…
She steadied her trembling body with a demanding conscious override, then shut her green eyes for a moment as she took in several deep breaths.
"Just a bad dream." She whispered, finally opening her eyes and climbing to her feet.
She was in one of New York's homeless shelters, and she had been dozing off on a haphazardly set cot, a scratchy blanket her only solace against the chill night air.
At least it was summer. She checked her internal chronometer, wincing at the results.
She'd only been in light stasis for three hours. And there was no way she could drop back into it now.
Like they always did, the nightmares scared her awake, made it impossible for her to find any level of comfort.
Of course, the sobering thought came when Willow always acknowledged, much to her own terror, that the nightmares weren't dreams…they were the memories she was cursed to carry.
The room of the homeless shelter she was in was dimly lit, and it took Willow a moment to adjust her optics to the narrow frequency of light. Others slept around the crowded room as well.
Humans and reploids alike…poor, abandoned, homeless, unnoticed by most of the world. Here lay shattered dreams, living nightmares, hopeless lives.
She shook her head for a moment, then quietly made her way towards the exit.
Willow had to pass through a dimly lit checkpoint room, where a good natured reploid that somewhat resembled a snake looked up from the tiny television set at his desk.
"Leaving so soon? It's not yet daylight."
"I couldn't sleep." Willow offered tonelessly. "I might as well be on my way." The snake type reploid gave Willow a once-over and shook his head.
"All sorts of unsavory types walk the streets at night, little lady. You make an inviting target." And truthfully, Willow didn't look all that menacing from an outside glance. A somewhat muscular female with green eyes and red hair, standing at 5'9 with a look of aloofness about her.
Willow's eyes suddenly flickered with the opening hints of contempt and rage, and she reached underneath the cloak draped about her supple body.
"I think I can take care of myself." She replied tersely, letting the glint of a silvery handled device glint in the dim light.
The reploid at the desk couldn't help but let his eyes widen a little in surprise.
The device looked all too similar to a beam saber's hilt.
"I see." He finally stammered, his shock showing in his voice. Willow slipped the device back underneath her outer garment and blinked, pointedly staring right into the homeless shelter worker's eyes.
"Thanks for the rest." The snakelike reploid gave the barest nod of his head.
"No…no problem." Willow turned about and walked out, in no mood for small talk.
As she stepped outside onto the streets of New York, she couldn't help but stare up towards the sky. It was the barest hint of nightshade black, faded and altered by all the lights that made the Big Apple 'the city that never sleeps'. The adage had carried on all these years since it had been born in the early years of the 20th Century.
Countless millions had come and gone since then, Willow couldn't help but remark to herself.
"And me and you, Bristol, are just two more fish in the stream." Willow muttered darkly. Her Scottish accent had left her for the briefest span of time, but it was enough.
She drew the cloak in around herself tighter still and began to walk down the streets of New York…
Just another fish.
"If I wasn't so damn screwed up already, this whole thing about reploids being capable of having ghosts would scare the living shit outta me." Wycost grumbled as he stared across the dining table to Isaiah.
It was another dream of Wycost's, the Bronx Bomber knew that much. This was the second time now Isaiah had returned to speak to him…the first time the ghost of his friend in URFAWP had pledged whatever help he could to Wycost as he pursued his penance.
"Aah, I know it's weird." Isaiah grinned, taking a bite out of a chicken leg and nodding in approval. "And geez, you can dream up some good country style cooking, you know that?" Wycost sipped at his own grape soda and shrugged.
"So what is it this time?" Isaiah set the chicken bone down and looked at his friend with a slightly bemused stare.
"What do you think it's about?"
"DAMNIT, ISAIAH…" Wycost began, his aggravation beginning to sink in. The ghost of the former URFAWP reploid waggled a finger back and forth.
"Hey, where's that new you?"
"The new me doesn't want to kill. It doesn't have any qualms about cursing up a storm." Wycost growled. "Remember, I'm a New Yorker." He pronounced it so that it sounded like 'Yoarkawr', the lilt unmistakable. "It's demanded that a little foul language lie close by for use."
"Well, that's one opinion anyhow." Isaiah sighed. "But I guess I'll get to the point. Things are probably gonna get real interesting soon. I just thought I'd give you a heads up."
"What kind of interesting? Mind getting a little specific for me, Isaiah?"
"Well, Sigma for one." Isaiah replied calmly. "But I guess his involvement is sort of a given." Wycost's eyes darkened.
"Figures. Am I going to run into his bunch again?"
"No, your friends will handle Sigma." Isaiah said edgily. He stared into Wycost's eyes. "You'll have your own battles, my friend."
"Just what I didn't need to hear." Wycost said wearily. He looked to Isaiah, his eyes pleading. "I'm on a mission to PRESERVE life. Are you telling me I'll be put in a situation where I'll need to draw blood again?"
Isaiah looked up to the endless sky above of Wycosts' dream, silently looking for an answer. Finally, he tilted his head down and faced Wycost.
"One of the hardest lessons X had to learn was that his blind pacifism would only get more innocents killed, Wycost. What Mega Man X had to learn was that there comes a time when you will need to draw blood, in order to preserve the lives of so many more."
"Still, Mavericks are sentient beings as well." Wycost argued. "The infected ones have those damn three priorities always pulsing in their skulls, but they THINK, by God."
"We're not talking about Mavericks anymore." Isaiah uttered darkly. His response left Wycost more than a little stunned.
The ghost of Isaiah sighed and got out of the dining table chair, wiping his hands onto his pants before staring up towards the sky above.
"I'll give you one question to brood on until next time, Wycost…" Isaiah stated. "What is worse than a Maverick?"
Wycost opened his mouth to speak…
Too late. Isaiah was gone.
Wycost's eyes snapped awake, and he jerked up to a sitting position.
The room's lights flickered on, prompting the Bronx Bomber to lower his sunglare goggles into place to dampen the lights.
"Wycost man, you all right?" Wycost turned and stared towards a reploid standing in the doorframe.
His breathing settled back down, and Wycost slowly got his focus back.
He was in the New York City special reploid SWAT unit's barracks…
The reploid looking towards him had been a 'newbie' back in 2130 when the Fifth Uprising occurred. He hadn't been in Wycost's unit…which meant he'd survived the horrific attack of Nitro Narwhal and his Maverick forces. Still, he, like the other newbies and surviving veterans remembered Wycost.
They'd been surprised he was still around, but after he informed them of his service in the Maverick Hunters to avenge his fallen comrades, they'd stopped asking questions. It was a touchy subject, and they were glad that an old friend had returned…even if he wasn't staying.
"Wycost, you all right?" The newbie, a reploid by the name of Garrison asked again. Wycost blinked his eyes a few times behind his glasses and finally nodded an affirmative.
"Yeah…I'm all right." Wycost muttered, getting back up to his feet and activating his Warp Generator.
The light ensemble of the gray T-Shirt and Sweat Shorts vanished, Wycost once more standing in his blue jeans and leather jacket.
"Just a really weird dream I can't get back to sleep from." Wycost finished.
Garrison clucked his tongue.
"Well, as long as you're up, you might as well grab some coffee and join the party down at the War Room."
"Sounds good." Wycost answered perfunctorily. "I could do some much needed research while I'm at it…I've been out of the loop for a while."
"That you have." Garrison acknowledged with a smirk. He turned about to head back to his post.
"Hey, Garrison!" Wycost said suddenly, causing the rookie to turn about with a slightly befuddled stare.
"Yeah?"
"I just had a thought…"
"Yeah?"
"What's worse than a Maverick?" Wycost asked, lifting his sunglasses back up and resting them on his head of short black hair. Garrison blinked a few times, then shrugged and turned back to walk away.
"Well, that requires a new definition in place of the word." Garrison replied, his voice increasing in volume as his distance increased. "The more proper question you might ask is, what's worse than an individual who's forced to kill and destroy?"
Wycost remained planted in the doorway of the barrack as his mind mulled over Garrison's return question.
What indeed was worse than a programmed killer?
Wycost found that the answer, even for all of his gruff exterior, still frightened him.
"Someone who kills for pleasure or a coldhearted motive."
Wycost shuddered involuntarily and followed after Garrison.
He definitely wasn't getting back to sleep tonight.