Rock rolled over. His body felt a lot different now that he had left his armor. Part of him was glad to have the extra weight off of his shoulders, but when he looked at what was left of his own body, he wished the armor was his body. Chunks of flesh on his torso were missing, pieces that Auto told him were too decayed to keep, now replaced with steel that poked into what was left of his body every so often. He looked at his arms, pasty pale white, and he could have sworn that he felt something clicking when he moved his left elbow. The hard matress on the floor that he lay on with a thin tarp and a piece of a tire, wrapped in patchy fabric as a pillow was the first time he had the chance to rest his worn body. Even if it was the spartian bed instead, Rock could not sleep at all, his mind already much too occupied with thoughts of his new life as a Megaman.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Rock stared at the low ceiling of the small and dark room, staring up at the ceiling and examining the thin crack that ran along the middle. Even though it was almost a whole day, it seemed like only a few minutes ago that he had woken up face-down on the operating table, seeing Blues and Auto for the first time with nothing but his body and a scattered memory of the man he was before. His thoughts turned to the factory, and how his new body could perform feats that Rock still could not believe he could execute. More sooner than later, Rock thought about the first, and only, Virtuloid he met. There was something about Marie that made his mind tick. Something from within the buried memories in his subconsiousness surfaced whenever he saw her in his head; the image of another human, with flowing blonde hair like Marie's, in front of a setting sun. Rock clamped his eyes shut and tried to force his brain to remember, but nothing came back.
Rock groaned and rolled over onto his side. Shivering, Rock pulled the tarp higher up on his body, covering the tip of his shoulders as his toes peeked out from the bottom. Wrapping his arms around himself, Rock wondered how the others could stand living like this for years on end. Looking at the small remnants of a tiny wristwatch by the head of the matress on the floor beside him, Rock saw that it was exactly midnight, with only five hours to go until Blues told him it was time for all of them to wake up. He began to wonder if his former self was anything like what he was now, and if his previous persona could live like he was living now. Rock tried to imagine himself, as what he was before his death, in the life he had lived before. Meeting his friends, if he had any, coming home to his family, if he had a family or even a home. Nothing came back to him, and Rock found himself on the verge of breaking up.
Marie. The Virtuloid came back to his mind again, and Rock was powerless to flush her out again. Rock had to admit he found her attractive, but at the same time, his stomach churned when he thought of the pleasure she got in slitting human throats like a sport. Rock wondered how someone so beautiful could be so heartless as he rolled onto his other side. Rubbing his eyes, Rock thought about what Blues had said, how he was to use her to get information, how easy it would be to win her trust, and how deavastated she would be if she knew his true motives.
Rock's thoughts finally shifted away from Marie. He wondered if all Virtuloids were as human-careless as Marie was, or if they were even worse. Rock kept wondering what Blues had in store for him in the morning, if it were fighting actual Virtuloids. He suddenly found himself wondering why he was helping them, and he soon concluded that he was the only one who could. Rock began to ponder if his former self was as trustingly compassionate as he was now.
Rock rolled onto his other side again and looked at the tiny watch. It was three-thirty, and Rock felt no more will to sleep than he did before. Beginning to try and remember if he was an insomniac in his last life, Rock found his memory was again dealing him blanks. Rock looked at his hands again, feeling the barrels of his cannons tucked inside his wrists and nothing else, not even a hint of flesh nor vein. He began to wonder how long he would have to live like this, and knew that maybe only the barrels of his cannons would know for sure...
Suddenly, the small clock beeped at him. Rock looked at the tiny watch and saw that it had just turned five o'clock. Immediately, a knocking came from behind his door. "Hey Rock, wake up," came the voice of Blues.
Rock groaned and sat up, kicking the tarp off of his body. Swiveling over to the side of the bed, Rock put on the thin long-sleeved shirt beside his bed, slid on the matching pants and socks, and stood up. Stretching his arms, Rock yawned as he opened the door.
Blues was the first thing that met his eyes. "Sleep well?" Blues asked.
"Didn't sleep at all," Rock muttered.
Blues sighed. "You'll get used to it," he said, "After the first year it'll actually feel comfortable."
Rock decided not to ask Blues how he would know. "So what are you going to have me do today?" Rock asked.
"Not what I'm going to have you do," said Blues, "What you want to do."
Rock gave Blues a confused look. "Come with me to the main room," said Blues, "and we'll start the briefing."
Rubbing the back of his neck, Rock stared at the low ceiling of the small and dark room, staring up at the ceiling and examining the thin crack that ran along the middle. Even though it was almost a whole day, it seemed like only a few minutes ago that he had woken up face-down on the operating table, seeing Blues and Auto for the first time with nothing but his body and a scattered memory of the man he was before. His thoughts turned to the factory, and how his new body could perform feats that Rock still could not believe he could execute. More sooner than later, Rock thought about the first, and only, Virtuloid he met. There was something about Marie that made his mind tick. Something from within the buried memories in his subconsiousness surfaced whenever he saw her in his head; the image of another human, with flowing blonde hair like Marie's, in front of a setting sun. Rock clamped his eyes shut and tried to force his brain to remember, but nothing came back.
Rock groaned and rolled over onto his side. Shivering, Rock pulled the tarp higher up on his body, covering the tip of his shoulders as his toes peeked out from the bottom. Wrapping his arms around himself, Rock wondered how the others could stand living like this for years on end. Looking at the small remnants of a tiny wristwatch by the head of the matress on the floor beside him, Rock saw that it was exactly midnight, with only five hours to go until Blues told him it was time for all of them to wake up. He began to wonder if his former self was anything like what he was now, and if his previous persona could live like he was living now. Rock tried to imagine himself, as what he was before his death, in the life he had lived before. Meeting his friends, if he had any, coming home to his family, if he had a family or even a home. Nothing came back to him, and Rock found himself on the verge of breaking up.
Marie. The Virtuloid came back to his mind again, and Rock was powerless to flush her out again. Rock had to admit he found her attractive, but at the same time, his stomach churned when he thought of the pleasure she got in slitting human throats like a sport. Rock wondered how someone so beautiful could be so heartless as he rolled onto his other side. Rubbing his eyes, Rock thought about what Blues had said, how he was to use her to get information, how easy it would be to win her trust, and how deavastated she would be if she knew his true motives.
Rock's thoughts finally shifted away from Marie. He wondered if all Virtuloids were as human-careless as Marie was, or if they were even worse. Rock kept wondering what Blues had in store for him in the morning, if it were fighting actual Virtuloids. He suddenly found himself wondering why he was helping them, and he soon concluded that he was the only one who could. Rock began to ponder if his former self was as trustingly compassionate as he was now.
Rock rolled onto his other side again and looked at the tiny watch. It was three-thirty, and Rock felt no more will to sleep than he did before. Beginning to try and remember if he was an insomniac in his last life, Rock found his memory was again dealing him blanks. Rock looked at his hands again, feeling the barrels of his cannons tucked inside his wrists and nothing else, not even a hint of flesh nor vein. He began to wonder how long he would have to live like this, and knew that maybe only the barrels of his cannons would know for sure...
Suddenly, the small clock beeped at him. Rock looked at the tiny watch and saw that it had just turned five o'clock. Immediately, a knocking came from behind his door. "Hey Rock, wake up," came the voice of Blues.
Rock groaned and sat up, kicking the tarp off of his body. Swiveling over to the side of the bed, Rock put on the thin long-sleeved shirt beside his bed, slid on the matching pants and socks, and stood up. Stretching his arms, Rock yawned as he opened the door.
Blues was the first thing that met his eyes. "Sleep well?" Blues asked.
"Didn't sleep at all," Rock muttered.
Blues sighed. "You'll get used to it," he said, "After the first year it'll actually feel comfortable."
Rock decided not to ask Blues how he would know. "So what are you going to have me do today?" Rock asked.
"Not what I'm going to have you do," said Blues, "What you want to do."
Rock gave Blues a confused look. "Come with me to the main room," said Blues, "and we'll start the briefing."