AN: Thank you for your patience, here's chapter 3. Oh yeah, I don't own any characters except the ones I made up.
Chapter 3
They were close now, he could feel it. The strange compulsion that had drawn him to this place was intensifying as he closed the distance between him and the reploids he had sensed earlier.
He sped across the wasteland, passing a few stubborn, nearly leafless shrubs that somehow refused to die despite the harsh conditions every now and then. Dark clouds occasionally blocked out the moon and stars shining in the night sky, briefly casting the landscape in shades of darkness. The rushing wind filled his audio sensors, eliciting a sensation of incredible speed that made the distances he had traveled thus far not appear as vast as they truly were.
XT-203 ascended to the top of a tall, gently sloping hill that was sprinkled with patches of dead grass and came to a halt as he caught sight of a small band of reploids trudging through the wasteland in the distance. As he began to observe them, it only took the prototype a moment to realize that the reploids' were heading right towards him. From his vantage point on the hill, he could see that there were only three of them; however he could sense that there were more reploids approaching his position from the same direction, they were just trailing a short distance behind the ones he now saw.
There was something unusual about these reploids though, they felt different from the reploids he had detected arriving at the place where he'd awoken. The prototype couldn't understand why he found this difference so intriguing. The impulse that had driven him to seek these reploids out had been more instinctive than anything else. Now that he had found them, a new instinct kicked in. One that cautioned XT-203 to hide himself from view and not to do anything might draw attention.
He glanced around with an urgency bordering on desperation, looking for someplace to take cover. Failing to see anything nearby that could be used to conceal himself, XT-203 lay down on the top of the hill and began observing the reploids heading towards him.
The three reploids were approaching at a steady pace in a delta formation, weapons at the ready, but gave no sign of having noticed him – in fact they seemed to be absorbed in a discussion amongst themselves. The lead reploid, who was carrying a large rifle with a cumbersome looking power pack, would turn his head around occasionally to say something in an irritable manner to the two trailing behind him. In turn one or both of the other reploids seemed to respond with comments that seemed to annoy their point man.
As the group of reploids continued to bear down on his location, XT-203 began to make out a strange, purple aura around each of the reploids. Each aura swirled hazily about a reploid and pulsed as though it were alive. The sight of the auras caused XT-203's body to tense up and a strange feeling of anxiety welled up within him.
Why did they have such a strange glow around them? Was that even normal? There was something not right about them . . . what were they?
Mavericks, the unexpected thought popped into his mind. His anxiety began to vanish and give way to a powerful feeling of inexplicable loathing for the three reploids. Their mere existence enraged him. They were a blight upon the world, weeds to be gathered and burned. Yet here they were, brazenly moving about in the open as though they had nothing to fear. They needed to be put in their place.
Mavericks, the thought repeated itself once more, inflaming the hatred that was now coursing through the prototype. His mind began to race, trying to determine what would be the best way to deal with these beings. A strong desire to simply get up and charge down the hill at the Mavericks began to build up within XT-203. He resisted it however – the Mavericks were still over a hundred feet away and attacking now would only give away his position, allowing the Mavericks to open fire on him before he ever got close enough to strike.
The Mavericks were getting closer, they were now only fifty feet from the foot of the hill and they still didn't seem to be aware of him. The prototype's urge to attack increased with every step they took towards him. It was getting harder to resist the impulse and wait for them to get closer before he made his move.
Infect . . . Destroy . . . Delete . . . a strangely familiar voice whispered quietly. The softly spoken words caused XT-203 to forget all about the approaching reploids. The prototype looked around uncertainly as he tried to ascertain who had just spoken to him, but there was nobody else around except for the Mavericks. He heard the voice again, louder this time. Infect . . . Destroy . . . Delete . . .
The prototype continued to scan the area around him uneasily and just like before, there was nobody close enough to be speaking to him. Yet he was certain that he had just heard somebody. What confused XT-203 was that even though he had never heard the voice before in his life, he recognized it. He felt a yearning from deep within himself to do as the voice commanded him. He wanted to please the owner of that voice; XT-203 wanted to make him proud and to hear that pride reflected in the voice.
The prototype heard the voice speaking to him again; it kept repeating the same words over and over. As the voice's repetition of the words became more frequent, they changed from a whispered suggestion to something more like an order. No matter where he looked or how intently he listened, the voice appeared to lack a point of origin. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Infect, destroy, delete! the voice commanded him. The words continued to repeat, becoming a kind of chant. An urgent need to do as the voice commanded began to form, driving out all other concerns from the prototype's mind.
XT-203's hatred towards the Mavericks intensified. The only thing he could think about was killing them, nothing else mattered to him anymore. He wanted to kill them for having that purple aura; he wanted to slay them because that voice demanded it of him. The reason didn't truly matter to him, he just wanted them dead. XT-203 didn't fully comprehend what the voice had meant by infect or delete, but he certainly understood the meaning of destroy.
The prototype, no longer concerned about stealth or strategy, stood up and boldly charged towards the group of Mavericks. A tingling sensation in the back of his hands preceded the activation of the beam sabers built into them. The brilliant gold blades sprang forth as he ran; the light they cast caught the attention of his targets, alerting them to his presence and intentions.
The trio of Mavericks didn't react immediately and stood still for a second or two watching XT-203 come at them – stunned either by the prototype's sudden appearance or by the combination of bravado and stupidity it took for one person to charge three armed soldiers head on. Finally, the Maverick with the large rifle raised his weapon, took aim, and fired.
Suddenly XT-203 felt himself flying backwards and a searing pain in his abdomen. The force of the attack flung him into the hillside, imbedding his body an inch into its slope. The night sky that now filled his vision began to slip out of focus as waves of pain unlike anything the prototype had ever experienced radiated throughout his body, threatening to overwhelm him. The pain became all he could focus on; it even momentarily blotted out his hatred towards the Mavericks.
The mouth of XT-203's fleshless face opened – making it look like a skull whose jaw was agape with laughter or shock – and an unearthly howl of agony escaped from it. The prototype heard the cry, but was too focused on the pain he felt to realize he was its source. While the bone-chilling cry would have startled most other people or make them take pause, it only seemed to encourage the Mavericks to begin advancing on their fallen foe.
Infect, destroy, delete! Infect, destroy, delete! the voice shouted, breaking through the pain and urging XT-203 on. The grip the agonizing pain held over him began to slip as the voice helped the prototype to focus his attention back on the beings he wanted to kill, the ones responsible for inflicting this pain on him. The animosity he felt towards the Mavericks welled up once more. The pain was irrelevant, he had to continue his assault – destroying the Mavericks and pleasing the voice, those were the only things he should be concerned about.
With a determination borne of single-mindedness, XT-203 tried to get up back up. He managed to push himself into a sitting position – aggravating his injury and eliciting new surges of pain throughout his upper body – but no matter how hard he tried, his legs wouldn't move. The prototype looked downward to determine why his legs refused to obey him and saw not only the reason, but the source of his discomfort as well.
The round that had hit the prototype had left a hole in the middle of his stomach big enough for him to stick his fist through. A reddish-black fluid was spilling out of the wound and dangling, sparking wires were visible within the injury itself.
A series of green, transparent words accompanied by flashing, multied indicators and diagrams popped into existence. They hovered before his eyes for a moment before quickly winking out of existence. A part of XT-203, the part that had recognized the Mavericks for what they were, understood what all of the displays had meant. They had appeared to tell him that he was hurt very badly (as though he really needed them to figure that out). Abruptly, the pain he felt from the injury began to vanish and was replaced by a feeling of numbness. An overwhelming feeling of tiredness began to spread through his body as well. His vision began to swim as darkness gathered at its edges. XT-203's strength gave out and he found himself staring up at the night sky as a patch of clouds began to obscure it from view. That was the last thing the prototype reploid saw before his optics shut down. The last sensation he felt was something wiggling around in his stomach region and accompanied by an odd tightening feeling in the same area.
There was nothing but dark and quiet surrounding him. It was a void that seemed to be limitless, stretching on forever. A voice called out to him from the depths of the darkness: Infect, destroy, delete. A hint of disappointment tainted the words; disappointment over his weakness; disappointment over his inability to do what was commanded of him. The tone of the voice incensed the seemingly inbuilt hatred he had for the Mavericks. The voice echoed through the void and drove all other thoughts from his mind except for the thought of destroying his enemies . . .
The blue glow of XT-203's eye sockets reignited and the first thing he saw was a startled Maverick standing over him.
"What the –!" was all the Maverick could choke out as he started to back away from the fallen reploid. XT-203 ignited his beam sabers and brought his left arm up in a swing that cut the Maverick off at the shins. The Maverick flailed as his body plummeted to the ground.
The prototype stood up, his wound now gone and the use of his legs restored to him. His full attention immediately focused on the other two Mavericks, who stood only a few feet down the slope from him. The one with the large gun tried to bring it to bear, but was unable to before XT-203 dashed towards him and impaled the Maverick in the chest with his left saber.
There was a strange sensation in the prototype's arm. As though something were flowing from the Maverick into him, something that made him feel . . . stronger. The Maverick slumped over, drained of life, his rifle falling to the ground. The prototype withdrew his saber from the Maverick and his body fell to the ground. He took his eyes off of his victim and saw his third foe backing away from him.
The only Maverick left standing opened fire with the assault rifle he carried, a look of terror on his face as the bullets ricocheted off XT-203's armor. The Maverick turned and fled down the hill. XT-203 leapt into the air. The jump carried him directly over the Maverick and the prototype brought both of his blades downward in a swift motion as he descended to the ground. The sabers tore into the Maverick's back, causing the reploid to collapse on the ground, screaming in pain. In a swift motion, XT-203 landed, planted a foot on his foe's back and stabbed downward with his right saber. He felt more strength flowing into him as the Maverick's screams suddenly ceased.
XT-203 turned back towards the face of the hill, remembering the Maverick whose legs he had cut off. The Maverick was making an attempt to crawl up the hill in the vain hope of finding safety on the other side. XT-203 traveled up the slope in bounding leaps, reaching the last Maverick quickly. He raised his saber, preparing to disabuse the Maverick of the idea of escaping, when the Maverick rolled over and opened up with his rifle. To the Maverick's shock, the rounds only made small indentions in the prototype's armor that quickly vanished as the armor healed itself.
A gold blade slashed downwards, ending the Maverick's existence and transferring all of its strength to XT-203. While the Maverick's eyes became empty and lifeless, the prototype's eyes glowed brighter as he reveled in the newfound power. The sensation was addicting and even as the impulse to attack faded, he found himself wanting to experience the feeling again.
It took him a moment before he emerged from his reverie enough to realize that the voice that had gone silent. He still didn't know who the voice belonged to, but the prototype was still too caught up in the euphoria caused by draining his foes of their very essence to really care at the moment.
The feeling continued to fade and the prototype turned around, sensing that the other Mavericks he had detected earlier were getting closer. A boiling hatred for the Mavericks once more arose within him and the voice began to whisper its commands to him once more. Infect, destroy, delete. Without hesitation, XT-203 set off to find the remaining Mavericks.
AN: Thanks for reading, please review!