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.

5. The End of the Beginning

A/N: Please see Prologue notes for detailed information. Again, I own nothing. :) The black trench coat and meeting on the roof of the Intelligence building mentioned near the end of the chapter are references to the events of "Debriefing Period," one of my stories that takes place shortly after the end of Mega Man X6. Thanks to Classic Cowboy and FusionBlaster for beta-reading. As usual, I do not own any established product, literary character, or work of fiction I mention. All feedback is appreciated. :) Enjoy.

Russia is cold in December, the man thought idly. It's always cold here, though. Maybe that's why I've come to live here. Suits my mood. He sat his now empty mug of hot chocolate down on a coffee table and rose from the couch, gliding over to a window. There was nothing but pure white snow, as far as the eye could see. And further, he thought smugly. It was a nice feeling, knowing there wasn't another living thing any bigger than a wolf within one-hundred-and-seventy-five miles. Very private – and he had to admit, he liked his privacy.

But he was no recluse. The world still felt his presence, when necessary. He was well aware of what went on around him, as his occupation required. His hand began to shake as an unpleasant thought rammed its way through his mind. He shut it down with a scowl. He was, in fact, one of the handful of men and women on the planet who knew the exact circumstances of the death of Mega Man X. I'm also one of the even fewer number of people who consider it a death, he thought grimly. It's funny, really. I can't bring myself to be surprised by the fact that he's dead. But I always knew he was mortal – just like any other man ... any other boy. But even so, I can't believe it was like this. Every time he found a way to change the rules and hand them a victory ... everything he's done for them ... and they shot him like a ... like a criminal! Damn it! He brought his closed fist down on the window sill, easily cracking the wood. Rubbing the side of his hand, he made a mental note to replace the panel. Again. The man reached a hand up and wiped a few tears from his deep blue eyes. You didn't deserve this, X. None of you have deserved anything you've been made to suffer. Maybe now, you'll find your peace. "You will be missed, X. And if you're listening, you did the right thing."

The man reached into his pockets and brought out two items. The first was a simple cylindrical wax candle, the other a small plasma torch. He sat the former on the window sill and quickly lit it. 'Remember always to light the way to Heaven, that the soul on its journey may find its way home.' He watched it flicker for a moment, then turned abruptly. There was much work to be done.

Douglas, all too aware he was ten minutes late for the morning's staff meeting, slipped quietly into the conference room and took his seat next to Lifesaver. He looked around. Sure enough, everyone, even Alia, was already there. He couldn't help but notice there was one less chair and terminal pair attached to their new table than there had been to the one Alia had split in two. He found it more than a little eerie. No one seemed too perturbed by his lateness, except Signas, who was giving his friend a concerned glance. It wasn't like the chief engineer to be late for anything, let alone a meeting of the senior staff.

"Sorry," he said finally, resting his hands on their new conference table, "I ran into a couple of delays this morning. What did I miss?"

"Don't worry Douglas, we haven't started yet. I myself just got here. Someone at the Global News Network seems to have gotten a hold of my private phone number. They've been making good use of it since about 0030 this morning. The sooner we find our mole, the better. I'm afraid I'm a little off my schedule." He scowled. "What kind of delays have you been having?"

Douglas shrugged. "Nothing serious. Someone in the armory got sloppy and accidentally set off an EMP grenade ... temporarily paralyzed himself and six of my technicians."

Lifesaver raised an eyebrow. "I hope you didn't just leave them on the floor."

"Of course not. I had them carried to the infirmary. Your nurses said they'd be fine in about an hour or so."

"Oh," Zero chuckled softly, "it was one of the good grenades."

For all of a second, Signas smirked, but just as quickly, it was gone. "Back to business, gentlemen." Everyone nodded. "I assume everyone realizes why we're here."

"X's final orders," Alia said simply. Her voice was calm and cool for the moment – rather emotionless. Everyone else nodded.

"Alright then, he left instructions that I read this letter in the presence of the senior staff," Signas continued, "is everyone ready to start?" Again, the assembled command staff let loose with affirmative, if not reluctant, nods. This was nothing more than another step on the path to living in a world without Mega Man X. As unpleasant as it was, it was necessary. "Let the record show that we began the reading at 0740 hours, on the second of December, 2152. Here we go." No one noticed Alia's jaw tighten. The Grand Commander manipulated the keys of his terminal, and began to speak. "I, Commander Mega Man X, do hereby certify that the following letter represents my final orders, bequeathments and requests, as last recorded June 6th, 2152.

"I would like to start this letter by thanking all of you for your friendship and kindness. I've known some of you, like Zero, for decades, and others, barely three years. But I have always been, and always will be, proud to number each of you among my closest and dearest friends. I sincerely hope my passing hasn't been too difficult on any of you." Douglas, Zero, and Lifesaver cast quick, furtive glances at Alia, but she was too busy hanging on Signas' every syllable to notice. "When I wrote this letter, I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I honestly didn't have any idea just how much of an understatement that would prove to be. I'm going to do my best to stay concise and to the point, but please forgive me if my focus drifts a little bit every once in a while.

"As this effectively serves as my will, I realize there are a number of different things I need to address. It isn't very easy to figure out where to start, so as logic would suggest, I'm going to begin with what I feel to be the hardest of the tasks set before me. I'm not a very wealthy person, at least by most people's standards, but I've accumulated quite a few possessions over the last two and a half decades. I'll be the first to admit I'm not a materialistic person at all, but I realize now that I'm gone, it falls to you to figure out what to do with all my belongings.

"First off, I guess, my clothing. I don't have very much, but would like any of it fit for donation to be sent to the local Red Cross Clothes Bank. Everything except my brown leather jacket, favorite blue jeans (you know the ones, Zero), my brown leather belt, and one of my black turtlenecks. I'll explain that in a minute. I'm about average size – I'm sure the people at the Red Cross will be able to find some people who could make good use of everything else, and I'd much prefer they kept someone else warm than simply be thrown away.

"I guess I need to mention my fiscal situation. I'm not going to spend too much time here – I've never been one to obsess over finances. For obvious reasons, I cannot be sure exactly how much money I'll have at the time you're reading this. However, I am confident enough in my own fiscal management skills that I'm sure there's enough in my personal accounts and my pension package to settle any outstanding debts I may have. Please see that anyone I owe money to receives whatever my balance with them is. If there's anything left over (and there should be, unless my spending habits have drastically changed since I wrote this), I'd like it to be donated to the Hunter Memorial Fund. I'd like the donation to be anonymous – I don't want to draw any more attention to my passing than absolutely necessary." The Hunter Memorial Fund, set up by Doctor Cain mere weeks before X enlisted, benefited the dependents of deceased human Hunters whose pensions weren't quite enough to keep their families floating in the time immediately after their passing, due to excessive debt or other factors. Reploid Hunters were bared from taking advantage of the fund, as reploid marriages were not recognized as legal unions, and thus rarely sent in any kind of contribution. The Blue Bomber leaving them money was highly unusual, in and of itself, but everyone at the table knew it was undeniably X.

"Okay, now that that's out of the way, I guess the next thing is material possessions. I've put a lot of thought into this part. I wanted to leave each of you something special of mine. Over the years, I've accumulated a few things that are very important to me, for various reasons, and I'd like to pass them on to you – my family." Signas stopped and seemed to attempt to steady his hands before continuing. If anyone noticed, they said nothing. "Zero – again, I'm starting with the most difficult thing here. We've known each other far too long for it to be easy to decide what thing I should leave you. We're brothers, and we always will be. I'm leaving you that, buddy. I want you never, ever to forget that you're on the right side. You deserve to be here, and I have always been proud to stand beside you. You told me once that you weren't quite sure who created you. I'm not entirely convinced of that. I think you know, and for whatever reason, don't want to tell us. I'm telling you now, it doesn't matter. We're blood, Zero – nothing will change that, ever. Take good care of yourself. I'd rather you didn't follow me anytime soon. There's also a picture of the two of us in my living room, from the wrap party after the Second Uprising. Remember dragging me to that? It's yours. Never forget." The Crimson Hunter bowed his head in seeming acknowledgment, though he was actually hoping to distract any attention from the tears once again forming in his eyes.

"Alia. Ever since I met you, I've treasured your friendship. You did more for me after the end of the Fifth Uprising than you probably know. I remember the circumstances we met under – they weren't the best. I've always been happy that our relationship wasn't defined by those few minutes. I'd like for you to have my collection of antique books. You're one of the only people I've ever met who seems to enjoy them as much as I have. I've been able to find inspiration in a few of them, and I hope you'll do the same. I'd also like you to have the crystal chess set I keep in my living room. I'm not sure if I ever told you this or not, but it belonged to my father. I found it in his room shortly after I was woken up, all those years ago. Be well." Like Zero, the once-uncrackable blond nodded in acknowledgment, inwardly thankful that her bangs hid her moist cerulean eyes from any cursory glances. Her hands, resting in her lap, clamped together tightly as she tried to disguise the fact that they were trembling. Within seconds, they were still once again.

"Signas, my friend, I'd like to leave you something ..." he paused for a second, as if realizing for the first time that he was now reading the section that pertained to him, "something that I think I can safely say is one of a kind. During the time periods I served in as Hunter Grand Commander, I kept a few of journals of my experiences. I've never shown then to anyone. They contain things that, quite simply, didn't belong in any official report, and that you won't find in any of my briefings. I'm not going to suggest you use them to find some great insight into what you've been asked to do with your life, but I hope you'll read them sometime, and remember that it isn't supposed to be a simple job that you have, and you never have to pretend it is. The diplomats may want to live in a dream world of perfection by regulation, but that's all it is – a dream world. You'll find them in a lock-box in the bottom of my storage closet. The key's inside the hanging wall clock shaped like a cat. Pull twice on the tail." Signas didn't react like either of the others. From the look on his face, it was obvious that his opinion was that he didn't deserve anything so personal. Despite the emotion his features betrayed, he didn't skip a beat in continuing to read. He seemed almost eager to get to the next part.

"Douglas – you've always been a very patient friend, and I've always been a little bit humbled by the devotion that shows in your work. You're a great engineer, and, as such, there's something of mine I would like you very much to have. There weren't that many things left in my father's lab when I woke up. I did, however, find something interesting in the room Cain and I believed belonged to Rock. It was in his closet – one very complete engineer's tool set. I think it was his, from his time as a lab assistant. I've always used it for my own little tinkerings. I'd like you to have it." Douglas, for his part, looked rather humbled, and seemed for the moment to be incapable of speech.

"Lifesaver – you're the man charged with doing something far more difficult than fighting the Mavericks. You patch us up when we come home. I can't imagine how stressful that has to be for you, or what it feels like to see someone come into the infirmary, and never leave again. If it's anything at all like knowing you've led someone to their death, you are most certainly the bravest, most devoted man I know. I'd like you to have the dreamcatcher hanging over my bed. Ancient humans believed it warded off evil spirits and, in some cases, nightmares. Going on empirical evidence, I find myself unable to object to that assessment. May you rest well, my friend. You're the best doctor I've seen in the last twenty-five years. None of us gets to win every battle, but I've never known anyone that fights harder than you." Lifesaver nodded in his laconic fashion, the barest glimmer of pride in his stoic eyes.

"That's about it for that. Except for one thing. I'm sure some of you know Audrey from Intelligence; the senior analyst in charge of spy satellite data processing. Over the past few months, I've been giving her daughter piano lessons. Their piano is about fifty years old, and I'm convinced it's on its last legs. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure they're not in any fiscal shape to replace it any time soon. I'd like one of you to ask her parents if they would like my synthesizer. I don't want to force it on them, by any means, and it's not something you should trouble them with right away, but if she wants it, I would be very happy for Angie to have it. If not, please donate it to the local community college. Their music program could use a booster shot. Everything else in my quarters not listed here – and there's bound to be something I missed, or that I didn't own at the time I wrote this, please deal with as you see fit.

"That brings me to the last item I need to address here – my wishes concerning my armors and my body. If anyone's been to my armor storage room, I'm sure you've noticed that, by now, if everything's gone according to my plan, the control and interface circuitry in each of my armors has been destroyed – what?" Signas cast a curious glance at Douglas. "What's he talking about?"

Douglas, like everyone else at the table, looked suitably stunned. "I have no idea, Signas. He never told me about any automated program deletions or anything. I haven't been in that part of the armory in three days."

Alia seemed to shake herself out of a trance, and began typing furiously into her terminal. After a few moments, she stopped, an utterly shocked, yet somehow not surprised, expression on her face. "Wow," she muttered softly, "clever."

"What is it, Alia?" Zero asked quickly. "What did he do?"

Alia was still reading whatever she had pulled up. "It looks like his ODOAT script executed some kind of custom circuit wiping program he wrote to trash the armors' control and interface programming. It's totally scrambled, just like –" she stopped abruptly, her mind catching up with what she was about to say. She was about to compare it to the render's effect on X's neural circuitry. "It's hosed. Very nicely programmed," she added with a hint of admiration.

"Well I'll be damned," Lifesaver said softly. "He always said he didn't want anyone using it or trying to figure out how it worked after he was gone. I guess he wasn't kidding."

Signas nodded slowly, expression neutral. "It's certainly his right. The armor was his property, the wishes of the UN's R&D Corps not withstanding. Now, ready to continue? We're almost done."

"Let's finish it," Zero growled. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

"Okay then." Signas cleared his throat. "Control and interface circuitry in each of my armors has been destroyed. I felt this was a necessary step to prevent anyone from trying to use technology that, quite frankly, I don't believe they were meant to have. From the tone of Doctor Light's messages, I've always had the impression that he didn't intend for the weapons he left me to be used by anyone else, and I have to agree with that. The people of earth are destructive enough without any extra help. I've fried the circuits – now I need you to destroy the armors themselves. Atomize them. I trust each of you dearly, but I can't take the chance some outside force will claim my armors and try – and succeed – in extracting technology from them." Zero felt something tighten in the pit of his abdomen. This was going somewhere he didn't want to be.

"That leaves my physical remains – oh hell." Everyone blinked. If he was aware of his flub or the surprised looks he was receiving, he didn't acknowledge either. "I guess ... even though we can't ... can't execute his orders ... it's a matter of respect that we read them."

"Yeah," Douglas said quickly.

"Of course," Lifesaver added darkly. "We may not be able to do what decency requires, but he took the time to leave this for us. It couldn't have been easy to write. He deserves to have it read at least. Go on." Zero and Alia, both wearing grim expressions, simply nodded. The spotter was looking a great deal more uncomfortable than she had when she sat down, and Zero was making an effort to appear distant.

Signas seemed to age several years before their eyes – which was odd, considering, like the rest of his race, he was blessed with eternal youth. "That leaves my physical remains. I've spent most of my life trying to figure out what happened to my family. Rock ... Roll ... Blues ... Doctor Light ... for some reason unknown to the history books, they all simply dropped off the map. Once I was woken up by Doctor Cain, I realized that they were all dead – they had to be. Don't think I've ever been lonely. With friends like you, that's not possible. I've devoted considerable time and resources to figuring out what happened to them over the years, but I'm afraid I've found nothing. For a brief period, I entertained the idea of having my remains placed with those of my brothers and sister. Rather morbid, I realize, but if you can't be with someone in life ...

Anyway, that's not happening either. Therefore, I humbly request that I be dressed in the clothes I earlier requested not be donated, and cremated. I would like to be sprinkled in the laboratory where I was found. That is the closest I will be able to come to resting with my family, and I suppose, it'll have to do.

"Well, I guess that's about everything. I've never been too good at goodbyes, so I'm not going to attempt one. Instead, and I honestly believe this, I'll just say that I'll see you around, when the time comes. Until then, take care of yourselves. – That's it. That's all of it." Signas sighed heavily and slumped in his chair. He had believed announcing X's death to the general Hunter population was the hardest thing he had ever been required to do. He was wrong.

Alia was deliberately pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to hide the tears trying to form in her eyes. As far as she was concerned, it wouldn't do any good to try and lie about why she was crying, but fortunately, no one seemed too terribly focused on her. Zero was slumped over the table, rubbing his temples, obviously trying to keep himself under control. Lifesaver and Douglas were looking at each other uncertainly. The only person watching her was Signas, and try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to care what he saw. All at once, she felt like she wanted to go back to her room, curl up in her bed, and never come back out again. But she had responsibilities, obligations – and she refused to let her emotions get in the way of any of that.

"This is pathetic," Douglas said finally. "He trusted us to cremate him and take him to rest with his family – and we're going to hand him over to a bunch of overeager scientists who want to pick his body apart so they can figure out how to make better guns. And we don't have one bit of choice in the matter. This is pathetic," he repeated, slamming his fist into his palm.

"Indeed," Signas said simply. "I spent most of last night going over the UNHOC Directive. Unfortunately, I haven't found anything I can use to stop them. Whoever put it together was much smarter than the average UN desk clerk. I'm afraid we have no choice – we simply cannot," he threw a significant glance at Zero and Alia, "legally do anything to get out of this. I would suggest that we concentrate on the things in this letter that we can do. Douglas, can you safely incinerate those armors?"

The stocky chief engineer slowly nodded. "Sure. I can do it."

"Good. Get on it." Douglas nodded and left the room.

"Okay. I'll handle X's finances. Alia, Zero – according to this script, you're the only two people authorized to enter his quarters and sort out his things in there. I leave you to do that whenever you feel you're ready. Don't feel like you have to rush yourselves into it." The Crimson Hunter and senior spotter nodded solemnly. I'll contact the Red Cross when you're ready to arrange the donation of his clothes. As ... as for the piano ... I guess one of us needs to talk to –" he was cut off by Alia's voice.

"I'll do it," she said softly. Everyone present turned to look at her. "I know Audrey pretty well, and I've met Angie a couple of times. I'll stop by the Intelligence building on Monday and talk to her."

"Alia," Zero began, almost plaintively, but was cut off by a warning glance from Signas.

The Grand Commander spoke. "If you feel comfortable doing it, Alia, I have no objections. Again, take however much time you need." She nodded, and Zero seemed to relax. "I guess that's it for this meeting, then. I wanted to let you all know I'll be releasing the bait for our mole on Monday. Be on the lookout for any non-combat personnel that start behaving oddly. With any luck, we'll have him by the end of the week. Dismissed."

Everyone rose. Zero and Alia turned for the door and started moving, but the spotter was stopped by a light tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw Lifesaver looking at her solemnly. After a couple of moments, he quietly spoke. "Alia ... could you stop by the infirmary in about ten minutes, alone? There's something I need to speak with you about."

Alia had no idea what he was talking about, unless, of course, he planned to attempt to talk to her about her recent mood swings. Looking in his almost uncomfortable expression, however, she didn't think that was it. She found herself nodding her head.

"Good. I'll see you in a few minutes, then." He left the room, and after a couple of minutes of conferring with Signas about the mole, she followed.

After they were gone, and the door was securely shut and locked behind them, Signas collapsed back into his seat. He put his elbows on the table and began to massage his temples in an effort to stem the stress headache he was beginning to feel. Why Doctor Light had seen fit to make X and, in turn, his descendants, capable of stress headaches, he would never know. He looked at his terminal, where X's letter was still displayed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for failing you. Unless something radically unexpected happens, there's no way I can have your remains disposed of as you ask. Please forgive me, my friend."

Alia looked around the spotless, utterly sterile infirmary for any sign of Lifesaver. The relaxing off-white walls, simple silver flooring, rows of diagnostic beds, and the entrance to the operating center, were all there, but the Chief Medical Officer was nowhere in sight. She flagged down a nurse. "Excuse me."

The nurse was a young human woman, very likely fresh out of school. She had short cropped red hair and green eyes, and was half a foot shorter than Alia. She seemed slightly intimidated by the spotter – her hands fumbled a little bit as she readjusted her silver-rimmed glasses before speaking. "Lieutenant Commander Alia – how may I help you? Are you injured?" She seemed to give the blond a critical glance, as if trying to determine what, if anything, was out of place.

The corner of Alia's mouth twitched up. I've found an eager one. "No, no, I'm fine. Lifesaver wanted me to meet him here. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, ma'am. He's in his office."

"Thanks." The girl smiled as she moved past her. Alia made a point to keep her eyes fixed on Lifesaver's office door – there were certain things in this room she no longer wished to see. Despite that, she was still forced to shake off a shudder as she passed the diagnostic bed they had lain X out on yesterday. Eventually, she found herself standing in front of her destination. She knocked, and the two halves slid into the wall.

Lifesaver was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk when Alia came in. He quickly rose and offered her a seat next to him. After she took it, he smiled wearily at her. "Thanks for coming. How are you doing? That meeting was a little ... intense, to say the least."

Alia returned the smile, though it was considerably thinner and more than a little forced. It was hard for her not to react to Lifesaver's concern, as much as she would have liked to ignore it. It was easy to feel comfortable around him – he was, after all, a doctor, and she knew he wouldn't attempt to prod her into going anywhere she didn't want to. "I'm going to be alright. I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

"You and me both," the doctor deadpanned. I know you're right, Alia. You'll be alright. But at the rate you're going, I'm afraid it'll be later rather than sooner.

"So ... um ... why did you want to talk to me?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. X ... X left me instructions to give you something in the event of his passing."

Alia blinked. "I don't understand. If it's something he meant to leave me, wouldn't it have been mentioned in the letter?"

Lifesaver shook his head, hoping this wasn't going to be too difficult to explain. "No." He reached behind him and and grasped a shiny, flat object. It was a little scorched, and the words were slightly blackened, but she recognized it immediately – X's Maverick Hunter crest. He turned it over in his hands, so that they were looking at the dull, unfinished back. Alia noticed he had very carefully pried it from it's resting place on X's armor. Normally, the teleporter system would remove it and store it in X's armor vault when he wasn't in combat, and attach it to whatever armor he recalled when he was deployed. She still didn't understand exactly what was going on here. Had X left her the crest? That made no sense – why not mention it in the will? She waited patiently for an explanation. Lifesaver's free hand moved over the piece of metal, and he positioned his thumb, index, and middle fingers over the corners, and pushed.

To Alia's extreme surprise, there was a soft clicking noise, and the back popped off. It was hollow. That simply wasn't right. Crests were supposed to be made of solid titanium, gold, or bronze, depending on rank and department. Moreover, there was something inside the thing. Lifesaver's hand was hovering over it, so she couldn't make out what it was. "I ... I don't understand."

Lifesaver moved his hand, and revealed a yellow bunch of fabric to be stuffed in the hollow. He seemed to be just as surprised by what he found inside as Alia. "He told me once that he kept something in here that was very special to him ... something that belonged to one of his brothers. He never showed me what it was. He said he liked to carry it with him into battle, because it made him feel like they were watching over him ... with him. A few months after the two of you became friends, he showed me how to open the compartment and told me to give its contents to you if he died. As for why he didn't mention it in his will ... I imagine he didn't want to promise you something in that letter that may or may not have been destroyed by the time we read it. If he was telling the truth, he's been carrying it for twenty-six years."

She didn't say anything, but reached out a trembling hand. Lifesaver turned the hollowed out piece of metal over, and let the yellow fabric fall into her palm. It instantly began to unfurl. She didn't open her mouth – the look on her face was one of pure shock.

Lifesaver couldn't stand the silence, or the look on Alia's face. "What's the matter, Alia? What is it?"

The spotter furiously blinked back the tears that dared try and escape her eyes. "Lifesaver ... you don't recognize this? I can't believe he wanted me ... he wanted me to have this." She pulled one of her white gloves off and ran a finger over the cloth. It's so ... soft, like it's brand new. Lifesaver blinked, and was honestly beginning to feel very stupid for not understanding what he was watching. After a few moments, Alia looked up at him. "How much do you know about recent history? About Mega Man, Roll, and Break Man, or, Rock, Roll, and Blues, as they were alternatively known?"

Lifesaver thought for a moment. "Well, I guess just about as much as anybody else –" Then it clicked. Rock, Roll, Blues ... Blues ... the reclusive, much maligned first creation of Doctor Light's who was known, among other things, for his distinctive whistle and yellow scarf. Yellow scarf. That was it. "You think that's ... that's Blues' scarf? Unreal ... that thing has to be a hundred and fifty years old, at least."

Alia nodded mutely. In a voice that wasn't entirely under her control, she spoke. "It is." She smoothed it out on her lap. It was huge, square, and (Alia knew this from her research back in her days as a student) the exact same shade of yellow as the scarf Blues was always seen wearing. "I can't believe," she said quietly, partly oblivious to the doctor's presence, "he would leave this for me, out of all the people he could have given it to." She swiped at a tear that had managed to make it halfway down her cheek, blotting it into oblivion.

Lifesaver was back in control of himself now, the initial shock over and done. Looking at Alia holding the ancient piece of cloth, running it carefully through gloveless fingers as though it were some holy artifact, he felt a stab of sorrow, more painful than any he'd yet known in his twelve years of life. Watching her wide eyes, filled with a mixture of awe and sorrow, he knew that the Fates had outmaneuvered them, and something that promised to be wonderful had, in infancy, been brutally killed. For a while, he just sat there, watching her stare at Blues' scarf, at a loss as to what he was supposed to do.

Alia stared at the yellow fabric, totally lost. Like everything else she'd been bequeathed today, this was something she wasn't expecting. The books and the chess set ... they had been personal – but this – never mind the fact that it was nothing more than a big yellow cloth – this was something far more than that. X was one of the few reploids that could actually stand up and say he had a family – one of the even fewer that believed it. She held in her hands a piece of that heritage – something he wanted her to have. "But ... why?" She balked. She hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Nevertheless, after a few moments, Lifesaver had, if not an answer, a reply. "Because you were important to him, Alia. He carried that with him so he could be closer to his family when he needed them the most – during war, when his body wasn't the only thing taking a beating. It must have been good for his heart, to be able to believe that they were with him, no matter what. He didn't give me anything specific to tell you when I handed that over – I didn't even know what was in it. But maybe he wanted you to have it because it was his way of letting you know he'll always be with you, no matter what happens."

Alia nodded mutely. Then something seemed to snap in her mind, canceling out whatever response she was about to give. "Lifesaver ... thank you for giving me this. But I've got to run. There's something I need to take care of." She carefully folded the old scarf up, still handling it with all the care of a mother holding a newborn child, and stowed it in a compartment of her armor. "I'll see you around," she continued, slipping her uniform glove back on.

She left the room. Lifesaver watched her go. After she was out the door, he was alone, left to ponder the cruelties of fate.

Alia slipped quietly into her quarters and locked the door behind her. Onyx had been in the common room reading a detective novel, and nearly jumped out of his synthetic skin when she offered him a dazed, yet not unfriendly "good morning" and a small, distracted smile. Why shouldn't he have been, she would think later, I didn't attempt to bite his head off. That's a big deviation from my current behavior. She had a suspicion that there was a very specific reason that, starting around four o'clock yesterday afternoon, the common room always had at least one person in it until at least 1130 hours, who just happened to be one of the Seventeenth's elites. Furthermore, she suspected she was part of said reason. But she had other things on her mind. As she headed for her small, in-quarters office, she reached down to her waist and opened the storage compartment that served as her light armor's right pants pocket. Still handling it with the utmost care, she placed the yellow fabric on an empty spot on her desk, once again letting it unfurl slightly. As she sat down, she again pulled off her uniform gloves – both of them this time – and laid them on the windowsill behind her terminal. She'd chosen to place her desk in front of a window that overlooked downtown Tokyo and, in the distance, what was left of Mount Fuji, but at the moment, her view was the least of her concerns. All her attention was focused on that simple piece of yellow.

I wonder what you mean, she mentally quizzed. Unsurprisingly, the cloth did nothing in response save catch a breeze from an air vent and unfold just a little more. Why did he want me to have you? She desperately wanted to believe Lifesaver's explanation. That he really did want her to know he'd always be with her. But why tell her that, like this, unless – no, she forbade herself from thinking anything like that. It would do no good anymore.

Well, the voice of reason sounded in her mind, there is one way to find out. If he meant to give you a reason, or tell you anything at all about it, you know where it'll be. Somewhere you haven't wanted to look just yet.

Alia frowned. But it was the truth. She most likely had the answers right at her fingertips – she was simply too afraid to look at them. But that ended now. She wasn't a child, despite her age, and wouldn't act like one. I should have done this yesterday.

Bracing herself, and taking another look at the yellow parcel, Alia activated her personal terminal and brought up her inbox. There were 250 new messages waiting, but she ignored all but one. She brought up the document called "Letter to Alia," entered an authorization code in order to deactivate the encryption, and began to read.

About twenty minutes later, there was still very little activity in Unit Seventeen's common area. The only notable difference was that Onyx had given up his Sherlock Holmes novel, and was now playing a quiet game of Go Fish with the newly woken Quinn. Beth, like everyone else in the Seventeenth except for Alia, its Commander, and demolitions expert, was still asleep. Though neither of them said anything, the demolitions expert and the tiger both figured no one really had any desire to wake up and face the current situation any earlier than they absolutely had to.

As far as Commander Quinn was concerned, that was just fine. It only made what he was about to attempt that much easier. "Do you have any threes?"

"Go fish," Onyx growled, almost bemused. Never mind the fact that Go Fish was, in fact, one of the simplest card games known to man – Quinn managed to lose almost every time he played. It was almost amusing. Mumbling, the white tiger drew another card, and from the look on his face, it was obvious the trend wouldn't be changing anytime soon. Normally, Onyx would have been enjoying the spectacle more, but it was obvious that the furry feral wanted something. "So," he began, "what do you want to talk to me about, Quinn? There's obviously something on your mind."

Quinn shrugged nonchalantly. Well, here we go. "Am I that obvious?"

"Not really," Onyx smirked, "but usually, when you're losing this bad, you find an excuse to stop before you're holding half the deck."

Quinn mock-glared. Okay. Let's make this quick and to the point. "I'm glad I've become so predictable. So ... I'm guessing you realize that, with the change in my rank, I need to choose a new second-in-command."

The stocky demolition expert nodded, keeping his expression neutral. He had a sneaking suspicion of where this was going. "I am aware of the current gap in the command structure, yes. How are you doing with choosing your replacement?"

Quinn hoped he didn't sound too nervous as he spoke. "Well, actually, I was hoping you would be my second-in-command."

Onyx's face remained infuriatingly neutral as Quinn finished speaking. He appreciated the offer, of course, but he'd had the same conversation with X a number of times – and refused on each occasion. The only thing that kept him from turning down the Seventeenth's new Commander, was, quite simply, the fact that he was the Seventeenth's new Commander. The rules had changed, and he supposed he'd lost the right to refuse anyone outright – and besides, he couldn't bring himself to do that to his friend, not when he seemed so nervous about asking. So instead, wearing a small smile, he spoke the truth, "I'm honored that you would ask me to do that. But I have to ask, why me?"

Quinn blinked. He had expected a quick yes or no. But he was learning the world liked to throw anything at him but simplicity. "I thought that would be obvious. I need help. You've been doing this for ten years – a hell of a lot longer than me. You've got a lot more experience than I do, you're one of the most methodical men I know, everyone trusts and respects you and your judgment, and," he smirked, "out of the eight combat-ready members of Unit Seventeen that aren't me, you're the one least likely to let me do anything too stupid. And I'm not entirely sure I won't attempt a few undeniably asinine things before this is over. And I hope my little speech just now didn't make me look like a complete, patronizing idiot."

Onyx grinned, trying not to blush at the rapid-fire flattery. His face grew serious again after a few moments. "First, you're still standing tall in the middle of this mess, which means you're doing pretty good so far. And don't worry. You aren't being patronizing at all, though that doesn't necessarily mean I agree with everything you said. You're expressing your honest opinion. We'd save a lot of time if everyone didn't try to be so evading and manipulative. Mind if I ask you a question? Why not Beth? I assume, based on her performance and talent in the field, you were also considering her."

Quinn nodded, pleased he hadn't been instantly told to forget it. "I was. She's smart, clever, and she's good at making quick decisions under pressure. And don't think it's because I believe my relationship with her would impair her response to me in the field. She's above that. Still, you have a lot more experience than she does, and as cool as she is under fire, you're cooler. But – and I'll be honest here, I'm no idiot. If I die in battle, the Seventeenth's field Lieutenant Commander has to take over for me, instantly, without so much as a second thought, with no regard to anything but the mission. I'm worried that she wouldn't be able to do that, not fast enough, anyway. If the roles were reversed, I don't think I could. And I'd never put her in that position. On stats and experience alone, you're it. Given the emotional interplay between Beth and I, there's no question. I would be honored if you would do this."

Onyx sat back in his chair, deep in thought. After almost half a minute, he asked, "Quinn, do you know why I never accepted X's offers to be his second?"

Quinn shook his head shortly. It looked like he'd lost the battle. "No." No one knows but you.

"Care for a moderately long story?"

Quinn blinked. Is he about to tell me why he's always refused X? No way. "Sure. Of course."

"As you know, I'm fifteen years old. I don't think I've ever told you about what I did before I was a Hunter. I guess it all started about three months after I was born." Quinn nodded. The first three months of a reploid's life were spent in what was called "basic sociological education." Every descendant of X was born with the ability to understand almost every language on earth and the basic intellect of someone who had completed secondary school. They still, however, had to learn how to survive in a mostly human society. BSE was meant to give them a baseline of sorts, so they wouldn't be entering the world completely unprepared. "I had to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and for some reason I still don't completely understand, I decided I wanted to study chemistry. I signed up for the Reploid Apprentice Program, with a chemist. They shut it down before you were born. I don't suppose you remember what it was?" Quinn nodded. The REP was shut down mere months before he was constructed, but had been around for eight years before that. With their advanced learning capabilities, picking up the facts of a trade was a quite easy (and rather speedy) process for most reploids. But in some occupations, there was really no substitute for experience. The REP was a coalition of human men and women that allowed young reploids to live in their homes and work along side them. At the same time these nubile robots learned how to work, they also learned about what it was like to live and form relationships with humans. By the time they were done, they were much better prepared to live alone. At least, that was the idea.

The program worked quite well, but was unfortunately forced to disband after it was ruled to be far too dangerous for the participating humans. The Mavericks saw them as particularly desirable targets – right up there with children and religious figures. It seemed they didn't appreciate their superior race being tainted by those with the gall to force "outmoded and useless customs" on them. Never mind that all REP trainees joined purely by choice.

Onyx continued. "Good. Well, they paired me with this very nice lady – she was in her early thirties, I guess. She was single, and didn't have any children. Her name was Cindy." A far off, dark look crossed his face, but he continued. "Do you remember what we're like when we wake up that first time? Remember how naïve and trusting we are? How easily we make friends?" Again, Quinn nodded, engrossed. He had no idea what this had to do with his current request, but he had the distinct feeling he was hearing something Onyx had never discussed with anyone else. "I made a mistake, Quinn. I got attached. Over the next five years, I learned just like I was supposed to, but something else happened. This nice, lonely woman that took me in – I began to see and treat her as ... she became somewhat of a mother to me. You know, we reploids have a few very significant advantages over humans. One of them is, unless you're stupid like me, reploids never have to feel the pain of seeing their parents murdered." Quinn's face betrayed the surprise coursing through his system, but before he could so much as gasp, Onyx was moving on again, his trademark growl somehow even lower than usual. "Even after I left, we still talked quite a bit, and we saw each other often. One day, she called me up. She was engaged to someone she'd been dating about a year, and they were moving into a bigger house. She wanted me to help her pack.

Onyx's eyes flashed. "I showed up, and went inside, calling out her name, telling her I was there. No one answered. When I got to the kitchen, I found out why." Quinn flinched, but he didn't care. He'd never seen Onyx turn that shade of green before. "You know, four-point-seven liters of blood doesn't sound like much, but once you've seen just half of that covering an entire room, you realize it's quite a bit of fluid."

Quinn gasped, or, more accurately, emitted the non-breathing synthesized equivalent. "Oh my ... she ... she was dead? Was it one of us?"

"Yeah. It was a Maverick. But she wasn't dead yet. I was too shocked at the time to figure it out, but I eventually found out her attacker had gone through great pains to make sure she died slowly. It was one of the most horrible things I've ever seen, even after ten years of this. I took her to the hospital – I had borrowed a sedan to help move boxes in, thankfully. When I got there, two things happened. First, they took her from me, instantly. Secondly, being that I was a reploid covered in blood, they assumed I did it – figured I meant to drop her off and drive away. I thought it was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard – after all, why would I bring someone to a hospital if I went through the trouble of trying to kill them? I found out later it wasn't such a stupid question after all. The hospital security people kept trying to grill me, but it was obvious, since I wasn't confessing, I wasn't telling them what they wanted. They were obviously bored with their jobs ... they wanted to nail a Maverick. After a few minutes, they told me they wanted to use a Neural Probe System to see if I was telling the truth."

"What?" Quinn was horrified. Neural Probe Systems were nasty little machines that interfaced with a reploid's neural net and displayed all recent memories in full color, with full sound, just as the reploid had experienced them. Any human would balk at that kind of personal privacy violation, citing the International Bill of Rights, but the descendants of X were denied any such protection. NPS sessions were also one of the most painful procedures a reploid could undergo. "Did you let them?"

"I had no choice. Remember what I said about being naïve?" He shuddered. "The bastards convinced me they wouldn't treat her unless I did it. Of course, they already had her in surgery, but I didn't know that. I believed them. I was still out of it, and I got so turned around that I didn't realize they had to take care of her. I let them have free run of my brain. I still remember how utterly pissed they were when they couldn't find anything to pin it on me, but at the time, I barely noticed. Now I was doing the forcing. Imagine my surprise when I found out they'd been working on her the whole time. I was too relieved to be angry. I knew she'd put me on her emergency contact list for situations like this, so they had to treat me like a family member. They had to let me in on what was going on. As soon as I got one of them to give me a set of scrubs so I wouldn't track blood all over the hospital, I went back to the waiting room ... and waited. No one came to tell me anything. She was in surgery for six hours. And I waited. I wasn't alone, though. After a while, her boyfriend made it to the hospital. I remember how shocked I was when he asked me to stay with him.

"Eventually, a doctor came to see us. He didn't seem nearly as concerned with what I was as his associates had. He tried to sugar-coat it for us, but it was simple – despite everything they'd done, Cindy was going to die. It would be a miracle if she ever woke up. She'd lost too much blood, and too many of her internal organs were damaged. No amount of medical nanobots, even with surgery, could fix that kind of injury fast enough to save her. Her boyfriend, Billy, and I stayed with her at the hospital after that. Again, Billy asked that I didn't leave. It seemed like having me there with him made it easier, I guess. She never did wake up. Six days after I brought her in, they declared her brain dead, and ... that was it. They told us later that they might have been able to save her if I'd gotten her there at least twenty minutes sooner. She'd been bleeding out for about forty. I didn't know she was in trouble ... I was buying boxes. She ... she wanted more boxes." Unlike Alia, he made no attempt to hide the tears he brushed away from his eyes, and for a good while, silence reigned.

Quinn couldn't figure out what the best thing to say at this particular moment was – he could barely think of anything to say. Eventually, he managed, "I ... I'm sorry I forced you to remember all this."

Onyx forced a smile. "Don't worry, I've always remembered. I've just never discussed it before. Not even with X. You're probably wondering what all this has to do with your question. After she died, something occurred to me. Now, I knew what it was like to grieve for someone. Just another way to lose your innocence, I guess. I knew I wanted to do something – whatever I could – to try an spare anyone else from that feeling. Four months later, I joined the Hunters, specializing in chemical-based demolitions. I've been here ever since.

"I was never in it for vengeance. I never found the Maverick that attacked her, and I doubt I ever will. With any luck, one of us has already gotten him. I just wanted to do my job, blow them all to hell, and keep them away from people that just didn't deserve to feel the kind of pain I've felt. It was that simple, and being a Commander is just an extra variable I've never felt any need to deal with. That's why I never became a Lieutenant Commander – there's no where to go but up."

Quinn assumed that was his long-awaited "no," and began to speak, but Onyx held up his hand. He wasn't done just yet. "But you know, recent events have made me realize something – namely how damned selfish and juvenile that sounds. I didn't want a command position because I didn't ever want to risk that kind of personal attachment again. But," and he waved his hand to indicate everyone, sleeping or awake, attached to Unit Seventeen, "it might be time for me to grow up a little. The offer still stand?"

Quinn nodded almost giddily. He couldn't believe what he was pretty sure was about to happen. "Of course."

Onyx smiled thinly. "Well then, I'm in."

A wide grin split Quinn's face – wider than he normally allowed for the sake of not drawing attention to the fangs the lunatic that designed him had included. "Great. I'll get the paperwork done immediately. It's either your promotion form, or some bizarre requisition sheet for military grade turtle wax." Onyx raised an eyebrow. "Just don't ask. I'm convinced some of that stuff is fake. It has to be."

Onyx chuckled briefly, beginning to recover from his brush with the past. "Well, as my first official duty as your second-in-command, I guess I should give you the latest on your spotter. I saw Alia on her way back from the reading this morning."

"Oh? How was she?"
"Well ... she spoke." Onyx went on to describe her mood as several doors opened, and Hunters began to spill into the room. The day had officially begun.

Zero collapsed on his couch for the second time in as many days, dropping his helmet unceremoniously on the floor. He felt his body, for better or worse, relax into the cushions. He had survived the reading without breaking something or screaming in frustration when the matter of X's remains came up – that was something, at least. He couldn't really believe how exhausted he felt. I guess I never really thought I'd have to sit through something like that. I've never been this closely involved with anyone else's death, even one of my own people ... except for her. He didn't mind the shame he felt at his next thought – more than anything else, he wanted all of this to be over.

But it'll never be over, will it? Just like X said, as long as I'm alive, I'll always remember him. I wonder if he realized I'd never forget watching him die. Zero looked at the ceiling, mentally scolding himself for daring to so much as think such an absurd question. Of course you knew, didn't you? You probably figured we ... I could deal with it. I hope you're right. I don't have you to help me keep my head screwed on straight this time. But you were confident enough in me to ask me to watch out for Alia for you – and she's more of a mess than me right now, X. I'm not sure I know what to do. Right now we've got a list of things to get done. I'm don't know what I'm going to do once all that's accomplished. I hope your confidence and trust wasn't misplaced. Right now, I'm not entirely sure either way. He blinked. Had he just spent the past seconds mentally conversing with a dead man? The answer, he admitted, was a resounding yes. So what? If there's even the smallest chance there's a here after this, I'll take it. I want to take it, even if I'm too damned jaded to easily believe it. But I'm going to try. If you're up there, X, I hope you aren't spending too much time watching us flounder around down here. It may not be pretty right now, but we're going to get through this, dormant Sigma or not. The Universe officially owes us one. Then again, in paradise, hopefully there aren't that many windows to Hell, so maybe, just maybe, you can't see this mess. That would be much better.

Zero shook himself. That was enough talking to the dead. It wasn't going to get him anywhere, he knew. The reading of X's will was over – and he had things to do as a result. He stopped only for a few more moments to contemplate the seemingly cryptic reference the letter made to Zero possibly knowing who his creator was and choosing to withhold the information. X's personal final farewell to the Crimson Hunter, which he had read the night before, elaborated on that point. It said quite clearly that X believed Zero was the final creation of Doctor Albert Wily, and had thought so since the end of the Fourth Uprising. Apparently, Sigma had dropped the Blue Bomber one too many hints over the years, enough for him to finally piece the puzzle together. Furthermore, the Commander of the Seventeenth somehow was sure that Zero knew it was the truth. Again, Zero could only blame Sigma – he was the only person who knew enough to be able to give X that information. No, he decided, that isn't really fair. X might not have been able to lie, but he was just as hard to lie to. He would have known when I was trying to hide something from him, more than likely. The Maverick Commander no doubt hoped to sow seeds of distrust between the two chief defenders of civilization. That knowledge only made X's parting remarks about brotherhood and trust that much more significant. Whatever the nature of his mysterious past, X had always trusted him, never once doubting that he was a friend – never once believing that he was still the instrument of pure destruction and malice Doctor Wily had intended him to be. He was proud of that bond between them, and always would be.

X was the only other person besides Sigma who knew anything about the truth of his birth, and he wasn't sure anyone else who gained the knowledge would still see him in the same light. Not even Alia, he thought darkly. The thought of the girl he found himself slowly, unwillingly developing fraternal feelings for not being able to look him in the eye without betraying distrust and fear was sobering. No, for now – for the foreseeable future – the truth had to remain hidden. He couldn't afford Alia losing her trust in him, not when he'd been asked from beyond the grave to see to it that she made it through the current situation, and he couldn't defend a race who questioned his allegiance to the cause of good. The Avenging Angel was dead, and humanity was stuck with the Demon. He knew he had to be trusted now like never before. It would be best if no one realized just how accurate his dark nickname really was.

"Alia," he whispered aloud, suddenly aware of something he should have already done. Both he and the Seventeenth's spotter had been given full access to X's personal database, and could go through it at any time from their quarters. Given her current state, he knew it was very unlikely she would be looking around it at the moment, but at some point the two of them were going to need to go through X's quarters, and she might well want to get it over with then and there. Before that could happen, there were certain items he felt he should remove from the file listing – things it would be better, for the moment, she not see. As much as he wanted her to begin the grieving process, blasting her with surprising, potentially more depressing revelations was not, in his opinion, a proper catalyst. With that in mind, he quickly sprung to his feet, grabbed his helmet, and made for his desk.

He sat down and keyed in a few commands. The index of X's personal database began to scroll up the screen. The Blue Bomber was indeed a very organized person, so he found what he was looking for after only a few minutes. "Away you go," he whispered, setting up a transfer queue.

Around eight o'clock, Daniel Winters rolled groggily out of bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping wife's still form. It had been years since he had slept past four, but when he had finally managed to fall asleep around one the previous night, he was far too exhausted to so much as contemplate getting up early. That not withstanding, there simply wasn't anywhere for him to go anymore. He cast a glance at his uniform, strewn across a chair. He would never wear it again, he knew. Somehow, this didn't bother him that much. Unfortunately, it didn't make him feel any better, either.

He rose and began to head for the adjoined bathroom, but seemed to change his mind and crept out into the hall. I don't want to wake her up. Better use the guest bathroom.

Minutes later, hot water splashing over his muscular frame, he stopped to think about the events of the previous evening. He remembered quite clearly the utterly dumbstruck look on his wife's face when he told her he'd resigned his commission. She had asked him why, and he was faced with a decision. His discharge orders demanded that he never, so long as he lived, release any information related to any classified programs he was involved in, not even to his wife. So, he could stick with the official line about X being killed by hostile forces and lie to her about why he was getting out of the game, or he could risk prison and tell the truth. The decision was obvious – he was through with the military, but his marriage was hopefully far from over.

He grabbed for the shampoo tube, squeezing it viciously as the memory of the horrified look in his Sarah's eyes after he was done with his sorry tale flashed through his brain. Disbelief, shock, maybe a little bit of disappointment ... it was all there. She said she understood why he had to do it, but he knew the only way she'd really ever understand was if she had been there, and that simply wasn't the case. She had only looked him in the eyes twice since then, neither of which during her promise that she understood he had to execute humanity's greatest champion. She had hugged him when he started to cry and promised him everything would be fine, but he wasn't sure she completely trusted him anymore. I guess it makes since I didn't have any nightmares. Being awake is painful enough. He still saw X's battered face staring back at him whenever he closed his eyes, waiting for the shot that would end his life.

Fifteen minutes later, the former US Army Captain was dressed and groomed for the day. He wore jeans and a yellow golf shirt – pretty much the only clean clothes he had that didn't bear the symbol of the United States or its defense forces. It was a good thing he would be doing the laundry tomorrow. He stuck his head back in his bedroom. Sarah rolled over so he could see her placid face. Red hair fell in her eyes, and every once in a while she rooted around in an attempt to get it away from her nose. He caught sight of her tear stained cheeks and, sighing, morosely headed to the kitchen in hopes of scraping up enough coffee grains to come up with something that tasted marginally better than mud.

Just as he turned on the coffee machine, the phone ring. He pounced on it like a crazed tiger, hoping it hadn't woken Sarah up. He set it for audio only, pressing the handset to his ear. "Hello? Daniel speaking."

"Dan? This is Ben. Ben Dixon. How are you?" The voice on the other end of the line was tired, yet anxious.

Winters smirked in spite of himself. A call from the young computer engineer was the last thing he would have expected after he jumped ship. "I've been a hell of a lot better, Ben."

The voice on the other end sighed. "You and me both, buddy. Be glad you got out."

Winters' shoulders sunk slightly. "I couldn't stay. Not after what my duty demanded I do."

"I understand. I can't believe ... I can't believe they made you do that. Damned horde of cowards. They threw me off the project. Apparently, now that they've used me up, they're done with me. They haven't asked for a voluntary discharge, but I think that's only because they're trying to think of something else they can get me to build for them. Like hell. No more blind allegiance to a bunch of pompous idiots more concerned with the stars on their collars than anything else. Do you have a few minutes to talk? There's something I wanted to discuss with you."

"Sure. Let me step outside. Sarah's still asleep."

"I'd much rather we got together. It's been so long since we've managed to grab lunch together. I'm starting to think you don't like me anymore. I know a nice indoor Italian place."

Daniel was now paying full attention to his friend. "indoor Italian place" was a twenty year old code used to indicate suspicion that the communication system was bugged. It hadn't been in official use for the past fifteen years. Ben was taking a big chance by assuming any Army intelligence people who might be listening in weren't up on their recent military history. But what are you worried about, buddy? There was one way to find out. "I'm in. Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll pick you up around ... say, eleven? Feel free to bring Sarah along. I haven't seen her in forever."

"Deal. I'll see if she feels like it. I don't think she's too happy with me right now. But she's not the only one, so ... Anyway, see you then." He terminated the call. "This should be interesting," he mused. He sounded exhausted and excited at the same time. I'm betting he didn't get much sleep ... something's kept him up. "Interesting indeed." Filling a mug, he went off to check GNN.

Ten minutes before eleven, Daniel Winters found himself standing outside his house. Alone. According to Sarah, she didn't feel very much like seeing Ben Dixon right now. Knowledge of the young, friendly Lieutenant's involvement in recent events seemed to shock her just as much, if not more, than any revelations about Daniel's own role. After all, the former Army captain would have had nothing to pilot if not for the engineer's work. Sure, she knew nothing was directly his fault, but the fact remained that without his involvement, there would have been no XCBM ready to steal, and her husband wouldn't have been forced to kill Mega Man X. No, she wasn't angry with him, but she wasn't quite ready to look him in the face, either. And, Daniel figured, she's not married to him. She doesn't have to put up with him if she doesn't want to.

His thoughts were broken when Ben Dixon's black convertible burst around a corner. The off-duty Lieutenant came to a stop directly in front of his friend, giving Winters a clear look at his attire. The computer expert was wearing light blue jeans with a yellow t-shirt, a pair of dark sunglasses, and a black baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. He seemed nervous. "Please get in," he said quickly. "We'll talk when we're moving." Definitely nervous.

Winters did as he was asked, but not without a fair amount of involuntary smirking. He'd never seen his friend attempt to dress and act covertly. His approach needed work. He dropped into the two-seater's passenger chair. The car was in motion before Winters had completely closed the door. "Nice cloak and dagger act. What's going on, Ben?" Dixon didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached under his steering wheel as he pulled into the street and flipped a switch. He was rewarded with a single beep. Winters recognized it as the all-clear tone from a standard electronic bug detector. He seemed pleased. Winters blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."

For the first time, Dixon spoke, his tone indicating that he was indeed nervous. "Nope. That's a bug detector. I can't take the chance that someone's listening in on us."

Winters found himself more and more interested in whatever was going on here. "I'll bite. What have you done that makes you think someone's trying to put a tap on you? And who, exactly, would be doing the bugging?"

A thin, mysterious smile crossed the programmer's face. "I'll get to that. I'm not sure I'm being watched, but if anyone's keeping an eye on me, it'll be MacDonald, Captain."

Winters put his curiosity aside for a moment, and his next comment sounded a good bit harsher than he intended. "I'm not a captain anymore, Ben. I'd rather you not address me as such."

Dixon nodded. If he was bothered by the sudden sharpness in his friend's tone, he didn't show it. "You know," he said quietly, "if you hadn't done it, Dan, someone else would have. You're probably one of the only people with your ... uh ... former rank that finds anything at all wrong with any of this."

"That's pretty much exactly what he said."

Dixon raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"X. Before I killed him. He wanted me to the the one to do it since I knew it was wrong. I guess he didn't want his executioner to enjoy it too much."

The younger man paled a little. "Damn. I ... I didn't mean to –"

"Don't worry about it, Ben. What's done is done. I don't plan on dying any time soon, so I'll have to learn to deal with it."

"If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one getting out," he offered, merging onto the highway.

For the briefest of moments, Winters entertained the possibility that Blake managed to find what little bit of soul was hopefully lurking in his womanizing, cowardly body. MacDonald was a lost cause. "Oh?"

"Yeah. There are few things I need to ... finish up, then I'm gone. I won't allow myself to be used ever again," he finished, his voice flashing with bitterness.

That was unexpected. "You ... used ... what are you talking about? What's going on?" He didn't get it. He hadn't been out of the game for more than twenty-four hours, and he was already completely out of the loop.

Dixon sighed. "Danny, I'm afraid we've been lied to. MacDonald's been withholding information from us the entire time. There are several ... less than savory elements of the XCBM project we've been purposefully denied information about."

All at once, Winters felt anger boiling up within him. Sadly, he was beyond any serious amount of surprise. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you sure?"

Dixon nodded, and all at once Winters realized he had no idea where they were, or where they were going. Moreover, he didn't really care. "Your reaction to what I just told you about the project confirms my suspicion that you've been kept in the dark too. We got screwed, Dan. Hard."

The former mechanized combat expert was all business now. "I'm listening. Start from the top."

"I got ditched yesterday. MacDonald kicked me out of the meeting he'd called to discuss the disaster in the park shortly after it was revealed that X was involved. I have to admit, I didn't react all that well. I'm afraid my brain stalled for a few minutes."

"Understandable. Go on."

"A little while later, I was in my office and I got a message notifying me I'd been dropped from the XCBM project. Apparently, my services as computer engineer are no longer needed. I made those components easy to repair, replicate, and maintain. I didn't want someone without my level of technical understanding to be in trouble if it broke down in the field. I'm afraid my generosity has come back to bite me in the butt. Needless to say, in light of recent discoveries on my part, that's a non issue. There's a whole dimension to the project I wasn't even aware of. If I'm right, and I should know for sure in about a week, this is about a lot more than just simply designing the next generation of combat mecha. I'm not constructing anything else for those bastards again. Ever. They'll have my resignation as soon as I'm done hunting through their computer systems. It's a lot easier to do while I still have my clearance, even if I've been forced to do some ... augmentation."

Winters frowned. "You're talking about unauthorized access of some kind, aren't you?"

"I'm ... going to choose not to answer that. I will say that I'm going through a few unofficial channels."

"What brought all this on?"

"It's too convenient. The way I was treated yesterday ... it's obvious that bastard MacDonald was hiding something from me. The XCBM Task Force is designated Research and Development, isn't it?"

"... Right?"

Ben shook his head. "Sorry. Wrong answer. I did a little digging. We ... the Task Force hasn't been under the Research and Development umbrella for the past three months. Right now, the Special Project Registry has it under "Pre-Production." They're tooling factories up. The XCBM Project is two weeks from full production."

"What the hell? Are you serious? I am ... was scheduled to do three more months of test maneuvers. I don't understand."

"And my engineering team was assigned to continue tweaking the prototype. It's all a show. They're going with the master plans from three months ago. You and I were apparently part of some kind of charade."

"Shit. How did you find all this stuff out?"

"Again, I don't think you want me to answer that. And it isn't really the point. I've barely scratched the surface. There's something majorly off here."

"No kidding. I knew MacDonald was squirmy. I just assumed it was part of his personality. I never thought he could actually be up to something."

"Got swept up in the grand promises didn't you? And you gotta hand it to MacDonald. Keeping a sleaze like Blake around to draw attention away from his own moral deficiencies." Winters looked down a little. "Hell, you aren't the only one that got hosed. Like I said, we got used for something. I'm just not sure what."

Winters nodded. "I have to agree. I've got to ask though, and I'm officially with you on this so don't you dare evade me again, how did you figure this out?"

Dixon groaned. "Truth? I started to suspect information was being withheld from me. You know how big the Army Library Computer is. I had to start looking somewhere. I started digging around official project goals for the XCBM and came up with these incongruities. The more I looked, the more bizarre it became. I had to get out of the system relatively fast, though. I'm intimately familiar with the security protocols. Circumventing them for any long period of time is very difficult. As for the information I gave you, it's not even classified. Just ... withheld from the two of us, it would seem. I'm betting Montalbaan's in on this too. Just a hunch, of course, but I have no reason to trust her at this point, especially since Blake's shown some interest in her. He tends to be interested in less than savory women."

Winters ignored the jab at Blake, not that he disagreed with the assessment. "If we have been subject to misdirection, it was carried off very effectively. I mean, what's the point of looking if you don't think something's being hidden from you? I never had any reason to suspect MacDonald was playing either of us."

"Me neither. He's too good of an actor. But he was rattled yesterday. He's got some kind of plan working here, and X's death as a result of clashing with the XCBM," he ignored the pained look in his friend's eyes, "wasn't part of it. He's shaken. He showed a little of his hand. Just enough for me to want to look closer."

"Good assessment. Any idea at all what's going on?"

The side of Dixon's mouth quirked up, just slightly, in an expression of intellectual triumph. "As for why this is happening, I haven't got the slightest idea. Short of asking MacDonald, I'm going to have to break into his personal files, or Blake's, and that's going to be a lot harder than anything I've done so far. But I can tell you how the misdirection was carried out, and, though this is purely my opinion, how this was supposed to play out." Winters nodded eagerly. "Alright. Let's look at it like this. There are two streams of data at play here. The first is the briefing information you and I were given at the meetings. It's obviously deliberately flawed. The second is whatever MacDonald, Blake, and Montalbaan are getting and passing between each other, which pertains to whatever the hell is actually going on here."

"Logical. Go on."

"I will, but first, I need to ask you a question. What's the stated purpose of the XCBM project, and this is important, as it was given to you?"

"Simple. The XCBM is, and I quote, 'the next generation of land based battle mecha. It will be powerful enough, fast enough, and durable enough to allow a single pilot to engage a number of heavily armored Mavericks that would otherwise be too powerful to defeat using conventional mechanized tactics. Upon successful testing of the prototype, models of the XCBM will be distributed to the Maverick Hunters as well as military and police forces all over the world.' Why do you ask?"

"Damn." Dixon scowled. "That's exactly what they told me in my initial briefing. Part of me was hoping they were playing us against each other. I could have gotten some extra intel from you."

"Good try," Winters managed a half smile, "but I'm afraid I'm just as much in the dark as you are, if not more. But you said there's two separate operations going on here, one – the one we're seeing – obviously faked."

"Indeed. Here's what I think is happening. We were scheduled to go public in what, eight months?" Ben asked.

"Right."

"Here's what's likely to happen. We would indeed go public at that point. But the question is, with which plan of operation? The real one, or the one we've been fed? We still don't know what the full purpose of the project is."

Winters' face lit up in understanding. "They go public with the fake, allowing them even more leeway to do whatever they're already doing now. If they didn't want to tell us, there's no way in hell they're telling the media until after they spring it. There won't be anything anyone can do about it at that point ... what ever it happens to be."

"Exactly. So we're left with the critical question. What is the real purpose of the X Caliber Battle Mecha Program?"

Dixon nodded, but said, "That's not the critical question. The critical question is how do we find out?"

"Point." He frowned. "I'm out of the game, Ben. By the end of the week, all the paperwork will be finalized, I'll get my severance package, and I'll be retired. I'm not sure what I can do to help you."

"You can listen, buddy. I didn't expect you to do anything ... except maybe have a different story about the project goals I could compare to the one they gave me. I knew we were both being jerked around. I just wanted to see if we were being set against each other, in case one of us figured it out. Apparently, that's not the case, thank God. That's a level of complication we don't need. But any advice you might have is certainly appreciated, and I wanted to run my theory by you."

"I believe you, and it definitely sounds like something fishy's going on here that deserves to be investigated. But something tells me you didn't really bring me here just to get my approval."

Dixon's face darkened, and for the first time that day, he couldn't keep anxiety from coloring his features. "I'll be honest. I've taken a lot of risks already. Stealing classified information amounts to treason ... and even though what I've told you isn't officially under seal, it's obvious it's mean to be hidden. I figure the only reason it's not officially classified is that would increase it's visibility in the system. Breaking into Army computer databanks isn't exactly legal either. And there's still the matter of getting in and out of MacDonald's files. His security's likely to be more complicated than what I've seen so far. I'm good, Danny, but there's no such thing as a completely traceless hack. It's a very real possibility that I will be detected. I've already had a few close calls with the data security programs."

Winters frowned. "What do you intend to do?"

"The only undetectable way to do this is to get MacDonald to log in to his files, then leave so someone else can sit down and search for the files. That's not happening. Unfortunately, this isn't a spy movie, and I don't have security clearance to even be on the same floor as his office. You're the only one I can trust, and like you said, you're out of the game. I checked ... your clearances have already been revoked. It looks like I'm going to have to break in, and there's no guarantee I won't get tracked down."

The frown deepened. "That would certainly not be good. Getting arrested for improper technical resource use is one thing. Making an enemy of MacDonald in the process is another. You sure there's no other way you can do it?"

"I am. I'm going to be as careful as possible, even to the point of doing this over a week instead a single brute force attempt over the course of a few hours. The more subtle the attempt, the less likely it'll be quickly detected. But I have to consider the possibility of screwing up. Once I get the data, it'll take them a little while to get to me. I'd like to give you a hard copy. If I get arrested by any MPs, you'll know within twelve hours. I'll hide a monitoring program in the computers to notify you if and when my name enters the Military Police's database. The program will then delete itself. There will be no indication it ever existed."

Winters nodded reluctantly. "You're serious about this, aren't you?" It was obvious he wasn't pleased with the notion.

"Damn right. Something rotten's in play here. We need to find out what, and using official channels is totally out of the question. Anyway, when and if you're notified, assume I didn't get the information to anyone who could use it to uncover whatever plot is afoot. If I do get it out before they quash me, I'm betting they'll have a lot more pressing matters to attend to than arresting me. Not that I'm much of an optimist lately. More than likely, you'll have to do it. Are you in?"

"Thanks to those bastards, I'll have the image of Mega Man X's head, complete with gaping, large hole between the open, blankly staring eyes, and the knowledge that I was the one that killed him burned into my memory for the rest of my life. If there's anything at all I can do to help make those ... cowards pay for what they've done, I'll do it. Yeah, I'm with you, Ben."

"Good." He smiled thinly and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a sealed envelope. "If I get caught before I've managed to get the crap to hit the fan, take the hard copy to the person whose name and address in the envelope."

Winters smirked. If the situation weren't so serious, Dixon's spy routine would have been kind of funny. "And if you don't, Mr. Bond?"

"Burn it. There's no reason to involve her in this if we don't have to. Who the hell is Mr. Bond?"

"Never mind. Just be careful, Ben. Like I said before, MacDonald's not a man you want for an enemy. I'd like to see you make it to retirement in one piece."

"This is Trevor Collins, Global Network News. It's two in the afternoon, December second, 2152, and here are the headlines at the top of the hour:

The world is in an uproar over the seeming destruction of Maverick Hunter Mega Man X. Sources inside Maverick Hunter Headquarters leaked video of Signas, Grand Commander of the Maverick Hunters, breaking the news to the organization's hundreds of of non-combat staff, medical personnel, and field operatives in an announcement that was apparently not only seen at Maverick Hunter Headquarters, but also at all major Hunter installations around the world. We've been playing that announcement at intervals for the past twenty-three hours, and independent analysis suggests that it is, indeed, authentic footage. At this hour, oddly, there is still no official comment from the Hunter Public Relations department, leading some to believe the world famous soldier, a legend in recent history, fell during some kind of classified operation, the details of which Hunter Command, or perhaps the United Nations Hunter Oversight Committee, are unwilling or unable to release at this time. The only solid information we have suggests that the twenty-six year veteran Hunter Commander was killed as a result of action against, and I'm quoting the leaked video stream, 'hostile forces' in a successful effort to protect civilians from some un-detailed threat. Whatever the reason for keeping such a tight lid on the facts regarding this tragedy – and no matter what you think of reploids or Hunters, this is certainly a dark day for humanity – the reticence of the all but shut down Hunter PR machine has done nothing but increase fears and concerns among the international population. Indeed, many of our field reporters are telling us many communities are seething with dread and anxiety; in some of the larger cities that sentiment is bordering on panic. Thankfully, we have yet to see any riots or other signs of society destabilizing.

"We are receiving reports of a world wide rush on stores, markets, and warehouse distributors as citizens weary of a long and protracted conflict with Maverick forces are shoring up on water, canned goods, and other supplies. It would seem that news of Commander X's destruction has led millions to assume that Sigma has reasserted himself with unprecedented force. With no other official news from any source, I'm afraid that's quite a logical assumption. However, GNN would like to take this opportunity to remind its viewers that the states of emergency, school and business closings, and high security alerts consistent with the beginning of a Maverick uprising have yet to go into effect, and do not seem imminent. However, we have seen evidence of extra precautionary measures being taken at critical facilities such as hospitals and power distribution centers. Indeed, some observers are suggesting that this was a random catastrophe and isn't related to any coordinated anti-human activity, but until someone confirms something, it's all just conjecture.

"One thing however, is not conjecture – at this hour, Mega Man X is dead – or, for those of you who don't believe his kind are living things, deactivated ... permanently. The man who some people would say is singlehandedly responsible for saving the entire human race from extinction on multiple occasions is no more, and all indications are that he died for us. No matter what the circumstances, the world changed yesterday. It certainly wasn't for the better, but let us hope it doesn't get too much worse before it settles out.

"A little while later, we will be hearing from several of our correspondents around the world with reactions from communities large and small. While we're waiting on that, we're going to go over today's other major stories ..."

"...we're going to go over today's other major stories –" Zero stabbed at his television remote, and the viewscreen went dead. "Hell. Just gets better and better. It's pundit time." He rubbed his eyes tiredly and looked out the window. If it gets any worse, we'll be in blizzard conditions. Since when is the road to hell paved with snow?

All at once, his videophone rang, breaking whatever deleterious train of thought was trying to form in his mind. He swiveled his desk chair back around so he was looking at his terminal, and accepted the communication. Alia's face filled the screen. As had become routine for him over the past twenty-four hours, he tried to read her face as best, and as discretely, as he could. As was also routine, it was infuriatingly, unnaturally neutral. Still, something about her was different. All the sudden, it hit him, and he tried as hard as he could not to stare at her neck. For wrapped around it was a startlingly yellow piece of fabric. He thought he should recognize it, but he could not, so he brushed it off. "Alia? What's up?"

A tinge of discomfort crossed her face for a moment. "Zero ... I just wanted to ask you ... you know how we've got to go through X's ... X's things, right?"

He nodded slowly. "Right."

She averted her eyes for a moment. "I was just kind of wondering when ... when you wanted to do it."

Alright ... I knew this was coming. "Honestly? I'm not looking forward to it ... at all."

"Me neither. But I don't expect myself to be any time soon." Her mood hardened a little more – a fair amount of emotion bled away into nothingness. "But we need to do it sooner rather than later. Quinn's going to need those quarters for whoever he brings in. And if I know Quinn, he'll be making his decision soon. It would probably be better for the rest of the unit, too. Everyone's getting a little jumpy around his quarters. That, and I ... I want to get it behind me, Zero. I ... I need to get it behind me."

Again, Zero nodded. It took a supreme mental effort on his part not to breathe a sigh of relief. This was the closest thing he had seen to Alia actually admitting that she was holding back her feelings so far. "I understand. I want to be done with it too." And that was true enough. The "casing of the quarters," as this particular circumstance was known among Hunters, was never something he had particularly liked having to do. Since it was X's living space in question, that dislike and discomfort only intensified.

"So ... what I really wanted to know ... do you want to do it today?"

Zero was surprised. He figured she would have wanted to wait at least another day. Best to go with it. Get it done while she actually wants to do it. "Sure," he said finally. "What time?"

Beth looked forlornly at the letter in Quinn's hand. "I give up."

Quinn grunted, wadding the paper up in his hands and tossing it into their bedroom's trashcan. "Don't worry about it, honey. We'll get it sorted out. You and I both know there are countries that give reploids marriage licenses."

"I know. I'm just tired of this, Quinn. This is our tenth rejection. And we can't afford to pay five-thousand dollars for a Russian license or move to North America. Either way, there's no way half our guest list could come if we had to go to another country. It's sort of a bad omen, if you ask me."

Quinn shook his head. "Nonsense. If they don't want to make it official, that's their problem. I don't need a little piece of paper to know that I love you."

She smiled and readjusted herself on the couch. "Same here, sap."

He smirked lightly. "Do you have a problem with my behavior?"

"Not at all. I guess ... I guess we could still do the ceremony. It just wouldn't be official." She slumped to the side slightly so their shoulders were touching and rested her head on his arm.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He knew how much she wanted a real wedding, official in the eyes of the law. She was old enough to understand a great deal about how the world worked, but it was obvious she didn't really understand this. Hell, he thought, wrapping an arm around her, I don't either. I've already found a church that'll do it. That should have been the hard part. He didn't dare tell Beth anything about that though, not until they were ready to choose a location. It was X that directed him to the small Methodist church just outside Tokyo. It was three-hundred years old, miraculously still standing. The kindly old minister had no problems with marrying the two of them. He didn't so much as give it, or the fact that he was seemingly staring at a pair of Christian artificial life forms, a second thought.

"No," Beth said suddenly, sharply, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be worrying about it right now. Not after –"

"Hey," Quinn cut her off softly, "what do you mean now's not the time? He's gone, Beth. We can't stop living because of what's happening. We might want to, but we can't. If you want to discuss this, you shouldn't feel guilty about it."

Silence reigned for a full minute, and she finally sighed, gestured at the trashcan and asked, "Any other ideas?"

Before he could speak, a chime filled the air. "Be right back." He moved swiftly through the three room apartment until he was standing in front of the door. It slid back, revealing none other than the Crimson Hunter. He wore black jeans and a white t-shirt, and his face featured one of its more serious expressions. Quinn instantly noticed the collapsible boxes he held under either arm, and felt something twist in his abdomen. So it's time. "Zero."

"Quinn ... I just wanted to let you know that Alia and I will be starting on X's quarters in a minute. We might have to move some stuff out into the common room for a few minutes, so it might get a little crowded."

The stealthy tiger nodded slowly, and when he spoke again, it seemed to be a product of great personal effort. "Alright. Do I need to do anything?"

Zero shook his head. "Not for the moment, but if we need you for something, I'll let you know, Commander."

"Computer, lights on." For the first time in twenty-four long hours, light flooded the quarters of the former Commander of the Seventeenth Unit. Zero was sure it was the eeriest thing he would ever see. If he hadn't known any better, he would have sworn everything was completely normal. The kitchenette off the living room was spotless, as usual. The full, dual keyboard synthesizer in front of the window was covered in the sheets for one of Beethoven's symphonies. The coffee table in front of the couch was covered in magazines and a copy of the novelized version of the late 20th Century American Civil War drama Glory. Zero caught sight of X's desk and office chair through a crack in the bedroom door. The only thing remotely out of place was the vacuum cleaner leaning against the wall next to the hall closet. He knew X well enough to know that was the Blue Bomber's way of reminding himself to clean the floors sometime in the next week. The Commander of Unit Zero turned to Alia. "You sure you're ready to do this?"

The spotter stood stock still. Unlike Zero, her arms were unencumbered; they hung limply at her side. She too was taking in the scene, though her expression did not betray an equal amount of familiarity with what she was seeing. She had only been a Hunter for twenty-four months, and in that time, she very rarely entered X's quarters. This was her fifth visit. She was quite clearly looking at everything as though seeing it for the first time. "Let's ... get started."

Zero nodded, but neither of them moved. "... What should we do first?"

"Uh ... We can leave the synthesizer alone for now. I won't talk to Audrey until Monday. Give me a few boxes. I'm going to clean off the bookshelves."

Zero did as asked, then looked around as something new occurred to him. "You know what? He didn't tell us what to do with the furniture. None of this is standard living equipment from Residential Resources. He owned all of it." He sighed.

Alia looked up from the box she was unfolding on the floor, her eyes slightly wide. She shook her head, and almost smiled. "Really, Zero. As if we didn't have enough to think about." Zero shrugged and bent down to help her build a few more boxes. "I heard Douglas say Storage Area Two is empty a few days ago. They just cleared out a bunch of new plasma cannons we just got in for the Excelsior mechas."

"Okay ... so what do we do after we move it?" Zero asked.

"We'll worry about that then. Pull that tab out for me. Who designed these stupid things? Some weirdo with three arms?"

Alia pulled Shakespeare's Julius Caesar from the shelf and wiped the dust off the ancient hardcover. "Didn't like this one too much, did you?" she whispered, carefully laying the book in an open box. She slid the now full container towards a stack of twenty Kaygar Instant Boxes destined for her room. Off to the side of the small synthetic cardboard fort (capped off, not coincidently, by a mint condition Waterford full-crystal chess set) Zero had gathered the lock-box destined for Signas, X's tool chest and dream catcher, and a little further off, a framed eight by ten – his private share of X's material legacy. It portrayed the Blue Bomber and Crimson Hunter, side-by-side and back to back. X was offering the camera a peace sign and a rare full toothed grin. Both of them were still in full combat armor, minus helmets. Zero, and pretty much everyone who knew X at all, knew the only reason he was smiling so soon after an Uprising was the fact that the blond berserker had returned from the dead. "That's the last of the books," she called out in a voice that wasn't nearly as strong as she intended.

"Okay," Zero replied from the kitchenette. He saw her blinking desperately at the tears brimming her eyelids, but said nothing. He wouldn't react until she wanted him to. "I've boxed up all the glasses, silverware, cooking utensils, and china. The fridge is empty, except for some cola and a few bottled waters. Other than that, there's nothing else in here. He ... really wasn't much into eating, and I've made it a point over the last two decades to actively discourage any cooking."

"Probably a good idea."

"Alright, Alia. What's next?" It occurred to Zero that the two of them were going through the room in anything but an organized fashion. It was more of a "what's gong to make me least uncomfortable" approach.

She paused, considering the question. She glanced at the bedroom, and unconsciously shook her head. Not yet. It was Zero who retrieved the dreamcatcher – Alia had yet to set foot in the room. "Let's get ... I want to be done with this room before we do anything else. What should we do with the pictures?" She gestured at the two framed images hanging on the wall. One was an oil based work – the city of Tokyo at night, as it would have appeared in 2012. Alia had no idea what the other one was, though she had seen it a number of times. For whatever reason she had never brought herself to ask. It was a watercolor image of a man and a woman in front of a blue background. The man was the shorter of the two, with black eyebrows, black mustache and beard, and sharp blue eyes. A bright smile lit his twenty-something face. He wore a colorful tie-died shirt that fell the full length of the portrait. The woman next to him was a good head taller, with long blond hair, blue eyes, and light complexion. The artist pictured her yellow sun dress ruffling under the influence of an unseen wind.

Alia pointed at the second picture. "I never asked him who they were. I don't suppose you have any idea?"

Zero shifted on his feet. "Not for sure, no. It's something else X found when Doctor Cain woke him up. We came to the conclusion that the man is a younger version of Thomas Light than history is used to."

Alia nodded in agreement. "And the woman?"

"At first, we thought it was Roll, but we ruled that one out when we looked up the historical data on her. That woman is too tall to be Roll, so ... I have no idea."

"Why did he have to forget to tell us what to do with something so ... big?"

Zero shrugged. "I'll get them off the wall. We'll worry with them later."

"I wonder if he would have minded if we hung them ... out there." She nodded in the direction of the Seventeenth's common area.

Zero offered her a small smile. "I don't see why. I'll put them outside by the door, then."

Alia nodded, and the smile left her face. She bent down to the pile of Instant Boxes and pulled out a long, deep one. "I'm going to start the hall closet."

A few moments later, she swung the door open, unconsciously attempting to steel herself for whatever she was about to see. Thankfully, at first sight she was greeted with nothing more than a small collection of coats, jackets and sweaters. She began to remove and fold them one by one, lying them in the first of many boxes headed for whatever charity decided to accept the donation. She stopped only briefly when she pulled out a long, black leather trench coat. She remembered instantly the first time she'd seen it – that night, eighteen months ago, on the roof of the Hunter Intelligence building after her failed attempt to revive Gate. She remembered what it felt like against her skin when X draped it silently over her shoulders. How, she found herself wondering, could that only have been eighteen months ago? It feels like last week.

She folded it like the others, but stopped short of putting it on top of the garish plaid sweater in the donation box. She instead laid it on top of a box containing the collected works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. If Zero noticed, he said nothing. She went back to the closet as though she'd done nothing out of the ordinary.

A few minutes and another box later, her task complete, she turned to Zero. "Zero ... where's his bomber jacket? It's not in here. Maybe ... maybe it's in his bedroom closet."

"It isn't," Zero said before he could stop himself. Alia stared at him, willing him to elaborate. After a moment and with obvious reluctance, he did. "Alia, did you see him at all yesterday?" She shook her head. "He was wearing it ... when he went to the park. Along with those ancient jeans."

Alia blinked. "Oh. So ... they're in one of the armor pods then. One of us should ... I'll ... get them later." She put a lid on the box. "The closet's done." She sighed. "That leaves the bedroom, doesn't it?"

Zero's frown was unmistakable. "I'm afraid so."

"Damn. Come on."

Zero flung the door to X's bedroom open almost viciously, yet somehow prevented it from slamming against the wall. Like everything else in the small apartment, it gave the impression of something totally and completely interrupted. The full sized bed was unmade, a sign that he had been planning to change the sheets before the day was over. Zero thought that was odd. X usually changed the sheets once a week, on Monday. No matter what the cause, it gave them both a perfect view of the white sheets with yellow smiley faces and the sky blue comforter splayed haphazardly over them. Unlike the other room, the walls were bare. The terminal on the perfectly organized desk was still in standby mode, though it now sported a status window proclaiming that security lockout protocols were in effect. The clock on the nightstand next to the bed ticked silently; everything was in its place, except for X.

"I think I'll start with the bathroom," Zero whispered, knowing he was beating Alia to it but not caring as much as he knew he should. The restroom was the most emotionally innocuous part of the master bedroom, and he knew that. But it didn't stop him from disappearing into the tile room with a plastic container in his hand.

The Maverick Hunters' senior spotter took in the room, face neutral. She was left with the question of how a 1200 square-foot apartment could be so large. I guess I should check under the bed. He might have kept something under there. Then I can do the closet. She crept softly across the room and knelt next to the bed, putting a hand underneath the frame supporting the mattress. With what amounted to zero effort on her part, she lifted the corner of the bed six inches in the air – and almost dropped it when she saw what was underneath. She flattened her palms on the carpet and unknowingly hung her head. She felt her stomach knot. If she were human, she would have been running for the nearest toilet.

After a full minute, she reached a hand underneath the bed frame and pulled out a roll of shiny blue wrapping paper emblazoned with gold, flowing script that repeatedly proclaimed to all who would read it: "Happy Birthday!" All at once, she was torn between the desire to rip the roll in half and handle it as though it were some ancient relic. In the end, she ended up sitting on the bed with a roll of waxed paper in her lap.

Without realizing it, she began tracing each little smiling, innocent yellow face on the bed sheet with her index finger. So many little faces grinning up at her ... all of the sudden, she found herself wondering how anything could so much as look so damned happy right now. Suddenly, her hand brushed over something a lot rougher than the surrounding cotton. She looked down, and saw a dark patch of ... something peeking out from under the pillow. Instantly interested, she grabbed the headrest and pulled it up.

This time, her hand flew to her mouth to cut off a scream, and her already jarred artificial stomach did a back flip. "Oh ... oh ..." The top of the sheet was drenched in a dried thick, blue-black liquid. Circulatory fluid. In the back of her mind, the part that was still functioning, she noted from the color and hardness of the coolant that it had been there at least three days, most likely since the hostage event at Mount Rushmore. But he didn't report any injuries with me or Lifesaver. Why? She had her answer almost instantly. The infirmary was a mess after the Rushmore incident – twenty percent over capacity. If it was non-critical, X would have treated the injury himself. He was a certified field medic, after all – he knew how to take care of most superficial wounds. "I guess that's why you wanted to change the sheets, huh? You could have told me, you know. I wouldn't have been worried." Was that the truth? She didn't really know any more. She wasn't really aware of the words coming out of her mouth, and she had no explanation for the sobs that were escaping her throat.