Walking Ghosts
First: Desperation
by Lady Virgo
"When the end of the
line clings
to your neck.
It comes."
///
The halls of Skull Fortress were eerily lifeless, like it had never been before. Not when the first group of Robot Masters had just arrived, not even when the Stardroids were running havoc in the corridors. But suddenly, they were faced with a subject both familiar yet strangely alien to them: Mortality.
They were robots. They weren't living, they weren't biological creatures. How could they? They were creations that didn't know the necessities of sleep and nourishment and breathing the way an organic being did. And yet they had to face the undeniable fact. Crash was dead. And he wasn't going to come back.
There were few that were actually close to him, and those that were adored him. He was the little brother people would actually liked, someone that looked up to everyone and always did their best and never tried to be a burden. They all took it hard.
Quick was sitting at his usual seat in the chow hall, doing the same thing he'd been doing for the passed few days now, just sitting there, looking at the empty space of the seat across from him, the seat Crash always sat in. And he sighed, trying to keep the rolling void from engulfing him.
Metal sat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, watching as he was barely acknowledged. "Quick." He said quietly. "Quick, how're you holding up?"
"Terrible." His voice was thin. He blamed himself, because he wasn't out taking care of business that he shouldn't have just left out in the open, out for Crash to feel he should deal with it. He had come out of his room initially because he knew there was something horribly wrong with how Crash last left. And he came out to prove himself wrong, only to find out that he wasn't. He spent that day locked in Crash's room, crying by the body and refusing anyone else trying to see him until he had no more tears to spend. They were closer than brothers, closer than anyone else in the fortress. Metal, to be completely honest, was surprised that Quick hadn't killed himself then.
Which was part of why he was here at the moment. "You know," he started lamely, "Ring isn't doing too hot, either." His eyes flickered to him quickly, "He's blaming himself, too." Quick's sullen disposition lately sent sickening shivers up Metal's spine. "Because he yelled at Crash just before his. his death, because he treated him so badly." He gave the younger bioroid an one-armed hug. "He's afraid that you'll hate him now. Please, Quick, talk to him. This was all because he didn't understand. Talk to him, make him understand." He laid his head on Quick's shoulder. "I can't lose anyone else I care about, I don't know what I'd do with myself."
There was silence on both their parts and Metal, for a moment, was afraid that Quick would again take to hiding. But instead, a hand rested on his own and he looked up to Quick sadly smiling face, lines around his eyes, weary and sunken, made him appear so much older than he should have.
"I'll do what I can, Metal."
///
"Wily-sama, you called for us?"
The two exchanged glances, waiting patiently for an answer that was not forthcoming.
"Wily-sama?"
A great length of nothing passed and Pharaoh trembled. Then took a step forward.
"What are you /doing/?" Magnet hissed, grabbing his arm. But the Russian made robot shook out of his hold and crept silently to the doctor's chair. There were very few times that Wily would face those that talked to him, becoming a rarer occurrence as time progressed. Pharaoh's footfalls were muffled in the great space of the room, but if the old man hadn't heard them earlier, it was doubtful he'd hear now.
He took confidence that Wily was at least still alive from the clacking of long nailed fingers on keyboard, the computer screen flickering in the darkness as it took in the information tapped into it. Half daring to put a hand on the wide backed chair, but thought better of it and sidestepped to look at the man that sat there.
Calculations and plans were on the screen and Pharaoh recognized some of the variables from the Stardroids' brief stay, but the form was of one he had never seen before. He turned to look at the human that he pledged his loyalty to and had to clamp down an audible shock of breath. In all recent memories, no had really seen their creator (or re-programmer) for months, possibly even going on a year by now. It was just as well because Wily was almost beyond recognition, was almost beyond the point of being human. His skin had withered, wrinkled and hanging from bony arms, his hands like cracked claws stabbing incessantly at the keys. He had the face of a cadaver, eyes dark like bruises set deep in a fragile skull. What little white hair he had on his head was coarse, thin, limp, wisps of strangled cotton that seemed unwashed. The room had been, on several occasions, been liken to a crypt by many bioroids that had gone to his call. The air oppressive and stagnant and smelt like dead wisteria and moist earth and rotting flesh, stench of the man had to have been the source of it, the most foul thing Pharaoh had ever experienced.
So distracted by the torturous odor he hadn't realized that the man was staring at him. The fact that such a being could still move and be considered 'alive' defied all process of logic. But for all the life that the body seemed to have lost, those sharp, dark eyes burned with excess.
"Mind your place!" The old man snapped, his very being seemed to expand for a moment, filling the room, forcing Pharaoh back in fear of his very life.
"I-My apologize, Wily-sama!" He stammered, stumbling back and trying to bow at the same time.
Wily glared at him, not giving Magnet a look as the robot shook his head, still kneeling on the ground. Turning back to the computer he said gravely, "Leave me be."
"But, Wily-sama-"
"Silence!" Pharaoh flinched. "I will not be disturbed! Now leave! Both of you!"
Quickly the two bowed and retreated out the door, out of the wing designated for Wily's use only. Once safely back in the halls no longer prowled by bored, rowdy Robot Masters, Magnet glared at Pharaoh from the corner of his eye. "Nice going."
"Shut up."
///
Very few things bothered Ring to the point of distraction. Or deep depression. But when ones life suddenly was broken into scores of glass shards that mocked them, despised them, shunned them, one had plenty of things to be depressed about. Having one of his best friends die, most likely because of Ring's harsh temper and stubborn hate, and having his other best friend possible hate him for the rest of existence made about 90% of his 'my life is crap' factor. The other was the fact that, because of all the trouble he had caused, he was no longer allowed into the medbay. Not that being a medical bot was something he had enjoyed doing day in and day out, but at times it was a nice haven from the merciless grind of the fortress. The work would take his mind off his problems, clear his head, occasionally giving him a better perspective. And with that one vise forcefully taken away from him, Ring had no choice but to face the consequences of his jealousy.
And he was facing it by attempting to get drunk in his room.
There was a hesitant knock on the door which he made no attempt to answer. Nor did he make an attempt to hide the fact that he was in the room as he let out a vodka laced belch. His visitor knocked again and he took a swig. Then they buzzed.
"Ring?" Came a voice muffled by the thick metal. "Ring, open up." The Russian robot sat up straight, suddenly feeling very sober indeed. He knew that voice anywhere, haunting his dreams and thoughts and floating underneath his door. But, the inebriated lanes in his mind slurred, he hates you. You killed his brother. It's your fault, he's here just so he can yell at you, tear your heart in his bloody hands and spit in your humiliated face.
He shrank at the morbidity of his thoughts.
"Ring, please. I. I want to talk to you." To him, Quick's voice was more potent than any siren's and he nearly leapt at the door, partly empty bottle clanking dangerously against the wall when his body realized it really had no idea what it was doing.
Cautiously he slid the door open slightly, pressing half his face against the opening. "Qu-Quick.?" His tongue stumbled slightly, unused in the passed few days. Quick's worried face peered at him, blurry and uncertain.
"Ring, are you okay?"
"'M fine."
"You look terrible." He grabbed the edge of the door. "Let me in." He started to push it open but Ring stopped him.
"No!" They both paused. "I, uh, I mean, don't. Please." Ring cleared his throat. "I.. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
"No, I'm sorry." He shook his head, alcohol swishing in his brain. "It's my fault. Because I was so harsh to Crash, because I didn't considered your feelings, because I was. I was just so stupid. I was so selfish." His knees were getting weaker as he began losing control of his voice, babbling and losing awareness. "This is all my fault. I didn't want you to get hurt, Shadow just. he just made me so angry the way he'd walk all over you! And you wouldn't do anything but cry and take it all silently and I couldn't stand it. I wanted him away from you, I wanted to make you happy but he made you happy but I didn't see that because all I saw was him being an ass and I couldn't understand why you liked him and I wanted him gone," Ring's forehead was braced against the door, his words running together as he gasped, "and Crash tried to stop me because he understood. But I wouldn't listen. he tried to stop me but I wouldn't listen. And it's my fault that you locked yourself away and it's my fault that Crash killed himself and it's my fault that everyone's different and. and it's all just my fault."
He didn't know at what part he had fallen to the ground, or when it was that Quick had opened the door, sitting next to him, holding him. The bottle had dropped out of his numb fingers, the scentless vodka had spilled over the floor, dripping out of the long-necked bottle. Ring babbled on, crying and shivering and clutching Quick because he was the only one left that he had to turn to. And Quick just sat there, making soothing as he ran trembling fingers through Ring's unkempt hair.
"It's okay, Ring. It's okay." He muttered softly. "I don't hate you, I don't blame you. No one does." He held Ring as tight as his shaking arms would let, hiding tears in his hair. "I don't want to lose anyone else. Not you, not anyone. Please don't leave me, too.."
///
It was cold in the lab, to reduce the chance of an electric shock that could wipe all his hard work from the countless disks and chips that he had spread out on the tables. The culmination of his life's work. He wouldn't dare anything happening to them. Dr. Wily rubbed his hands. It was /supposed/ to be cold in here, but he couldn't feel it anymore, his hands numb to everything but the feel of machinery molding under his brittle fingertips. His nails and skin were permanently stained with flecks of blood, small scars around his knuckles and where the meat of his fingers once were when weariness had caught up with him more than once.
His breathing labored hard, puffing out wisps of creamy white. The crackling wires slowly dulled, pulsing and pumping as information shot out of one of the computers to the neuronet it was connected to. The values on the computer rose and fell in stable perimeters and he couldn't help the little, hysterical giggle that passed through his thin and withered lips. Teeth rotten and gray and chipped from neglect shone eerily as he jumped once, then hurried to the computer by the body.
The thin line of his eyebrows came down to displeased points. Something was wrong with the transfer. They were supposed to be showing a rise in the EPU, but nothing appeared to be happening. Frowning, Wily typed quickly, the nimbleness his fingers had injected into their very marrow coming to life as they shook, redirecting the flow of information. There, he grunted happily to himself, the EPU began to register.
He watched the patterns on the electron monitor with glee, practically shaking with giddiness as the values rose and fell, slowly stabilizing. He was very nearly on the verge of singing. Or screaming with joy. Hands clenched and held high into the air, he let out a little hoot of triumph. He had it this time. He would /win/ this time. This time, the world would recognize his power, his plan, and they would follow like the docile lambs they were created to be. And no one, not Thomas, not that annoyance Rock or that bastard child Blues could take this away from him. He had overcome.
"My last, my final." He said with suppressed mirth, smile turning maniacal as trembling fingers stroked the computer screen. "You are my heir, the one that shall inherit the earth. Lead my children into the future that I have set out for you," his voice became strained and high, mind going far beyond the reaches of any human, "for from the ashes of death comes the shadow of the phoenix!" He spun around in the eerie lighting, lab coat billowing about him like a mighty robe fit for the king of man.
And as the era crumbles, the first to fall apart is the throne.
"My beautiful creation," Wily cackled, anxious claws running through the long strands of blonde. "Soon you shall awaken. Soon you can fulfill my lifelong dream. Pick up where the others had failed. Complete the task no one else could, no matter the cost." He suddenly grew sober, old eyes squinting in their liver-spotted skull. "I will not have spent my life in vain. I will have accomplished my task and I will make my name emblazoned in history with you. My final project, my dear..." In a fatherly manner, denoting all the time and expense spent on it, Wily bent forward and kissed its forehead.
by Lady Virgo
"When the end of the
line clings
to your neck.
It comes."
///
The halls of Skull Fortress were eerily lifeless, like it had never been before. Not when the first group of Robot Masters had just arrived, not even when the Stardroids were running havoc in the corridors. But suddenly, they were faced with a subject both familiar yet strangely alien to them: Mortality.
They were robots. They weren't living, they weren't biological creatures. How could they? They were creations that didn't know the necessities of sleep and nourishment and breathing the way an organic being did. And yet they had to face the undeniable fact. Crash was dead. And he wasn't going to come back.
There were few that were actually close to him, and those that were adored him. He was the little brother people would actually liked, someone that looked up to everyone and always did their best and never tried to be a burden. They all took it hard.
Quick was sitting at his usual seat in the chow hall, doing the same thing he'd been doing for the passed few days now, just sitting there, looking at the empty space of the seat across from him, the seat Crash always sat in. And he sighed, trying to keep the rolling void from engulfing him.
Metal sat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, watching as he was barely acknowledged. "Quick." He said quietly. "Quick, how're you holding up?"
"Terrible." His voice was thin. He blamed himself, because he wasn't out taking care of business that he shouldn't have just left out in the open, out for Crash to feel he should deal with it. He had come out of his room initially because he knew there was something horribly wrong with how Crash last left. And he came out to prove himself wrong, only to find out that he wasn't. He spent that day locked in Crash's room, crying by the body and refusing anyone else trying to see him until he had no more tears to spend. They were closer than brothers, closer than anyone else in the fortress. Metal, to be completely honest, was surprised that Quick hadn't killed himself then.
Which was part of why he was here at the moment. "You know," he started lamely, "Ring isn't doing too hot, either." His eyes flickered to him quickly, "He's blaming himself, too." Quick's sullen disposition lately sent sickening shivers up Metal's spine. "Because he yelled at Crash just before his. his death, because he treated him so badly." He gave the younger bioroid an one-armed hug. "He's afraid that you'll hate him now. Please, Quick, talk to him. This was all because he didn't understand. Talk to him, make him understand." He laid his head on Quick's shoulder. "I can't lose anyone else I care about, I don't know what I'd do with myself."
There was silence on both their parts and Metal, for a moment, was afraid that Quick would again take to hiding. But instead, a hand rested on his own and he looked up to Quick sadly smiling face, lines around his eyes, weary and sunken, made him appear so much older than he should have.
"I'll do what I can, Metal."
///
"Wily-sama, you called for us?"
The two exchanged glances, waiting patiently for an answer that was not forthcoming.
"Wily-sama?"
A great length of nothing passed and Pharaoh trembled. Then took a step forward.
"What are you /doing/?" Magnet hissed, grabbing his arm. But the Russian made robot shook out of his hold and crept silently to the doctor's chair. There were very few times that Wily would face those that talked to him, becoming a rarer occurrence as time progressed. Pharaoh's footfalls were muffled in the great space of the room, but if the old man hadn't heard them earlier, it was doubtful he'd hear now.
He took confidence that Wily was at least still alive from the clacking of long nailed fingers on keyboard, the computer screen flickering in the darkness as it took in the information tapped into it. Half daring to put a hand on the wide backed chair, but thought better of it and sidestepped to look at the man that sat there.
Calculations and plans were on the screen and Pharaoh recognized some of the variables from the Stardroids' brief stay, but the form was of one he had never seen before. He turned to look at the human that he pledged his loyalty to and had to clamp down an audible shock of breath. In all recent memories, no had really seen their creator (or re-programmer) for months, possibly even going on a year by now. It was just as well because Wily was almost beyond recognition, was almost beyond the point of being human. His skin had withered, wrinkled and hanging from bony arms, his hands like cracked claws stabbing incessantly at the keys. He had the face of a cadaver, eyes dark like bruises set deep in a fragile skull. What little white hair he had on his head was coarse, thin, limp, wisps of strangled cotton that seemed unwashed. The room had been, on several occasions, been liken to a crypt by many bioroids that had gone to his call. The air oppressive and stagnant and smelt like dead wisteria and moist earth and rotting flesh, stench of the man had to have been the source of it, the most foul thing Pharaoh had ever experienced.
So distracted by the torturous odor he hadn't realized that the man was staring at him. The fact that such a being could still move and be considered 'alive' defied all process of logic. But for all the life that the body seemed to have lost, those sharp, dark eyes burned with excess.
"Mind your place!" The old man snapped, his very being seemed to expand for a moment, filling the room, forcing Pharaoh back in fear of his very life.
"I-My apologize, Wily-sama!" He stammered, stumbling back and trying to bow at the same time.
Wily glared at him, not giving Magnet a look as the robot shook his head, still kneeling on the ground. Turning back to the computer he said gravely, "Leave me be."
"But, Wily-sama-"
"Silence!" Pharaoh flinched. "I will not be disturbed! Now leave! Both of you!"
Quickly the two bowed and retreated out the door, out of the wing designated for Wily's use only. Once safely back in the halls no longer prowled by bored, rowdy Robot Masters, Magnet glared at Pharaoh from the corner of his eye. "Nice going."
"Shut up."
///
Very few things bothered Ring to the point of distraction. Or deep depression. But when ones life suddenly was broken into scores of glass shards that mocked them, despised them, shunned them, one had plenty of things to be depressed about. Having one of his best friends die, most likely because of Ring's harsh temper and stubborn hate, and having his other best friend possible hate him for the rest of existence made about 90% of his 'my life is crap' factor. The other was the fact that, because of all the trouble he had caused, he was no longer allowed into the medbay. Not that being a medical bot was something he had enjoyed doing day in and day out, but at times it was a nice haven from the merciless grind of the fortress. The work would take his mind off his problems, clear his head, occasionally giving him a better perspective. And with that one vise forcefully taken away from him, Ring had no choice but to face the consequences of his jealousy.
And he was facing it by attempting to get drunk in his room.
There was a hesitant knock on the door which he made no attempt to answer. Nor did he make an attempt to hide the fact that he was in the room as he let out a vodka laced belch. His visitor knocked again and he took a swig. Then they buzzed.
"Ring?" Came a voice muffled by the thick metal. "Ring, open up." The Russian robot sat up straight, suddenly feeling very sober indeed. He knew that voice anywhere, haunting his dreams and thoughts and floating underneath his door. But, the inebriated lanes in his mind slurred, he hates you. You killed his brother. It's your fault, he's here just so he can yell at you, tear your heart in his bloody hands and spit in your humiliated face.
He shrank at the morbidity of his thoughts.
"Ring, please. I. I want to talk to you." To him, Quick's voice was more potent than any siren's and he nearly leapt at the door, partly empty bottle clanking dangerously against the wall when his body realized it really had no idea what it was doing.
Cautiously he slid the door open slightly, pressing half his face against the opening. "Qu-Quick.?" His tongue stumbled slightly, unused in the passed few days. Quick's worried face peered at him, blurry and uncertain.
"Ring, are you okay?"
"'M fine."
"You look terrible." He grabbed the edge of the door. "Let me in." He started to push it open but Ring stopped him.
"No!" They both paused. "I, uh, I mean, don't. Please." Ring cleared his throat. "I.. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
"No, I'm sorry." He shook his head, alcohol swishing in his brain. "It's my fault. Because I was so harsh to Crash, because I didn't considered your feelings, because I was. I was just so stupid. I was so selfish." His knees were getting weaker as he began losing control of his voice, babbling and losing awareness. "This is all my fault. I didn't want you to get hurt, Shadow just. he just made me so angry the way he'd walk all over you! And you wouldn't do anything but cry and take it all silently and I couldn't stand it. I wanted him away from you, I wanted to make you happy but he made you happy but I didn't see that because all I saw was him being an ass and I couldn't understand why you liked him and I wanted him gone," Ring's forehead was braced against the door, his words running together as he gasped, "and Crash tried to stop me because he understood. But I wouldn't listen. he tried to stop me but I wouldn't listen. And it's my fault that you locked yourself away and it's my fault that Crash killed himself and it's my fault that everyone's different and. and it's all just my fault."
He didn't know at what part he had fallen to the ground, or when it was that Quick had opened the door, sitting next to him, holding him. The bottle had dropped out of his numb fingers, the scentless vodka had spilled over the floor, dripping out of the long-necked bottle. Ring babbled on, crying and shivering and clutching Quick because he was the only one left that he had to turn to. And Quick just sat there, making soothing as he ran trembling fingers through Ring's unkempt hair.
"It's okay, Ring. It's okay." He muttered softly. "I don't hate you, I don't blame you. No one does." He held Ring as tight as his shaking arms would let, hiding tears in his hair. "I don't want to lose anyone else. Not you, not anyone. Please don't leave me, too.."
///
It was cold in the lab, to reduce the chance of an electric shock that could wipe all his hard work from the countless disks and chips that he had spread out on the tables. The culmination of his life's work. He wouldn't dare anything happening to them. Dr. Wily rubbed his hands. It was /supposed/ to be cold in here, but he couldn't feel it anymore, his hands numb to everything but the feel of machinery molding under his brittle fingertips. His nails and skin were permanently stained with flecks of blood, small scars around his knuckles and where the meat of his fingers once were when weariness had caught up with him more than once.
His breathing labored hard, puffing out wisps of creamy white. The crackling wires slowly dulled, pulsing and pumping as information shot out of one of the computers to the neuronet it was connected to. The values on the computer rose and fell in stable perimeters and he couldn't help the little, hysterical giggle that passed through his thin and withered lips. Teeth rotten and gray and chipped from neglect shone eerily as he jumped once, then hurried to the computer by the body.
The thin line of his eyebrows came down to displeased points. Something was wrong with the transfer. They were supposed to be showing a rise in the EPU, but nothing appeared to be happening. Frowning, Wily typed quickly, the nimbleness his fingers had injected into their very marrow coming to life as they shook, redirecting the flow of information. There, he grunted happily to himself, the EPU began to register.
He watched the patterns on the electron monitor with glee, practically shaking with giddiness as the values rose and fell, slowly stabilizing. He was very nearly on the verge of singing. Or screaming with joy. Hands clenched and held high into the air, he let out a little hoot of triumph. He had it this time. He would /win/ this time. This time, the world would recognize his power, his plan, and they would follow like the docile lambs they were created to be. And no one, not Thomas, not that annoyance Rock or that bastard child Blues could take this away from him. He had overcome.
"My last, my final." He said with suppressed mirth, smile turning maniacal as trembling fingers stroked the computer screen. "You are my heir, the one that shall inherit the earth. Lead my children into the future that I have set out for you," his voice became strained and high, mind going far beyond the reaches of any human, "for from the ashes of death comes the shadow of the phoenix!" He spun around in the eerie lighting, lab coat billowing about him like a mighty robe fit for the king of man.
And as the era crumbles, the first to fall apart is the throne.
"My beautiful creation," Wily cackled, anxious claws running through the long strands of blonde. "Soon you shall awaken. Soon you can fulfill my lifelong dream. Pick up where the others had failed. Complete the task no one else could, no matter the cost." He suddenly grew sober, old eyes squinting in their liver-spotted skull. "I will not have spent my life in vain. I will have accomplished my task and I will make my name emblazoned in history with you. My final project, my dear..." In a fatherly manner, denoting all the time and expense spent on it, Wily bent forward and kissed its forehead.