A Hero's Inner Conflict

Katie Montminy

He glowered, disturbed eyes wide and breath quickening, at the solitary object on the table. The large, glossy blue barrel bore an arm-sized fastener at one end and a deep, corrugated aperture at the other, so gapingly deep, he thought, it would swallow him whole should he approach it. As he continued to stare, he could feel all his fears being drawn out by the sight of the thing, which, illuminated by the watty glare of a single dangling bulb overhead, burned its image into his mind.

He didn't like it one bit.

Light wondered at what could possibly be the problem with his normally eager pupil. Thinking Rock might simply be having trouble adjusting his optic sensors, Light tentatively adorned the bulb with a lampshade of transparent red plastic, bathing his newest creation in a blood-red glow. This only served to further alarm his onlooker. Though a brilliant man, Light paid for it by being somewhat short-sighted in the way of reading people... and robots, for that matter, even his own creations.

After what seemed like an eternal wait, Rock finally uttered his reaction through the blanketing silence.

"I don't want it."

"Megaman!" Dr. Light gasped. Aside from speaking of him to the public, who knew him as the heroic Megaman the world over, Light only ever called Rock by his robotic name to scold him. Light was perplexed, as well as a little insulted deep down. He could not remember a time before when Rock had refused an improvement with such disdain, especially one that he had toiled on day and night for many months to produce. Months, if not years, as the passage of time seemed to escape him when his passion for robotics took hold.

What Light most savored was this moment, when Rock would elatedly scoop up his new gift and beam a great grin as he delighted in its intricacies. He recalled how Rock had excitedly asked him a barrage of questions when he was first converted into a fighting robot, when he was given his adapters, again when he was given the ability to slide, and, most of all, when he met Rush for the first time.

But this time could not have been more the opposite.

"You'll need this if you want to stand a chance against Cossack's robot masters," Light croaked, in a slightly irked tone. "Why don't you want it?"

Rock nearly cried out. "I, don't, want it!"

Light, normally the kindliest man Rock could name, grew visibly irritated at this irrational outburst. "How could you refuse something that would make protecting people so much easier?" he demanded, vehemence seeping into his words despite his best efforts to contain it. Then, muttering more to himself than to Rock, "This is totally illogical behaviour. I'm not Wily; this is not how I programmed you. Have you forgotten your sense of justice?"

The suggestions had one by one mounted Rock's temper to its boiling point. "I am more than your program…!" He had trouble articulating through his grief. "I think and feel and mature! Have YOU forgotten THAT?"

Rock stormed out through the automatic sliding door of the lab, throwing it shut so hard behind him that it rebounded to being halfway open.

He ran down the hall, past Roll's room, where, from the corner of his eye, he saw her look up at him from her reading. Past Light's office, where half-finished gadgets lay strewn about, all portending more pain for Rock. At the end of the corridor, his own room was all in shadow at the late hour, and his bed, though covered with sheets and blankets like a human's, hummed quietly with the energy-recharging electronics they concealed. He threw himself into it face-first, undoubtedly damaging what lied beneath him, and started to cry.

Rock turned on his side to face the window, staring blankly out into an invisible night. How many had it been? Six the first time, eight the next, and eight more following that. He popped open the casing on his left arm, its release mechanism depressurizing with a hiss of escaping air, and pried open the two halves with a squeak of protest from their hinges. He flexed his newly freed hand. Normally, he didn't have his blaster on at such a late hour, much less when he was sleeping, but Light had requested he wear it to the lab for the unveiling of the upgrade – the MegaBuster, he'd called it.

Rock eyed the inside of the shells for the "spot", easily finding where the marks started. Time had not worn away the jagged lines he had etched into the metal – one for every Robot Master he had felled. Not just any of Wily's robots - the ones he had looked in the eyes and known that, but for the grace of God, he could have called brothers.

Some of the marks were cleaner than others – the ones he had felt less guilt about adding, for one reason or another. Four sets of four lines, each crossed by a fifth, plus two… he would have to stop adding more, or make them much smaller, or he would run out of room soon. He ran a finger over each of them in turn, slowly, recalling whom they had represented.

Snake Man, who had looked particularly humanoid, had bothered him greatly. He had the movements of a very nimble human, unleashing highly lifelike snake bots into the arena. Megaman had a secret distaste for snakes, and as these were as realistic as the one propagating them, the whole situation took a sickening turn as they battled.

"Hahaha, are you really Mega Man?" Snakeman had asked in a slithering tone. "Afraid of a snake? This will be simple, then, and I will be the new hero."

The battle had indeed been grisly, with Mega Man averting his eyes whenever possible from his target's boyish face. He spent a great deal of time just trying to fend off the snakes, which crawled all over him, with a flurry of shots from his blaster. He had never had to aim a gun at himself before, and he shrieked again and again as he grew closer and closer to madness, inflicting damage to his own systems as he blasted away.

Finally, as he neared the brink of his own self-destruction, his energy depleted to all but a few units, he snapped out of it. He fought with renewed intensity, firing with deadly accuracy and dashing, legs damaged from mangling snake bites, under an incensed Snake Man, who could not come to grips with his opponent's resurgence. Mega Man had never faced a fear from within and overcome it – it was the first time he had truly adapted as would a human being.

It had taken great skill and a fair deal of luck, as the two whisked past one another again and again, to land a successful blow, and when the final one was stricken, Snake man lay in two, severed at the waist.

His words still haunted him. "I don't want to die…" he'd said. "You are special, Mega Man. You will be the only one your master needs, the only one he values… I'm a drop in the bucket. I am already forgotten. But you will never silence Wily."

And it was true. Rock could see no end to the fighting. Just when he thought the final threat from Wily had passed, he again arose just as strong and maniacal as ever. And again the call to battle would beckon him, a lone soldier in the endless war he called life. Most of the time, Rock dismissed such rebellious thoughts, knowing that he was an irreplaceable icon of justice to a world that revered him. But at times like this, he would be overcome with horrible pangs of guilt for all those he had put to pieces.

"Some were like me once, some were Light's robots once…" he sobbed aloud to himself, no longer able to keep his grief in check. "I only escaped their fate, only became a hero, by luck of the draw…"

He considered the plaque on his shell. Engraved in the plaque was "001 MEGAMAN", a stamp that indicated him as the second robot Light had produced. Every time he encountered, and inevitably ended, one of his own, he secretly collected their numbered plaque, stored it in the floor cabinet in his room, and made a mental note of the number so that he could recall them in order. The only one he would never have, he thought, was "000" - Protoman, whose given name was Blues. He thought this with a sigh of relief, for at least one among them, the one he could consider a half-brother, the one he admired for resisting all of Wily's sadistic programming … he would never know, truly, but he would never have to kill.

But his relief was short-lived, as the numbers continued to course through his mind over and over. So many. And yet so many more to come. "I'm no better than them – just a lower number. I shouldn't be smashing them to bits and ripping their powers right out of their circuits…"

He moaned in between hiccups of sobbing, fallen tears trickling into the grooves in his casing. He brought his knees to his chest, pressed a hand to his forehead and shook with short, wrenching sobs in his bed. He longed for the days when he had been a simple housekeeping robot alongside Roll. "I don't want something that makes me a more efficient killing machine. I will … I become less human every time…"

Light had been listening in through a crack in the door with regret sinking into his heart. He had not programmed Rock with a particularly strong sense of justice; Rock had acquired that, as a child of similar propensity would have, from observing the state of the world around him. He also hadn't possessed the knowledge to program Rock with a stable element of choice, yet Rock had chosen to become a fighting robot, while his sister did not. But although Rock did mature, he was still permanently youthful, and the pressures of the world could not entirely erase the fragility from his spirit. Light's own creations mystified him some times, having the defects of humans and machines…

"May I come in, Rock?" he asked softly.

Rock started slightly at the surprise, but just as quickly curled back into his former position. "Yes."

He pulled the door open, entered the room, and slid it back shut with a click. After regarding Rock a moment and thinking better of sitting on the bed, Light walked to the end of the bed, which faced the wall with the main computer's interface panel, and motioned towards it. "Do you mind if I call Rush?"

"Fine," was all Rock would say.

Light jabbed a few buttons on the panel, which beeped and chirped as he entered a lengthy code. When he was done, the room glowed with a faint red light, a 'swoosh' was heard, and Rush appeared at Light's feet.

"Rush, chair please," he commanded, and the dog, with a look of acknowledgment, transformed noiselessly into the sizeable armchair which Light proceeded to sit in.

Rock would not turn to face Light. He wanted to hide his tear-streaked face in shame, but he could not stop himself from sniffling every now and then. Many moments passed before Light dared to speak, then the sound his voice pierced the near silence of the room.

"Rock, I am sorry I was so cold to you earlier," he began, gathering his words. "You bear a great responsibility but also a great burden. I had not truly wished for it to be this way… I didn't want you to know a life of fighting. Sometimes, I even doubt the sanity of it all, how the world now expects to be saved by the likes of one young robot time and again…" his eyes wandered sadly over the form of Rock, who lied very still in his bed, yet was obviously attentive to the words he was hearing.

"You must understand, Rock, that you are not like Wily's robots. Although you are more than just the sum of your programming, as are they, you have exercised your own choice, and a difficult one at that. The choice to fight is one you could have easily not made. Think of Protoman. He has chosen his own path, despite the fact Wily helped me create him."

Rock thought about that. Being on neither side of the great divide, Blues just didn't have a place to call home, he figured. He felt at once great pity and great envy for Blues, being tied to no cause…

But he also knew there was truth in Light's words. Although at times Rock felt powerless to control his own destiny, he knew the direction he wished to take in life was the one he was thrust into, time and again. He would never retire until his cause was assured victory. He knew he must accept the upgrade, and that the devastation it would cause to the few he would meet, would secure the prosperity of many…

Rock returned with Light to the lab, to where the Mega Buster stood, unmoved, on the table. It had the bearing of a truly powerful weapon with the potential only for more ruin and destruction, and for a brief moment, Rock thought of running back to his room. But instead, he took it in his right hand, slid it over the gun on his left, and locked it into place, the suction taking hold. Rock felt heavier now than before, but also newfound power coursing through him – the power to do good again in the world. He would confront Cossack's creations just as he had Wily's, and the more difficult they became, the more powerful he would become.

He would prevail.