Legacy

by Lord Yellowtail

Sequel to The Just and the Law. When the principles of justice and the laws of the land clashed, a desperate champion unknowingly made a decision that would change the world, forever.

2. Reactions

A/N: Please see Prologue notes for detailed information. Again, I own nothing. :) This includes any and all reference to Star Trek and the wonderful Star Trek novel, Immortal Coil. Thanks again to Classic Cowboy and FusionBlaster for beta-reading this. Enjoy.

General MacDonald cursed as he glided down a hall of the US Army's Keaton Weapons Depot. Broad shoulders rolled briskly, his thick arms hanging from joints no less than six feet above the carpeted floor. His chest shined brightly; a small fortune in medals and a formidable ribbon cluster catching and reflecting the ceiling lights' harsh white glow. The only piece of his uniform that was even slightly out of place was his cap, which was currently caught in the steel grip of his right fist. Even his regulation short-cropped black hair seemed to be in perfect alignment. It stood in sharp contrast to his lightly tanned skin and green eyes.

Those same eyes betrayed barely restrained frustration. The XCBM – his project, his baby – had been missing for more than twelve hours. He still had no idea how anyone had manged to steal it, let alone a private who was likely missing several vital screws. But that didn't change the fact that it was gone, along with the transport pad Private Henderson used to beam it out and the dozen troops on watch there – both the victims of its enhanced combat lasers. MacDonald shuddered. All that destruction, with nothing but the lasers. He would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes even he wondered if they had gone to far when they designed its weapon systems. No, he reminded himself, it has to be able to stand up to the strongest of them.

There were still certain elements of the theft that didn't make any sense. Henderson used the pad to transport and rigged it to explode after he left. Why, when he could have used the XCBM's internal teleporter. It was actually meant to work on humans without any harmful side effects, unlike the pad. Not that they knew if it worked as promised. It was still new and mostly untested. But that was beside the point. Attempting the analyze the actions of an insane man wasn't going to get him anywhere. The fact of the matter was the prototype was gone, it had been missing for twelve hours, and there was no way to track it. He knew the only way they would find it again was when Henderson decided to start blowing things up. Then again, he thought, Blake said he had an update. Since we were all but out of leads, he must have already attacked. His mind dwelling on that sour note, he arrived at Conference Room Seventeen and flung open the door, the four stars attached to the collar of his uniform shaking with the force of his swing.

The room was much as he expected it to be – large, circular conference table with three figures seated around it, the lights dimmed and the wall viewer on. It looked just like it did the first three times they'd met to discuss the theft. He took his place at the table, unable to stifle a yawn. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. He couldn't sleep, not with the XCBM lost in the wild.

MacDonald's eyes swept the table, taking in the appearance of his colleagues. There was Ben Dixon, the project's head engineer. Most of him was obscured by his ever-present white lab coat. His somewhat pale, twenty-something face and brown, bespeckled eyes revealed fatigue and nervousness, but no surprise or intrigue. Long fingers played absentmindedly with messy brown hair. He didn't know what this was about. Hell, he thought, he hasn't known what half this was about from the beginning. The longer the general could ensure that that remained the case, the better.

His gaze moved on to three-star General Simon Blake, eight years his junior, his friend, and as far as this project was concerned, his second-in-command. His five-eight, ebony frame was wrapped in a uniform almost as thickly decorated as his superior's, though it had a significantly lower number of field operation ribbons. That made sense, really. Blake had somehow managed to rise to his great rank without any significant time in the field. His dark, steely eyes were young and alert; it was clear he'd never seen a single real battle as a foot soldier. Most people would say that he wasn't deserving of his rank – that he had no right to order men and women to their deaths if he purposefully avoided his own baptism by fire. MacDonald didn't think like that. He knew it took a great deal of mental acuity and manipulative skill to do what Blake had done. He respected him for that, and it was the chief reason he was in this room. A man of his talents would be needed if everything was to go as planned. One look at him made it clear he knew exactly what was going on. Good. If someone who wasn't him had to be the first to know anything, he preferred it to be Blake.

That left a tall, slender woman of Spanish descent with dark brown hair that reached her shoulders and positively piercing green eyes. She was Renee Montalbaan, the only one present not wearing a military uniform. She instead sported a thin, black skirt and white blouse, accented by an ID tag pegging her as a member of the United Nations Security Council. To MacDonald, she was just like the body she represented – supposedly centered in good and morality but in the end amenable to pretty much whatever he contended was necessary. He had no problem with that at all. There was only one thing out of place in the room. Someone was missing. He made a mental note to ask Blake about that, taking his seat beside the younger general.

"Gentlemen, Councilwoman," he greeted tersely, "I wish I could say it was good to see you. Unfortunately, I'm afraid we're meeting yet again under less-than-good circumstances. Unless something has changed ..." He let his voice trail off, an unspoken command for someone to tell him what was going on.

As he expected, Blake answered the call. "We've had a ... development," he started, pausing long enough for MacDonald to be surprised by the apprehension in his voice, "we've recovered the XCBM." Seeing a smile break across his superior's face, Blake quickly added, "but I'm afraid there were some ... complications, not including the fact that the XCBM was destroyed."

MacDonald's expression didn't change, and his tone was untroubled. After all, they could always build another one, he knew. "I would be surprised if there weren't. Let me guess. Private Henderson is dead, right?"

Montalbaan frowned, Dixon managed to only look aghast, but Blake was quite used to his friend, and not at all surprised by his seeming lack of remorse. Slightly chilled, but not surprised. "Actually, Jerry, no. He was taken into custody when Captain Winters and his team recovered the unit. That's where things get interesting."

"Ah," MacDonald grumbled, obviously disappointed. So much for writing off that loose end. "Where is Winters, anyway? I'm surprised he didn't want to tell me the good news in person."

Something unidentifiable flashed across Simon's face, disappearing almost instantly. "I'll get to that. I think I should start with how the situation unfolded – how we got the prototype back." Everyone around the table nodded. "Alright. As you all know, when Henderson took the mecha, he bombed the teleportation pad he used to beam out. Presumably, so we wouldn't be able to trace him."

"Right," MacDonald agreed. "Any idea why he didn't just use the internal, human-safe teleporter?"

"I think I've figured that out, sir." That was Dixon, sounding slightly uncomfortable. "The XCBM's teleporter is theoretically meant to work on humans without causing any neural damage, unlike standard teleporters, which only work reliably on simple plant lifeforms and inorganics. To make a human-safe version work, a much longer, more detailed matter scanning period is required prior to matter-energy conversion ... around forty-five seconds to a minute, depending on the subject. Henderson probably assumed he didn't have that much time, and he'd been exposed to standard teleportation before. As we know, it's already damaged his mind – disqualified him from the project. I doubt he cared what would happen to him if he did it one more time."

"A reasonable assumption," Montalbaan commented quietly, speaking for the first time. "So, was he found when he tried to use the prototype's teleporter? Some kind of tracer?"

"Couldn't be," Dixon cut in, unable to completely banish an abashed tint from his voice, "we ... we didn't install the tracing beacon yet."

Blake took the opportunity to regain control of the conversation. "Exactly." A pained look washed over his face. Might as well spit it out. "Approximately forty minutes ago, he teleported the mecha into Cossack Park, in downtown New York, with hostile intent." His expression didn't change, but he watched his companions closely for their reactions.

Dixon, as expected, turned a lovely shade of green and seemed to lose the ability to speak. Both Blake and MacDonald agreed he was a soft, weak man. Montalbaan looked suitably stunned, but she still had her wits about her, and whatever she really thought about the situation wasn't likely to show up on her face anyway – one of the joys of dealing with a diplomat. His eyes found his commanding officer. Now there was something interesting.

General MacDonald sat, frowning darkly, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. Blake wondered what he was thinking. It was obvious that he wasn't happy with the situation. Who would be? The variable, though, was why. Either he, like most normal people, was disturbed by the potential implied loss of life, or –

"This is could be very complicating in terms of keeping our project under wraps. How many civilian deaths do we have to spin?"

"Don't jump the gun, Jerry. We had a few civilian deaths, but they're really the least of our problems. If you'd allow me to continue?" Irritation was evident in his tone – it was taking far too long for him to get to the meat of the problem.

MacDonald nodded. "Go on." Now what?

Blake pressed a button on the table, and the wall viewer flared to life. Montalbaan and Dixon gasped. It displayed an overhead view of Cossack Park, taken from a low flying helicopter. "This is the scene of the incident, as taped about twenty minutes ago." Some of the slush had begun to refreeze, and the flatbed team had cleared nearly all the debris, but it was still a ruined, charred mess. Dark red stains – human blood – tainted the snow near the ruined pond where the victims' bodies had been laid out before they were removed. There was some other, darker, dried liquid scattered around that MacDonald couldn't identify. Dixon had a suspicion of what it was, but held his tongue. "According to Winters' report, Henderson beamed the XCBM into the collection of trees beyond the lake, and attacked the people in the park, with intention of killing them before moving on to the medical district a few blocks away. While he managed to get a few people too slow to get off the ice, he ran into a problem."

"What kind of problem, General?" Montalbaan asked, not liking the odd fluctuation in Blake's tone. "If we didn't stop him, what did?"

His tone stayed calm, but Blake braced himself for what he knew was coming. "Commander X of the Maverick Hunters."

"What? Why – how in the hell did he get involved?!" MacDonald was all but screaming now, his composure utterly shot for the moment. Dixon's green complexion gave way to a pallid white. Montalbaan continued to hold her cards tight to her chest, betraying nothing. "Explain ... now."

Blake was unruffled. He was actually pleasantly surprised to still be standing, as opposed to lying flat on his back nursing a broken nose. "Apparently, he was just relaxing in the park when Henderson showed up and announced his presence by blasting out the pond and the people on it. X saw the teleport and assumed he was dealing with a Maverick, so he challenged it, apparently wanting to give the surviving humans time and opportunity to get out. Henderson, insane as he may be, was still clever enough to get Commander X to realize he was human."

"So you're saying the Commander knowingly attacked a human?" Dixon asked. "That's ... that's illegal," he whispered, the implications staggering.

"Only after he managed to get Hunter Headquarters to radio us without Henderson's knowledge and found out we weren't going to arrive in time to stop him from wiping out a good chunk of the city's hospital district."

"How did he get a message through without Henderson's knowledge?" MacDonald asked, already formulating a plan to deal with this latest complication.

"According to Winters' report," he gestured to a stack of four identical briefings, and everyone took one, "he opened a channel to Maverick Hunter Headquarters, cranked the gain on his transmitter, and let Henderson run his mouth until the Hunters figured out what was going on and called us."

"Alright," MacDonald said, beginning to flip through the report, "so, X tips us off, but doesn't leave ... doesn't want Henderson to hurt anybody. How noble. When exactly did the fight break out?" There was a cold, almost evil glimmer in his eyes."I'm assuming he broke the First Law. Machines like him are too destructive not to."

"Commander X engaged the mecha after he was informed by the Hunter spotter that contacted us – I believe her name was Alia – that Winters and his team were at least fifteen minutes away. Apparently Henderson gave him an ultimatum: two minutes to decide whether he wanted to leave or stay and die with the civilians remaining at the site. He apparently chose option number three. And yes, he did break the First Law. Henderson suffered a few light contusions and bruises."

"I'm sure he thought he could get away with it, considering who he is," MacDonald said darkly. "Where is he now?" Maybe I can make an example out of the bastard.

"Destroyed, sir. He was heavily damaged when our team arrived. Winters wiped his CPU on the spot, though he was reluctant to do so. He told me himself he didn't think X should be subject to the First Law given the situation. I informed him that either he would do it, or someone else would. Must have helped him find his spine. It's all in his report."

Montalbaan said something in her native language none of the others could understand, her dark olive skin somehow looking pale.

"Oh ... Christ. I didn't sign up for this. This wasn't supposed to happen ... not to him. Damn ..." Dixon began to breathe faster, looking as though he was fighting to stay in control of his stomach.

"Shut up, Dixon," MacDonald growled. "And while you're at it, get out. We won't be needing you for the rest of this meeting." The young engineer stood shakily, forced to use his chair to steady himself. He quickly gathered up his papers and left, but not before stumbling into a wall. When the door shut behind him, Montalbaan spoke, apparently over her shock enough to once again be able to form coherent sentences.

"Are you sure ... are you sure that was wise, General? I assume from your demeanor you're not about to contemplate canceling the project. Isn't ostracizing your chief engineer at this point a bad idea?"

"Not really," MacDonald scoffed, "Lieutenant Dixon's a smart young man. Very smart. In fact, without him, it would have been impossible to make the prototype's weapon, power, and teleportation systems work in time to meet with our current deadlines. But the fact of the matter is, he has no idea what's really going on here – what we're really trying to accomplish. I've taken great pains to keep it that way. He's a designer, not a builder. And he's designed a system that does, in fact, work. Those designs are fully and completely documented, and property of the United States Army. We don't need him to build more XCBMs. The phase of this project he served a vital role in is over. I assure you, madam, that you needn't worry about him. We have more important concerns.

"I'm sure you'll both agree that certain steps are going to need to be taken to ensure the integrity of our project. We cannot risk real public exposure at this stage – we're not ready. First thing's first – Simon, you said there were survivors. How many, and who are they? We're going to need to put a lid on them."

"That's a problem. We don't know who the ones that fled the scene after the battle started are. They've yet to attract any attention to themselves They're the only ones that would have seen any of the fight. X might have known who they were, but his memory was wiped."

"Damn. That is a problem. Watch the news agencies, Hunters, and local police. If any witnesses do come forward, we'll need to discredit them."

Blake looked nervous. "That ... won't be possible."

"What? Why not?"

"We have two Hunter witnesses to X's deactivation. Commander Zero and the aforementioned Alia. They confiscated X's body and took it back to Hunter Headquarters in Tokyo."

MacDonald blinked. "Shit."

"Indeed," Blake offered lamely. "However, according to Winters' report, they were both pretty shaken by the whole thing. If we move fast, we can preempt anything they might attempt. I doubt they're thinking about public announcements at the moment."

"Agreed. We need to come up with a plan for dealing with this. In the meantime, we've got to keep them clammed up." He turned to Montalbaan. "Madam, as I'm sure you know, the United Nations Security Council has the capacity for direct, overriding control over all Hunter operations. Would it be possible to issue a complete and full nondisclosure order regarding the events of Mega Man X's destruction without telling them why we want them to stay silent?"

Renee looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I don't believe it would be a problem."

"Good," MacDonald was smiling again, "how long do you think it will take?"

"I can have something ready in ... ninety minutes? After that, I'll need another twenty to get it authorized and dispatched."

MacDonald nodded. For anything involving the UNSC bureaucracy, that was amazingly fast. They only moved quicker with orders when there was an immediate threat of atomization or some other form of grand, possibly quite painful, destruction. "Alright. Do it. That'll give us some time to figure out what to do to make it look like this never happened. One other thing. Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"Where the hell is Winters? Is there a reason he did not show up for this meeting?"

Blake sighed. "Flip to the last section of the briefing. You'll find attached a copy of his resignation. He handed it in with the report, citing ethical conflict."

The smile didn't leave the elder general's face. "Hmm ... guess he didn't have as much of a spine as you thought. He's still bound by his own Non-Disclosure Agreement, so he's nothing to worry about. Check the rosters and find us another operator."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to find out what I can about this 'Alia.' The information may be useful later. I want everyone to think about PR strategies we can employ here. The blackout's only gonna go unnoticed for so long. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning." He stood and tugged on his coat. "Meeting adjourned." He turned briskly and left the room.

"That was pleasant," Montalbaan said wryly.

"Isn't it always? Say, I don't suppose you've had lunch?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid."

Simon shuffled his feet slightly, and actually managed to sound nervous. "I was wondering if you might like to grab a bite to eat. I don't think waiting thirty minutes to get everything rolling will hurt anything."

Renee thought about it, then smiled brightly. "Sure."

"Alia?" No response. Zero frowned. His friend still sat motionless against the wall, where she'd fallen when Lifesaver pronounced X unrecoverable. She hadn't moved in minutes, even as the chief medic began slowly stripping off the remains of X's armor. Zero suppressed a shiver listening sound of the reinforced blue armor being snapped off what was left of his body. Part of him was glad he had Alia to look after at the moment – it was an excuse not to watch. He turned his attention back to her. No tears, no sound, no anything. She just ... gazed off. If not for the occasional blink, he would have assumed she had fallen into stasis.

His attention was drawn to the infirmary's double doors as they flew open. A very somber Signas entered the room, sad eyes sweeping the scene. Aside from Zero, Lifesaver, Alia, and what was left of X, the infirmary was completely deserted. He noted the spotter's state, but also saw Zero crouching next to her, and knew that, for the moment, it wasn't necessary for him to intervene. He doubted there was anything he could say to her that would even begin to make her feel better. Willing his shocked mind into forming coherent thoughts was taking almost all of his willpower.

What's left of X... The thought (and sight) made him as close to nauseous as a reploid could get, but the simple fact of the matter was, it was true. Mega Man X was dead – one look at the stricken Lifesaver and the complete lack of life support equipment around the diagnostic bed confirmed that. Yet in the back of his mind, he knew he couldn't afford to let his grief consume him now. X was dead. Zero was up and moving, but it was obvious to Signas that he was shaken to the core, and would eventually crash. That he wasn't collapsed next to Alia was amazing in and of itself. And Alia – he grimaced at the blank look in her eyes – her mental state was obvious. The pragmatic element of his brain knew he had a problem. One of his two senior Commanders – one of his friends – was never leaving the infirmary under his own power again. The other was severely traumatized – whether or not he was trying to fight it off was beside the point. It would catch up with him sooner or later. His best spotter seemed all but catatonic, and he had a pretty good idea why.

That left the trio of advisers and friends that he'd depended on since he took command of the Maverick Hunters after the Forth Uprising shattered, never to be mended again. Its two remaining elements were weakened and reeling, and it would be a long time – if ever – before either of them were as strong as they'd been before this nightmare began to play itself out. No matter what happened now, he knew the amazingly long period fate had granted him to acclimate to his role as Hunter Grand Commander was over.

Lifesaver looked up, just noticing the Commander's presence. He eased a scorched blue armor plate off X's thigh and set it aside. The ripped synthetic skin underneath glistened with drying coolant. "Welcome to hell," he said quietly.

"That's a rather harsh assessment, Doctor."

"You disagree?"

"I didn't say that. So he's really ..."

"He is. The bastards wiped everything. Hell, even his base ROM is gone ... creator information, internal specification records – every bit of it's jumbled beyond any hope of recovery."

Signas easily detected the pure, fiery anger in the physician's voice. He guessed it was much like the rage burning through his own mind. The only difference between the two of them was that Signas was a Commander – he didn't have the luxury of allowing his feelings to show through, for fear that they would be seen as tainting his judgment. Unlike a doctor, who arguably performed better when he had compassion at his disposal.

"Now what?" Zero surprised them both, speaking from his position next to Alia, who had miraculously managed to turn her head and watch Signas and the doctor. He sounded unsure of what he was saying. "What ... what are we supposed to do now, Signas?"

"I'm not sure," Signas said honestly, as Lifesaver went back to work carefully prying off armor. He didn't say it, but he was glad he had an excuse to distract himself from the grisly conversation he was having with the doctor. "I don't know how our people are going to react to this. You and I both know a good deal of reploid Hunters, especially those we've gotten since the Fourth Uprising, have no respect for the humans we protect. It's more like contempt. I think the only reason they volunteer is to make sure they and their friends don't get passively slaughtered. And that's not counting the ones that are here for ... less than stellar reasons. A nice riot isn't beyond the realm of possibility. A good deal of people are going to feel betrayed."

"Point. But it's not like those groups are anything close to a majority. The recruiters always try make sure they're here for the right reasons. And we have a good deal of loyal human Hunters with good heads on their shoulders. Still, you're right, coming right out with it doesn't seem like the brightest thing to do." I can't believe this. He's been ... gone for less than two hours and we're already talking about how to spin it. His disgust manifested itself on his face. He tried not to notice Lifesaver's jaw tighten. Still, he couldn't help but ask, "Do you have any ideas?"

Signas shrugged. "Honestly, I don't really want to think about it. But we've got to come up with something. Rumors are starting to spread. Not surprisingly, a lot of the people that were in the infirmary when X was brought here are starting to worry ... and assume things. There's a nasty one going around about a new Maverick General strong enough that he killed him with his bare hands."

"That's just great. Anybody remotely close to the truth?"

"No one. No one's got any idea what actually happened. The records have been locked for the moment. Honestly, who's going to suspect that's what's happened? It's unthinkable," he finished darkly.

"Apparently, we need to rework our definition of that word," Lifesaver said, not looking up from the magnetic latches he was working. By now, he had the entire chest unit removed, the reinforced thigh plates, and both boots. Dirty coolant had already begun to pool on the gurney he was using to lay them out. He handled each piece of armor as though it was a sacred relic – and on some level, that was the truth of the matter. All of X's armors were custom designs left for him by Doctor Light, designed to work specifically with his systems – and only his systems. Designers and researchers like Alia had been able, through the years, to adapt some components for standard battle armor, but that's all they were – imperfect adaptations. It was not lost on anyone watching that the protective garment, like the metal shell it once covered, was now a useless piece of scrap.

"Well," Zero said, knowing if he had any bile in his body it would be rising in an effort to prevent what he was about to say, "there's one question we have to answer right now. Do we ... lie to them?"

"No." Alia's voice was quiet, and maybe a little distant, but it was still as forceful as ever. She stood and began walking towards the Crimson Hunter. "We will lie to no one." She fixed Zero with a misty-eyed glare. "I can't believe you of all people would suggest that standing in the same room with his ... his body. Damn it, Zero, X is dead. I don't know why you're pretending like he's not."

"Alia, I don't know what –"

"Of course you know what I mean. You're his best friend Zero, his brother. That's how I know you're not accepting this. If you were, you couldn't be acting so ... so damned clinical. If you don't want to confront reality right now, that's fine. But don't you dare try and make decisions as though that isn't X. As much ... as much as I hate to admit it, you knew him a lot better than I ever will. What would he want us to do, Zero?"

Zero worked his mouth, but no sound came out. Alia turned to Signas, her effort to avoid looking at X's body not going unnoticed. "We can't lie to them, sir. We just can't. It would be like admitting we didn't believe X did the right thing."

Signas didn't say anything. Apparently, he had misjudged her mental state. Whether this new behavior was better or worse than what he'd been expecting, he couldn't be sure – only time would tell. As for what she said – he found himself agreeing. They were X's friends – it was their responsibility to honor his memory. It was a responsibility he gladly accepted. That only made the decisions he would have to make in the next few days more difficult.

"She's right," Zero said lowly. "We can't tamper with the truth. But that leads us right back to our original problem. What's the best way to announce the passing of someone most people like to think is immortal?"

"That's the problem," Signas began, "if that's how most people think of him, learning he's been killed is likely to cause nothing short of panic. They need to ... acclimate to the idea."

"What do you mean?" Alia asked, confused.

"Well, it's fairly obvious no one here is quite sure how to tell them the complete truth. We're going to need time to figure out how to do it right. In the meantime, we can ... confirm the baseline rumor. People can start to deal with the shock, and then, when they find out exactly what happened, they might be a little more prepared."

"I guess ... that's a start," Zero said quietly.

"Yeah," Alia whispered, her earlier forcefulness nonexistent. This is it, then. He's gone. Time to ... time to start to press on. She felt her head start to spin again, the same way it had when Lifesaver confirmed that X was dead, but she forced it to stop. She couldn't yield to her emotions now. There would be a time for that later. At the moment, she had a part to play in assuring that this didn't become any more of a disaster than it already was – that was the promise she'd made.

"I'm going to go start work on a statement and ... update the records," Signas said, turning for the door, "if any of you need anything, let me know." The room was silent save the hiss of the sliding doors. Updating the records meant authorizing Lifesaver's amendment to X's files, confirming his death for the computer. It would trigger, among other things, the release of X's final orders, will, and any other files he had encrypted and sealed in anticipation of his demise. His quarters would be sealed until the person (or persons) he'd granted permission to enter them attempted to do so. Zero knew from experience that the entire process was likely to start in about four hours. It was generally considered improper to bombard the grieving with paperwork and potential responsibility immediately after confirmation of death. Though why only four hours had been deemed adequate time to prepare, no one was quite sure.

"Zero, could you give me a hand?" Lifesaver asked, shaking the blond berserker from his thoughts. "I need to get the back armor off."

"Okay, what do you want me to – oh," he cut himself off as Lifesaver gestured at X's shoulders. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that the doctor only had two hands. Alia watched mutely, unable to look away as Zero gently grasped X's whole arm and the base of his neck, supporting his head. He eased X's torso up until he was holding him in a sitting position, but was unable to keep his friend's limp head from slumping forward slightly. Lifesaver quickly went to work on the magnetic locks holding the remaining scorched, ripped enhanced titanium armor in place. With a final click, he pulled it away.

"That's it, the last of the armor is off. You can let him down now. I'll clean him up and put him in a stasis tube until we have a better idea of what we want to do."

"Alright," Zero said, looking blankly at his now coolant-stained gloves. A great deal of the dark liquid had pooled underneath X's armor, and Zero couldn't help but think it looked like his lifeless friend was bleeding all over again. Lifesaver handed him a towel.

Hunter Headquarters' main commissary, a spacious, whitewashed meeting hall, was packed with at least one-hundred and fifty humans and reploids. It was only 1:30, so many of the former were still finishing lunch. Viewers built into the walls (and the one behind the rather large bar at the end of the room) were tuned to Global News Network. As far as the tall, spry reploid walking in was concerned, everything was as it should be.

The animaloid, modeled after a white tiger, was a good six and a half feet tall. He stood erect, the synthetic fur that covered most of his body bristling as immense ceiling fans circulated the air. His construction was what most reploids and designers would consider peculiar. A thick layer of armor was actually underneath his synthetic skin, eliminating the need for him to wear external protective gear in combat. A lot of people envied him for it, since he was armored even during covert undercover operations – when most other Hunters would be forced to enter dangerous situations with only their wits to protect them. Personally, he didn't feel it was worth any jealousy. In concert with the retractable adamantine claws in his fingers, his exoskeleton made a lot of people nervous around him. For some reason, whenever people learned about the more eclectic elements of his design, they made unsavory assumptions about his personality. Being second-in-command of Unit Seventeen didn't help matters. Despite popular opinion, he wasn't predisposed to causing explosions. He was just very good at it.

"Quinn! Over here!"

The reploid, hearing his name, jerked his head in the direction of the sound. His eyes found a table with three figures sitting around it, one – the female owner of the voice – gesturing wildly in an attempt to get his attention. He smiled, nodded, and began to move towards them.

"What's up, guys?" he asked a few moments later, pulling out a chair. He glanced around him, taking in the appearance of his companions. They were all humanoids; all members of the Seventeenth. The first was short and stocky, with brown eyes, red hair, and a fair complexion, and seemed to be in a pretty good mood – Aaron. He noted that he was in his armor, minus helmet. Everyone else was, too, he realized. Apparently, he wasn't the only member of his unit on standby. His eyes moved to a taller male, busy trying to solve a crossword puzzle with one hand while he twiddled an ebony ponytail with the other. He nodded at Quinn as he took his seat – Onyx, their demolitions expert. That left Beth. She was about five-ten, with wavy brown hair pulled back between her shoulders, piercing jade eyes, and an alabaster complexion. It was her voice that flagged him down.

"Not much," she said pleasantly, "just waiting for an alarm to go off, I guess."

"No hurries," Onyx interjected huskily, "we can nearly get our heads blown off anytime. Opportunities to try and win a free hoverbike are few and far between."

"Huh?" Quinn blinked. "I thought you were doing a crossword puzzle."

"I am. If I get it right, and send it in, I'm eligible for a drawing to win one of those new Harleys."

Aaron scoffed. "There's no way you're gonna win that thing, bro. You didn't buy any of the 'complementary discounted magazine subscriptions.'"

"Don't be so cynical. The world is full of amazing things. For example, Quinn here actually likes wearing those leather pants of his."

Quinn reddened. "This isn't leather. It's a woven titanium-steel mesh. It's very flexible, I'll have you know. Lots better than that purple monstrosity you call armor, if you ask me." Okay, so there were a few advantages to having what amounted to a reinforced exoskeleton. It meant his standard duty uniform was a tight fitting black jumpsuit that covered everything but his arms, neck and head. His tail (something he still couldn't figure out why his designer included in his schematic) was curled around his waist like a belt.

"I like it," Beth told him, winking. "It shows off your fur. Your fur is cute."

Onyx snickered. "I stand corrected."

Aaron chuckled. "So, what brings you here, Quinn? Come to deprive our human friends of their nourishment?" He gestured at the chocolate sundae he was poking at with a spoon.

"I don't think they consider that nourishment, buddy. Anyway, I'm looking for the Commander. Anybody seen him?"

"Nope," Onyx began, "not me."

"Sorry, no idea here," Aaron volunteered helpfully. "I think he's off base. No idea why, though."

"Men are so unobservant," Beth cut in, smirking.

"Meaning?" Quinn asked, trying to sound offended but doing a poor job of it.

"What special event is in four days?" she asked, still smirking.

Aaron blinked, not understanding. Onyx snickered, a knowing grin plastered on his face. Quinn's eyes lit up. "Oh! Alia's birthday present!"

Onyx clapped a black gloved hand over the cat's mouth. "Shut up, fool. We're not supposed to know about that. And if she hears about it from one of us – I don't know about you, but I have no aspirations of becoming a member of the lavatory maintenance crew."

"Do you think that's all he would do to us?" Aaron asked slyly, happy in his realization of what exactly was going on. "Someone still needs to get the wine stains out of the rec room carpet, and there's the matter of that sticky stuff under the couch that no one can identify. I think it's growing."

"Maybe we should put a sample of it in old Siggy's air ducts when they figure out where his base of the month is. Maybe it'll eat them."

"You wish," Beth snorted. "Then again, I doubt anyone's gonna get up the nerve to touch it anytime soon."

"Remind you of a certain blue armored Commander?"

"Quinn! That is so not appropriate!"

"You disagree, Beth?" He was smirking again, mightily.

"I didn't say that. Need I remind you it took you six months to work up the nerve to ask me out?"

As quick as it appeared, the smirk was gone, replaced by a deep blush. "I believe we were discussing X, dear."

"Indeed," Beth replied. "You're right, though. I don't know what's taking them so long. It's so obvious Alia likes him. And he ... he likes her too. I think."

"Of course he does. He's just ... confused about what to do about it." Among the group, Onyx was arguably the authority on X's personality quirks. He'd been a member of the Seventeenth longer than everyone else, excepting the Blue Bomber. The only reason he wasn't second-in-command was because he repeatedly refused the job. As to why, no one was sure – it was something he discussed only with X.

"Confused?" She looked quizzical. "What's there to be confused about? If you think you like someone, you act on it. Then again," she shot a mock-glare at Quinn, "some people have a little trouble with that concept."

"It's not always that simple, Beth," Onyx spoke, his tone taking on an aged quality that suited his years, "for people like X especially. I've been doing this for a decade. I've been in a lot of battles; walked away from a few hundred close encounters with death. But, perhaps most importantly, I've seen far too many of my friends die. I'll be honest. It gets harder and harder to open up to people after you watch enough of them put in the ground. X is twenty-six years old. He's been a Hunter for almost as long. Imagine how many friends he's seen die. Imagine how difficult it is for him to open up to people. And deciding that you want to pursue a relationship with someone? That's beyond simple friendship. The thought that you might lose that person – the fact that your life has made you, on some level, expect to see your friends die – that only makes it so much harder. And don't you think there's a part of him that doesn't want to put her in that same position, of mourning someone she loved and knew loved her, if he should fall?"

No one said anything as the relatively old reploid's words sunk in. Attempting to understand the mental workings of the friendly, if not slightly introverted, Commander was something most people shied away from. However, no one doubted the validity of what Onyx said – few in the room had known X longer, and his words rang with a cold logic none of them could refute.

Their thoughts, and any responses, were interrupted by the high-pitched tone that burst from every speaker in the room – a compound-wide high-priority announcement was imminent. An instant later Signas' visage filled the viewers. All conversation died as attention was turned to the Grand Commander.

"He doesn't look right," Quinn said evenly.

"No, he doesn't," Onyx nodded slightly, "look at his eyes." This can't be good. He looks so ... vacant, detached.

"Attention all Hunters. This is Commander Signas. I ... have an announcement. As some of you may be aware, Commander X was checked into the infirmary approximately one hour and ten minutes ago."

"Checked into the infirmary?" Beth asked, aghast. Why would they announce that? X was a Hunter. He checked into the infirmary all the time. Aside from that, wasn't he supposed to be off duty? She looked around. Her companions looked just as confused.

"Some people who were in the infirmary at the time have begun to speculate about his condition. I have decided to issue this announcement to put those rumors to rest."

"Something's wrong here," Aaron said anxiously. "Something's wrong with his tone."

"Approximately twenty-five minutes ago ... Commander Mega Man X was pronounced dead on arrival following a battle with ... hostile forces. I am unable to release any further details at this time, save to say that he gave his life that others would live. I think I speak for all of us when I say that he will not be forgotten. Information on the memorial service will be announced as soon as it is finalized. That's ... that's all I have for now. Godspeed. Signas out."

Signas' face winked out, replaced by the rather bimbo-looking talking head from the Global News Network that had been rambling on when the Grand Commander broke into the channel. The only difference being her voice could now be easily heard – all other noise in the room had died, utterly and completely. About thirty seconds later, an ashen faced human behind the bar managed to find the mute button, and there was nothing but silence.

Aaron's spoon slipped from his hand, making a dull clattering sound as it hit the floor. He slumped backwards. "Tell me ... tell me that didn't just happen." The annoying news anchor was back now. It would have been so easy to believe that was just some bizarre hallucination, if not for the absolute death of all activity in the room.

"I could, but I would be lying," Onyx said lowly, almost inaudibly, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to abate the tears starting to form. On one level, he wasn't surprised. The average life expectancy of a front line Hunter was about seven years. The fact that X had managed to cheat death for almost three decades was nothing short of a miracle, and he knew it. Still, that didn't make the fact that the law of averages had caught up with his old friend any easier to deal with. Damn it. I can't believe someone finally managed to ... What the hell is going on? Why weren't we dispatched if he was in trouble? I've seen the roster ... he wasn't even supposed to be active. They're not telling us everything...

Quinn said nothing. His bright orange irises burned with sadness, disbelief, confusion, and a fair amount of anger. Someone had killed his commander, a man that had been his friend for almost four years, almost as long as he'd been assigned to X's unit. But that anger was not directed at whatever bastard had managed to get off the lucky shot – and he was sure it was a lucky shot, and nothing more – that ended the life of Mega Man X. It was a fully internal affair. For thirteen months, Quinn had been second-in-command of Unit Seventeen. That meant it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of the unit and back up its Commander whenever necessary. He couldn't shake the mass of guilt beginning to form in the pit of his stomach; couldn't dismiss the simple question nagging at his conscience: if he had been there to back his Commander up, would X have fallen? No. Stop it. I can't think like that. I don't even know the circumstances of his death. I can't jump to conclusions. I have to be careful now. He shook his head slightly, as if flinging the unsavory thoughts from his mind. That's right, a sardonic inner-voice sneered, you've gotta be careful. Now, this is your show. And that was true enough. With X gone, command of the Seventeenth would fall to whomever he'd chosen to replace him in the event of his death. The Azure Hunter had made several subtle indications that Quinn was that man. And even in the event that that wasn't the case, he was X's Lieutenant Commander, so until someone said otherwise, he was in charge of the unit. Big shoes, he couldn't help but think, too big.

He became abruptly aware of a quick movement to his left, where Beth was, and it occurred to him that she'd yet to voice a reaction to the announcement. He turned his head, and realized why.

Beth was terrified – it was obvious to anyone who looked at her. Her skin was pallid; her teary eyes wide. She seemed to be attempting to say something – her lips were moving, but no sound could be heard. Under the table, Quinn took one of her shaking hands in his own, relieved when he felt her give him a light squeeze. There were some people, he knew, who would criticize her for her reaction, say it was something more fitting of a rookie. And he would have, without much fanfare, thrown anyone crude enough to say that through a wall. A lot of people forgot that a Hunter's true introduction to the horrors of combat came during war. Beth, though she'd been involved in a number of small-scale skirmishes and operations, had joined the Hunters only eighteen months ago, shortly after the Sixth Uprising. In any case, the notion that X was an immortal had yet to completely vanish from her mind.

"Beth," Quinn ventured, "are you going to be okay?"

"... I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "Figures I'd be the only one to completely lose my cool."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Onyx said darkly. "How do you think you're supposed to act? It's not every day that hell freezes over."

"I know. But ... I've seen the records. Who ... what could kill him? He's flattened armies. Alone." She made no effort to hide the fear she felt. If anyone chose to fault her for it, that was their problem.

"I don't know," Quinn said, his own tone beginning to mimic Onyx's, "but we're going to find out. And if that person ... or thing ... is still at large, we're going to find them. They will not escape justice. We'll see to that."

The Commander of Unit Zero, now arguably the most powerful being on earth, collapsed onto his couch, all the strength gone from his body. "Computer, lock door, lights off..." he trailed off, a part of him preferring to sit in the darkness. He'd just reluctantly left Alia at the door to her quarters after her assertion that she "needed to be alone." Part of him was amazed he'd managed to get her to leave the infirmary so easily when Lifesaver began the gruesome task of cleaning up the body. She was worrying him. She was far too emotionless, too detached. It wasn't right. She'd been sobbing since the slug passed through X's skull, and for a solid ten minutes, she was as good as catatonic. Then it just ... stopped. Who was he kidding – he knew exactly what she'd done. She'd put it away – all her grief, anger, any emotion whatsoever – banished it to some dark, solitary place, to be dealt with later. He remembered doing something similar when Iris died, but not so ... instantaneously. Under any other circumstances, the speed at which Alia bottled her emotions might have been impressive, but at the moment, it frightened him. For some reason, he remembered reading an an antique Star Trek novel, one X had let him borrow: Immortal Coil. He'd wanted Zero to read it and pay attention to the android crew member – Data. Someone whose society saw him as an equal, entitled to full rights and protection under the law. At the time, the Blue Bomber had said something along the lines of "if only it could be like this." After finishing the book, Zero understood – Data's life was one any sane reploid would desire. Yet he began the novel by being forced to deal with death. The strain proved too much for his cybernetic brain, and his emotions were automatically deactivated. If only it were that easy, Zero thought bitterly. But he was considering Alia, and what made him think of the book was the postulation that even if one can wall off their emotions, one can never really get away from them. Even Data had to eventually confront and conquer his grief – disabling his emotions simply caused his sadness to hibernate. It would be right there waiting for him when he reactivated the chip.

Alia couldn't deactivate her emotions, but she was quite adept at containing them. But Zero knew a bit about that himself, and he was quite aware that despite her best efforts, something would eventually set her off, and the barrier she'd constructed in her mind, no matter how strong she'd tried to make it, would fail. He could only hope that when that happened, no one would be in the process of trying to kill them all.

That left Zero to deal with his grief. He didn't want to. He didn't want to feel the pain of loss – of a loved one's death – again. But the bitter truth was simple: he already was; it was inescapable. He was a reploid; a being with perfect, everlasting photographic memory. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw X's limp body just as it was when he turned it over in the snow. The unseeing, lifeless eyes peering up at him. The face that was seemingly deflating before his eyes as coolant seeped from the bullet hole.

He shivered. No, closing his eyes was a bad idea. It wasn't fair. He wanted to lock himself away in his room, to deprive himself of all sensory input. But he couldn't. Even without infrared or thermal optics engaged, there was still enough ambient light coming in through the crack under the door and the window shutters for his CPU to oh-so-thoughtfully extrapolate a dim picture of his living room. Since when did simply closing one's eyes become so complicated? Superior beings my ass, he thought bitterly.

Now what? he thought, subconsciously making an effort not to blink. He wanted to confront his emotions – he needed to in order to function. X was gone, Sigma wasn't. He had to be at his best now. And as much as he hated to admit it, his best was contingent on his ability to tap into that innate, limitless fury that his creator had seen fit to curse him with. In his current state, he wasn't sure he could do that, not with so much sorrow pent up inside him. That left him with one thing to do – something his body had tried to force him into when he was standing over his best friend's body. He lowered himself into a supine position, and for the first time since Iris died in his arms all those years ago, Zero cried.