Death and the Vibrant Architecture of Rebirth

by goldenyuusha

A century had passed since Zero had sealed himself away. After being awoken by the Neo Arcadian king X, Zero finds himself in an unfamiliar, perfect world with no one to turn to but his old partner. But cracks start to form in the perfect things he once held dear, and Zero must accept that they may be set in stone forever. An MMZ AU where Neo Arcadia finds Zero before Ciel.

11. Chapter Ten

AN: Well this chapter ballooned into something preposterous. once again, i've taken like 2 months to update my fic. sorry! well, ill be pleased to say that were finally leaving fuckin' central neo arcadia, im as tired as you are of that setting.

anyway, craft and zero go on a fieldtrip, dynamo and vile have a team meeting, and x is weird.

content warning for, lol, everything. but primarily robot gore/death, police brutality, sexual exploitation, physical assault and misgendering (by mistake, but still). your usual sci fi cyberpunk depressing stuff

---

CHAPTER 10

"Zeeero!"

"Laika! Hold on, I'm coming!"

The sun was red on the horizon as the final embers of the battle burned over the plains, raized and flattened by Weil's forces.

Bodies littered the ground Zero sprinted across, the war bot forced to step over the desecrated corpses of both friends and enemies towards the last Golem standing, its horrible frame casting a long shadow over the ruined savannah.

His blade burned white hot, the sabre leaving a blinding trail of light as he rushed forward, closing the distance between him and the Golem as he weaved between a sweeping laser beam from the mechaniloid. Laika was imprisoned in the bruising hand of the mechanical beast, the canine reploid howling in pain as she was crushed under the increasing pressure, her insides crumpling with a bloodcurdling crunch. She could barely writhe in its massive hand, crimson, nearly black fluids leaking and dribbling from its locked fingers.

"Laika!"

Zero leaped into the air, sword flying back before he swung forward, slicing clean through the Golem's forearm and sending its hand hurtling to the ground. Laika gasped as its fingers went limp and uncurled around her body. Zero landed with a roll, pivoting around on the tip of his boot and kicking off the ground, clambering up the wall of the Golem's back as it hobbled and stumbled forward, imbalanced and disorientated. He grabbed the Golem's head and pulled it back with a furious snarl, burying his sabre in between the Golem's eyes and piercing its processor core.

It powered down with a heavy, droning hum, its chassis falling to the ground in a heap and sending a dust cloud flurrying into the air. Zero unsheathed his blade from its skull and leaped off before it could hit the ground and rushed over to Laika's aid, kneeling down before the gravely wounded canine.

"Laika, stay with me," Zero pleaded, raising her head off the floor. Blood pooled from her nose and mouth, her breath shallow and rapid from her collapsed lungs. Her once powerful body had no form, not anymore, it was just a mangled mess of metal and soft, artificial flesh that pulsed and spluttered blood. From above, a small, glowing gold orb of light appeared, increasing in size as it [moved through the air, before it was replaced by the form of a blue nurse Cyber Elf in a flash of light.

"Please, Mira. Is there anything you can do?" Zero asked. The Elf, Mira, shook their head solemnly.

[I'm sorry…] they said, [but I can't save her. If I tried to heal her now it would only prolong her suffering.]

"No… Laika."

Zero keeled over, finding the remainder of Laika's hand and holding it tight, pressing it against his helm. Laika groaned, her voice stuttering from her crushed vocaliser, and mustered the energy to turn towards her commander.

[It's okay, Zero…] Laika spoke through their cloud connection. She weakly squeezed Zero's hand. [I'm not going to make it.]

"Laika…"

[Please, don't weep for me. I wouldn't have wanted to go any other way than alongside you.] Laika continued. [It was an honour fighting for you, Zero.]

Zero could feel his throat getting tight, his hands trembling as they held Laika. The truth was setting in now- she was beyond saving. All Zero could do was be there for her.

"You did good, Laika," Zero assured her. "You saved many lives today."

[Good… then it will all have been worth it.] Laika reached outward to caress Zero's cheek with her paw, leaving a trail of her blood drawn across his face.

[Thank you for everything, Zero…] she said. Her connection to Zero's conscience was growing weaker and weaker, and with it went her voice.

[Goodbye…]

"Laika!"

With one last guttural breath, her body went limp, her hand falling to the ground and gaze growing glassy and faraway. Zero scrambled forward, grabbing the sides of her face to see if she'd react, but there was nothing. Her stare was vacant, her lungs falling still and silent and her muscles had no tone. She was as lifeless as a doll.

"Laika…" Zero whispered, letting her go and leaning back, eyes fluttering back and forth in disbelief.

That was it, then. His entire unit had been wiped out in a single, month-long battle, leaving only himself standing. For as far as he could see, there was only death filling his vision, hands reaching out from the piles of bodies as terrible outcroppings like they were still begging for mercy.

Zero stood up on unsteady feet, his beam blade flickering off as he placed it inside its sheath. Mira delicately floated into Zero's arms, where Zero cradled them gently.

[I'm sorry, Creator,] Mira said, big, beady eyes glistening with guilt. [I wish I could've helped her.]

"It's not your fault. You did the right thing," he said, cupping the Elf's head in his hands. "Trying to keep her alive like this would've been torture."

The plains were eerily silent now, with only the soft crackle of kindling cinders filling the air. The billowing smoke covered the blood red sun, casting the quiet battlefield in a scarlet darkness. Zero stared at the remains of his canine soldier, a keen warrior and a close friend, feeling like he was a hollow shell.

"Mira. Please, go home to your world," Zero commanded, gently tossing them into the air. "I've already asked too much of you."

[But–]

"Go! Go, Mira," Zero insisted. "The battle is over now."

Mira frowned, before acquiescing, bowing their head. [Alright… farewell, dear Creator. Please, call on me if you ever need my help.]

They transformed back into their orb form and flew away, its spherical cross-section shrinking until they disappeared from the three-dimensional plane Zero was accustomed to.

Alone now, Zero turned around, taking in the magnitude of the damage. The battlefield had once been lush grassland, but now all had been burned down in the conflict, ash and dust falling from the sky like snow. There wasn't a single other living thing in his vicinity for miles. There was no one to rally with a victory speech, and no enemy to chase off into the hills. Just piles of corpses, where many of his friends lie, too torn up and mangled for Zero to even identify.

It was just Zero. He fell to his knees, head thrown back to the dark, vermillion sky.

He didn't know how much longer he could take it. The endless pain and conflict.

Zero wondered if any of this would've happened if he was just dead.

---

This was a place Craft would've never imagined himself. Not in a billion years.

But here he was, in a Central Neo Arcadian fashion and clothing boutique, sitting hunched over on a tiny ottoman outside a changing room. He didn't really think too hard about it when Zero said they'd dress like civilians when they ventured into the outer-sectors, but he supposed before they could do that, they'd need actual civilian clothes.

They piped in a cloyingly sweet floral fragrance, something mimicking lilies. It was bold and a little pungent, and it stuck to the back of Craft's throat. He couldn't help but be reminded of the way they masked the stench of garbage recycling plants with that scent. There was a hint of astringency in the air from antiseptics. They played inoffensive pop tracks over the loudspeaker and government sponsored advertisements for fashion events, sandwiched in between calls to enlist.

Craft felt painfully out of place here. These kinds of places were for humans. Small, fleshy, fragile humans, giggling amongst each other and gawking at the glitzy collection of skirts and dresses on display. There were a few reploids here and there, but they were mostly shopworkers. Even in Central Neo Arcadia, it was expected that reploids would work for humans.

He got a lot of stares, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. He knew that the reploids distrusted him- he was a former Resistance Commander, a dangerous maverick they should never sympathise with lest they get branded maverick by association, but the humans enjoyed the luxury of ignorance. Craft doubted they even knew the embers of a civil war were kindling in their precious city. When asked, Craft explained that he was here with his master and left it at that.

The dressing room curtain slid aside, and Zero poked his head out. He had foregone his helmet and let his golden hair down.

"Psst. Come in."

Just as quickly, Zero disappeared behind the curtains again. Craft got up with a groan, and slipped inside, drawing the curtains closed behind, finding himself in a cramped box with a full body mirror on the wall. Zero's regular vest and helmet were set aside, replaced with a white top that showed off his midriff, an open red jacket that covered his arms and gauntlets, and offwhite trousers that covered his boots. He spun around for added flair, before he added the finishing touch- square rimmed spectacles that Zero did not need.

Craft made a huffy, exasperated laugh. "Cute."

"Ah, shut up," Zero cut back. He held out his arms. "Be honest. Do I look like me?"

"I mean… maybe from a distance you don't."

"Well, that's better than nothing, at least." Zero set aside that thought and turned his attention to Craft. "Come here, I got you a couple things too."

Zero outstretched his arms, and Craft took that as his cue to kneel down a few inches, letting him easily reach around his head and unclasp his helm, freeing his black hair and letting it fall to the sides of his head, where they covered up the green and white pads over his audials. Zero placed his helmet next to his own, and ruffled up his hair a bit.

"Look at you. You already look like a completely different guy," Zero commented. Craft looked at his reflection and made an unsure frown. "I'm kidding. I've got you some clothes. Hopefully they fit you, big guy… these were the biggest size I could find in the reploid section."

With an concerningly adept touch, Zero went about stripping Craft of his upper body armour, undoing his shoulder pauldrons and chest and abdomen armour, revealing his hard, muscular physique, much to his chagrin.

Zero made a mocking low whistle as his eyes tracked his thickly built body up and down. "Impressive."

"You're mighty good at… that, Zero," Craft nervously thought aloud. Zero just chuckled coyly.

"You're an XY model. I've had plenty of practice undressing your type."

Zero winked, and Craft tried not to think about it. He threw Craft a white t-shirt, which he stared at ambivalently, before slipping it over his head and squeezing his arms through the sleeves.

"Bit tight around the shoulders," Craft murmured.

Zero ignored his complaints, finding a large green-camo jacket with a white, fuzzy collar and wrapping it around him. Craft slipped into it and shimmied it over his shoulders.

"Here. Trousers." Zero tossed him some black pants. "I'll leave you to change into them, heh. Let me know when you're covered up."

Zero left him alone, sneaking through the curtains. Craft sighed, making quick work of undoing his codpiece armour to make slipping into pants a little more feasible. He stepped into the trousers and pulled them up to his waist, sucking in his stomach to zip up his fly and do up the button.

Fully clothed now, Craft stood up straight and looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn't remember if he had ever found himself dressed in civvies. It felt a bit wrong, like he was looking at a complete stranger, but when Craft thought about it, that was kind of the point. He peered out from behind the curtain and beckoned Zero in.

"How you feeling, big guy?" Zero asked, standing beside Craft and gazing at their reflections. "Awh, look at us… we almost look normal."

Normal. What an unattainable dream for both warmachines. Of course Craft was married to his duty as protector of those who couldn't fight for themselves- and now, more specifically, protector of one very special reploid, but he couldn't deny that he often fantasised of what it'd be like to just be normal. Just another civilian in a sea of innocent, fragile lives.

"Yeah… normal," Craft said, sighing wistfully at the prospect. Zero playfully nudged him with his side.

"Don't get too used to it, bub," Zero reminded, "sure is nice to think about, though."

Zero twirled to and fro, revelling in the civilian look. Craft couldn't fight back a smile.

"Yeah. Yeah…" Craft said. "Well, a guy can dream."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, we better stop hogging this booth and pay for all this." Zero sloughed off his jacket and hooked it onto a coat hanger. "C'mon, bärchen. We gotta run."

Time for dreaming was over. Craft groaned and absentmindedly reached down to undo his trousers. Maybe Zero still retained a modicum of his combat reflexes, because not a second later he was jolting forward and grabbing Craft's wrists.

"Jesus! Not in front of me!"

---

It was a little bit past dawn when Craft and Zero arrived at the City Central Train Station. It was the principal station for the Neo Arcadian railway system, serving the entirety of the metropolitan rail network as well as regional lines.

It was unsurprising then that it was bustling with pedestrian traffic even now, a couple hours before rush hour hit its peak. Craft and Zero changed into their newly acquired civilian clothes on the way there, their armour and other important belongings stashed in a duffle bag Craft lugged around. Craft underestimated just how well they would blend into the crowd without their distinct armour to give them away.

The station was fairly clean for how busy it was, as was all of Central Neo Arcadia. It smelled a little bit like a hospital though, and receded white LED lights gave it a sort of sterile lab feel. The station was decorated in white tile and television screens that broadcast the morning news bulletin. Zero watched the headline ticker pass by below the anchor as he travelled down the escalator, staying close to Craft's side. NEW LAGUZ GIANTS DEFEAT ABEL CITY WARRIORS 28-7. SOMALIAN ECOSYSTEM RETURNED TO SEVERAL HUNDRED HECTARES OF OUTSIDE LAND. OUTER SECTOR ALLIANCE TERRORIST ATTACK THWARTED AT SOUTH SECTOR ENERGY GENERATION PLANT: SOUTHERN SECTORS TO EXPECT POSSIBLE ELECTRICAL OUTAGES FOR COMING WEEKS.

"South-West Sector's line should be on platform 13," Craft said. "Follow me. Try not to look the officers in the eye." Zero decided to do as Craft said. He was the one who lived his entire life in Neo Arcadia.

The further underground they went, the less humans they passed by. The air was heavily recycled in the lower levels, stale like it had already passed through hundreds of biomechanical lungs, and yet so clean it was nearly caustic. The smell of food stalls permeated the building, the yeasty, earthy aroma of manufactured protein masking the less savoury scents that affronted Zero's senses. The reploids they passed by now were no longer the high-riding Central denizens, armour polished to a blinding shine, but mostly working class; transport hands, tradesmen and municipal workers imported from the outer sectors, surrounded by Neo Arcadia's well-armed and well-hated police force.

Platform 13 was far below the luxurious upper levels of the train station, where no human would ever wander. In fact- they weren't allowed to. As they left the escalator onto the platform, Zero and Craft were accosted by a police officer with an XRF gun pressed against whatever exposed parts of their body he could reach, confirming they were not flesh and bone. The officer silently told them to piss off with a sharp flick of the gun.

The regional train was already waiting at the platform for passengers to board. It looked like an pre-Elf Wars era maglev train that had been repurposed and reupholstered, with Neo Arcadia's proud emblem emblazoning its side. It was obvious that it had been painted over many times to cover up graffiti. A friendly but monotone female voice warned them over the loudspeaker to mind the gap.

"Well? All aboard, princess," Craft said, guiding Zero onto the train with a large hand on the small of his back. "It's going in five minutes."

Zero couldn't complain, he was the one who asked Craft to take him. Craft dropped the bag at their feet and they sat at a cramped booth facing each other, waiting nervously for the train to depart.

The carriage was fairly quiet and sparsely populated. A few outer sector denizens sat far apart from one another, all trying their best not to address each other for whatever reason. The train's interior was not elegant, but it was spartan. Regardless, it still smelled strongly of ethanol and phenol, making it clear that the cleaning crew had been desperately trying to hide something. The windows were but thin slits looking out, for the only sight to behold for most of the trip was concrete tunnels whisking by at 320 kilometres an hour. Instead, large LED displays lit the cabin up with advertisements, images of a green earth, and a stream of propaganda sprinkled in between.

It felt so jarring to see such dishevelled and impoverished reploids only a couple feet below the lavish riches of Central Neo Arcadia, hidden away like the city's dirty little secret they were. They were all people with lives and passions, with families waiting for them at home like Wade. It was odd, for the hundreds of years Zero was a Maverick Hunter, he never really thought about the lives of the people he was protecting for that long. To him, they were more like casefiles- victims or perpetrators that he forgot about when the issue was resolved or the case was closed. The Hunters so often worked at maximum capacity that whenever he had to contact the family of the deceased or assaulted, he'd have to send a hollow, prefabricated letter of sympathy. Not that Zero ever had a good grasp on HR in the first place.

Now Zero had all the time in the world to contemplate the lives of those he lived amongst. He was as powerless as they were, dressed in their clothes, suffering under the same cruel regime.

Craft laughed, taking notice of Zero's reverie, and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "This might be the furthest you've ever been from the citadel," he said. Zero slumped his shoulders, looked down, then looked up again.

"Probably. It's a bit sad."

"Not your fault," Craft said. "Trip's about an hour and a half. You should get comfortable."

It was a bit hard to get comfortable in these chairs. They were just plastic chassis covered by a hard, itchy cushion. Zero tried his best, throwing his head back over the headrest and casting his gaze towards the LED screen.

This is a regional service to… South-West Sector… from Central City Station, stopping at select stations. Check with your local district's transit authority for regional line commuting policies. Please stand clear of the closing doors.

The screens flashed warning iconography as the doors slid shut, and after a moment, the train came to life with a soft droning hum as it began to move forward to its destination. As they left the station, the LED display was overcome by a splash screen of the Neo Arcadian emblem, the words: THIS IS A STATE BROADCAST SANCTIONED BY THE GOVERNMENT OF NEO ARCADIA. PLEASE STAND BY scrolling across a blue screen.

It was followed by a live broadcast of Sage Harpuia standing behind a podium draped in a sombre black cloth with golden bands cutting through the fabric. In the background, banners with the emblems of the specialised arms of the Neo Arcadian military hung from the background. Harpuia stared at the camera with a severe, harsh glare, his face hollow and cadaverous making him look much older than he actually was. Zero wetted his lips with his tongue nervously.

"Good morning citizens. I am Sage Harpuia, General of the Strong Air Battalion. We interrupt this telecast to bring you news that water refinery plant S-NE-22 has been the target of a hostile maverick occupation by suspected Outer Sector Alliance terrorists. We implore you not to panic- our forces are working to cordon the North-East sector and quash the maverick activity. However, we expect delays and reduction in water production for the Northern sectors. We advise Northern sector residents to preserve mains water and make use of water recycling units. If you do not have access, public units will be available at local community centres. Water restrictions will be put in place until further notice. We will update you when terrorist threat is terminated. For now, all residents in the indicated regions are suggested to stay inside and report any suspicious activity to the NAPD. Thank you for your cooperation."

Harpuia bowed stiffly to the camera, and the broadcast cut out, replaced by a stand by card, followed by an ad for a trashy chain restaurant. Zero turned to Craft with his brows rising towards his fringe. "That's not good."

"It isn't," Craft replied nonchalantly, his nonplussed straight-lipped expression unwavering. "But it's life in Neo Arcadia."

"A maverick attack on municipal services would send Abel City into a paranoid frenzy for weeks."

"I mean, sure. Some unhappy outer sector reploid workers are frustrated with how they're treated. They occupy a municipal service and when the cops move in, they shoot back in self defence. Then the government spins it as a maverick massacre on the honourable police department, so they send in the military. All of a sudden, the poor workers have no chance against those jarheads. Most outer sector marines have empathy trained out of them. Or they just don't have any halo-brain at all and they follow orders for the rest of their lives. Eitherway, Neo Arcadia has enough artillery to blow a second Lake Victoria into Tanzania, and when it's on the news next morning, it's another maverick attack thwarted, good job Neo Arcadia and its inflated military budget," Craft explained. "And then the Resistance or Rebellion or OSA or whoever gets pissed and they assassinate a military officer and then Neo Arcadia responds by sending an SRBM through the apartment block they run their operations out of. No peace, no war."

Zero's frowned. He opened his mouth to respond, but found he didn't really have much to say. "Sounds like we're on the road to mutually assured destruction."

"It's a bit one sided. The Rebellion, Resistance, they have, what, a couple assault rifles they don't have enough ammo to fill? Neo Arcadia could reduce an entire sector into a fine mist if they felt like it," Craft corrected. "Anyway, hush now. Cameras."

"Right…"

"Right."

Zero shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Was always bad at politics. Was out of my jurisdiction."

"Yeah."

The train was well on its way now, leaving Neo Arcadia's grand centre and all its comforts in its wake. There was the smell of ozone in the air. There must have been a breach in the superconductor cooling system, because the carriage quickly grew freezing. Zero wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered.

"Ugh. It's really cold."

Craft looked at the empty seat next to him, the vacancy was the perfect size for Zero to slot in right next to him and enjoy the gentle, radiating heat of his internals. In his head, he could practically hear Neige laughing at him. Yeah, like you have a chance with him.

Craft gulped and wiped his mouth. His throat suddenly felt acutely dry. That's harsh.

Instead of continuing his internal dialogue with his imaginary Neige, he decided to focus on the droning hum of the train rushing along the track towards their downtrodden destination.

---

Dynamo hated this part the most.

He came home to his apartment in his unassuming equine form with a rather stout humanoid reploid in his wake. His guest was pale skinned with short limbs and eyes that were eternally squinting from the way his swollen cheeks intruded on his eyelids.

The reploids he called roommates were sitting on and around the couch, their eyes glued to the television screen as it aired a semi-professional basketball game. The tallest, a lanky man Dynamo knew as the apartment's sole electrical engineer, was the only one who bothered to turn and notice his entrance. His overalls were covered in grease and dust they couldn't wash off, thanks to the recent harsher water restrictions.

"Hey. Got work, so don't come barging in, okay?" Dynamo said, his voice high and flamboyant to the point it sounded like he was whining everything he said. The only reploid who noticed him enter cocked his head.

"So early? Good to see you're up and at 'em," the filthy reploid said, sarcasm lacing his voice. "Who's the inner city rich pig you've dragged down-sector now?"

"Shut up," Dynamo groaned, leading his client away from the living room and towards the sleeping quarters. "At least I make enough fuckin' money to pay for cable."

"Just don't do it on my bed."

Dynamo shut the door as soon as his guest entered the serene silence of the sleeping quarters. His guest sighed in relief, and before Dynamo even had to ask, he was already helping him pull away the lockers to open up the trap door leading to the ad hoc Rebellion war room.

[You really holed up with the worst reploids you could've possibly found, Dynamo,] the thickly built reploid complained over their connection. After pulling the lockers back against the wall and shutting the trap door, Dynamo shrugged with his arms.

[Well, they keep their mouth shut. They could've reported me for being an 'illegal sexbot' years ago.] Dynamo transformed back into his original form, the infamous tall and lean humanoid, and put his hand on a cocked hip, radiating sass. [But here I am. Still whoring myself out to rich idiots from Central as far as they're concerned.]

The stout reploid followed suit in typical newtype fashion, changing forms in a flash of light to his native form- a much taller reploid, dressed in formal black attire with striking blue hair and a hat shading his red, handsome eyes. [That's my least favourite part.]

[You think I like it that much either?] Dynamo shot back.

[I think you like the attention,] the gambler reploid said. Dynamo's nose wrinkled in irritation, but the impending fight was quickly curbed by the appearance of the heavily armoured violet war machine that headed the Rebellion.

"Spider," Vile welcomed the formal reploid. "What brings the OSA here?"

Most knew Spider as the face Colonel Redips took on while deceiving X nearly a century ago over the Supra Force Metal incident, just shortly before the Elf Project first kicked off. What most were unaware of was that Spider was a person himself, not just a pretty disguise. Of course, they were connected from the very start as fraternal twins who chose very different career paths, but his brother did him no favours when it came to finding his own identity. The manufacturer who developed the twins weren't very creative with names either.

Now, however, Spider had found himself as the darling of the Outer Sector Alliance ever since he avenged a slaughtered freight transport crew from a riot squad after they attempted to take industrial action. The footage was on the infonet for a while before Neo Arcadia made an effort to stamp it out, but the incident was still discussed amongst the OSA, and his infamy even worked its way into parts of the Rebellion and Resistance. People didn't even mention Redips anymore, but Spider had to wonder if that was just because his brother had become another afterthought in the long maverick wars.

Spider cleared his throat, emboldened to speak aloud when Vile did so himself. "I'm here because I need you to pick up the damn pace."

Vile's emotions were impossible to discern behind the mask, but Spider knew he wasn't too happy with that.

"You think these things happen overnight? I've been busting my ass for the past five years, Spider."

"I wasn't saying they do," Spider said, "but the OSA is pissed, and at this point, I ain't sure I can wrangle them back anymore."

"I'm still working on following up an old lead," Vile argued back, "this could turn the tides in our favour."

"And I'm sure it will. But that's not gonna stop the guys in N-E from planning a riot in their sector, and they're gonna get mowed down without much support from the Rebellion. And I really don't want my guys killing themselves." Spider rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Here."

Spider procured a datapad from seemingly out of nowhere like he was performing a magic card trick, and handed it to Vile. The purple warbot took it precariously, and was faced with a grizzly scene.

The MeReAD portraits of the workers at the OSA occupied North-East water refinery had been plastered all over the news and branded as either mavericks or working class heroes, depending on if you watched government propaganda or pirate terrorist tracks. Either way, Vile had slowly learned to recognise their faces, which made seeing their mangled bodies strewn all over the refinery floor that much more enraging. They weren't offered clean, quick deaths either, X's army would rip foes apart until they didn't even resemble themselves in death. Even Sigma showed more self-restraint.

It wasn't like Vile had ever been a stranger to death. It was something he just accepted would happen, whether he was a Maverick Hunter or the maverick at large. There were times where he'd kill more people in one month than the average Hunter would in their entire career. To Sigma, that made him a powerful warrior and asset who never hesitated to pull the trigger. To anyone sane, it made him a psychopath with no soul and no regard for the sanctity of life. Vile wouldn't disagree with either assessment. But ever since Neo Arcadia began to crumble into tyranny, Vile's stance slowly shifted. Maybe in his old age, he'd grown soft, or his hatred for X extended so far that he'd grown a conscience, but seeing so many reploids that shared his righteous goal of standing up to X's dictatorship slaughtered like cattle made his blood boil. He settled himself with a hard exhale through his vents and gave the image back to Spider.

"The police didn't even move in. Not a single cop got as much as a papercut." Spider's voice brimmed with barely contained anger. "They didn't bother. They sent in the military as soon as they caught wind of the occupation. Every worker was dead in seconds. Now the OSA in N-E is having talks about rioting and war against Neo Arcadia."

"Yeah, I can see why." Dynamo sat himself on a workbench, peering over Spider's shoulder to see the gruesome sight for himself. "Won't be much of a war."

"Exactly. So we need more firepower and more importantly, we need to work harder to turn public opinion against Neo Arcadia. How 'bout working on hijacking them national broadcasts, huh?" Spider said. He and Dynamo both spoke with a western drawl that got on Vile's nerves, even though the US and the last genuine cowboys had long since been nuked into a crater. "Just about everyone in the outer sector is a sympathiser for our causes. If we can just rally them into action, we have an army."

"Hijacking national broadcasts isn't easy. We'd have to break into a building in Central," Vile said. "We don't exactly have the means to do that right now. Our insiders are all caught up in other shit."

"But you have the means to break into a Supermax prison to chase up a rumour?" Spider leaned in, provoking him. "If we sit back on our asses for much longer, our cause will eat itself alive, and X wins. We need to organise and we need to do it stat."

Vile didn't reply immediately. He sat back in his chair and sighed, resting the side of his helmet on his hand. "Spider. I agree with you. Really. But with how things are right now, our best course of action right now is to get people out of Neo Arcadia and to Tabula Rasa," Vile said. "I need to cooperate with Ciel. She's smart. She knows her next gen weaponry." He paused to boot up his terminal. "There's things she's told me about Neo Arcadia's arsenal that gives me reason to be wary. If we strike before we're ready, we're as good as dead."

Spider cocked a brow. "Since when did the Vile refuse a bit of chaos?"

"I was never the one initiating it. I just revelled in it," Vile corrected. "I can sense things are growing tense in Central, even though X can pretend everything's so perfect and wonderful. Rumour has it that Zero's unhappy being X's little pet."

Spider frowned. "If you think Zero would ever side with us…"

"Stranger things have happened. He doesn't even have to join our cause," Vile said, opening up his file explorer and scrolling to the Ragnarok schematics Ciel gifted him. "But if Zero and X's relationship breaks down, X will lose it. Then he'll be vulnerable. And when that happens, when the kettle boils over… that's when we strike."

"You don't know if that'll happen. For all we know, Zero's an accomplice to X's tyranny. He's done nothing to stop him."

Vile shook his head. "I know it will. I know Zero. He's a wildcard. Can't be tamed. Won't be broken. Ever," he said, "that was Sigma's first mistake. Hopefully it'll be X's last."

The files on Ragnarok opened on Vile's terminal, and he beckoned Spider over to look.

"Now, don't tell your OSA guys about this yet, because I don't want them freaking out anymore than they already are," Vile asked, letting Spider drink in the sight of the weapon of mass destruction as he leaned back in his chair.

"...Ragnarok?" Spider's eyes were wide, gaze roving over the cascade of data before him.

"See, this is what we're up against, Spider."

---

Here, so far from the little slice of Neo Arcadia Zero had grown to know, the gleaming citadel had disappeared behind bleak grey towers and a concrete wall at the border of the inner city sectors and the outer sectors. The paragon of the city's power and its incomprehensible heaven piercing height had been obscured by smog and pollution.

The train crawled to a stop at their destination, and passengers filtered out into the drab train station of South-West Sector C. Craft and Zero followed the crowd, ensuring they stayed as inconspicuous as possible in numbers.

[Stay close to me,] Craft warned as they disembarked from the train, setting a large hand around Zero's shoulder just to make sure. [Try not to speak to anyone.]

[Got it.]

Craft gave a firm nod and led him towards the exit. Unlike the beautiful inner city, everything in the train station looked as though it had been designed purely with function in mind. Everything seemed to be unpainted concrete, stone or cheap fibreglass. The only colour to be seen in the station were the LED screens that displayed tram and train timetables amongst short flashes of government propaganda and PSA's, and the flashes of graffiti that had been scrubbed out then reapplied maybe twenty times. Even the colour of the reploids' armour and clothes were caked in a layer of soot and grime that made them seem grey. It was hot, and the air unbearably thick and sticky.

The vibrant colours of Craft and Zero's brand new clothes made them stand out like a christmas tree in a hospice. They got a couple wary looks as they left the platform and clambered up the stairs and to the ground floor. Freight trains were parked all around the station, coming and going, pantheons keeping watch with rifles held snug against their chests as workers loaded the train with cartons. Craft guided Zero's head down and hurried him along.

[Don't look,] Craft commanded. [If anyone asks, we're workers at the protein engineering plant who've come back from a seminar in Central.]

Zero nodded, and hurried out the station with the rest of the crowd. At the gates were pantheons on the lookout for anything suspicious, their single red eye boring into Zero as he walked by.

[What are those things?] Zero asked after they were well out of the pantheon's line of sight.

[Pantheons,] Craft replied, [vacuous reploids. Corpses, repurposed as soldiers. Halo brain is vacated and replaced with an advanced military processing core. Not quite mechaniloids, but not really reploids anymore either. Basically, dead reploids who get to serve this country one last time.]

Zero's stomach churned. They left the station and into the open air, where the first thing that hit Zero's senses was the strong and rotten smell of sulphur in the hot air, the foul smoke rolling over the city streets. The giant concrete buildings were like walls of a labyrinth, imprisoning its inhabitants within with their dizzying size.

[Would've taken a lot less time to get here on my bike, you know,] Craft mused. [Hope Rich's kept it where I left it.]

The streets were lined with vendors hawking all sorts of goods in front of their apartments; E-cans, fresh food resembling cuisines from long lost countries all over the world, manufactured out of yeast, grilled over charcoal until a light mist of smoke permeated the tunnels, dirty magazines, clothes stripped off dead friends, all vying for the attention of passerbyers. Neon signs blazing through the smog pointed them in all sorts of directions, advertising everything from auto part stores to casinos.

[You'd ever take me out for a ride big guy?] Zero asked with a mischievous grin, nudging him with his elbow. [You know, if there's room for two.]

Craft laughed, looking at his feet and looking up again.

[You'll fit,] Craft answered. [Just gotta hold on tight.]

There were reploids lounging around at the side of the road, watching Craft and Zero like hawks when they passed them by. They looked thin and sickly, limbs long and gangly and eyes sunken in. They were young, not any older than 16, but they looked like they had seen centuries of suffering. With nothing else to do and opportunities running dry, they occupied themselves with cheap alcohol, bottled from the runoff from yeast based food refineries. The bitter, sharp smell of booze was inescapable. A far cry from the nearly sterile clean air of Central.

A couple policemen approached, and the gaggle of reploids quickly sobered up and retreated to their flophouse. The officers, more like thugs in riot gear, paid the act no attention. In fact, they found more interest in gawking at a vendor offering explicit videos.

[Sounds fun,] Zero said, looking away from the sorry sight. [Feeling the wind in my hair, going 100 on the highway. Just like the good old days.]

[If it's still there, that is,] Craft added. [People got no qualms about stealing a bike around here. They'd probably have already stripped it for parts if they have.]

[Here's to hoping. Where are we going, anyway?]

There was a fork in the road. One way led to a large and busy shopping mall, a building that looked like a flat concrete box that was decorated by large screens displaying government backed announcements and advertising the number of notable stores within, while the other led further down the street into the depths of the sector. Craft went in the direction of the mall.

[Down,] Craft replied vaguely. Inside were more stores, though they looked a little more official and permanent than the market stalls on the side of the road. There were stores selling tools and parts for tradesmen, grocery stores offering all the basic essentials, even places to buy clothes, though they were much less extravagant than the high-end boutiques that populated Central Neo Arcadia's shopping districts. They weren't to stay for long, and Craft guided Zero to a cramped birdcage elevator, where they rubbed shoulders with the denizens of the sector. The lift rattled before descending underground, passing layers of rock and dim lamps to light the way.

[Be real careful in the lower levels, Zero. Stay close,] Craft advised, grabbing Zero's shoulder and pulling him flush to his side. [Little more seedy down here. Creeps will flock to a pretty face from up-sector.]

[...Ugh.]

The lift stopped a few times on each level with a hard shake, letting passengers on and off before continuing down with another sudden jerk, sending its occupants lurching forward. The extent of the elevator's structural integrity had Zero a little unsure. When they reached level four, they disembarked, and Zero found himself bombarded by a hive of lust and greed. A former mining operation that ran dry, the lower levels felt a bit like an ant hill, surrounded by stone and rock with tunnels steering in all sorts of directions, but all leading to the same places. The thin passages were teeming with foot traffic, making walking through without being forced to nudge people aside impossible.

It was loud. Music was being blasted from every direction, the bass thumping in Zero's chest and reverberating through the ground. The doors to each establishment were wide open, beckoning in new customers with teasing glimpses of what lay inside. They passed bars, casinos, whorehouses and gentlemens' clubs, everything X would have denounced in a heartbeat as the exploitative schemes they were.

Everything was all a little overstimulating. There were bright LED displays all over showing off what was on offer, from booze to gambling to sex, illuminating the tunnels in lieu of street lights. All around him were sleazy looking strangers breaking away from their conversations to get an eyeful of the new face, especially when their clean clothes suggested they were a stranger to those parts. Zero grabbed onto Craft's hand and held him tight, seeking safety in his massive shadow.

[Reminds me of Abel City's red light district…] Zero lamented. [I had my sabre back then, at least.]

[It isn't too far now. I won't let anything happen to you, Zero.]

Zero hoped that much was true. They passed by a more luxurious looking brothel, where Zero was surprised to find police officers unabashedly chatting up some scantily clad female reploids, wearing barely enough to cover up anything in a meaningful way. Tinted visors covered up their leering gaze like sunglasses. Zero grimaced.

[They aren't really cops,] Craft clarified, noticing what Zero was staring at. [They're a private security firm working on a contract from the Neo Arcadian government. Leftovers from the old world. Polaris, I'm pretty sure. Was a US firm before the Elf Wars blew the States off the map. Thing is, they're as caught up in the underground world as every pimp and gangster here. There's no law down here, just police.]

Corruption and policemen- a tale as old as time. It didn't mean Zero liked it, he could remember far too many incidents where the Abel City Police Department got in the way of justice, just because of stupid shit like ego or generous bribes from wealthy mob bosses. They moved along, eager to leave the chaos of the lower levels behind them.

Craft stopped in front of an unassuming, dimly lit bar. Its name, RICHIE'S WATERING HOLE, was printed on a thin wedge of recycled fibreglass panelling hanging over its open door, most of the paint having been scratched off over the years. Amidst mass-produced posters promoting miscellaneous liquor brands was a flashing screen advertising an impressive selection of drinks, slot machines and explicit VR entertainment. The screen hummed at a low frequency and flickered in its rundown state.

Zero felt Craft's hand gently tilting his head down as he led him inside. Even with his head fixed to the creaky fibreglass panel floor, stripped from the chassis of a ruined war shuttle, he could feel the eyes of the bar's patrons zone in on him. Reploids, down on their luck, drowned their dreary lives in alcohol and wasted their earnings away on slot machines. The braver among them made attempts at chatting up the waitresses and few sex workers taking a break at the bar, though Zero's entrance effortlessly piqued their interest.

Zero made his thoughts known. [I don't like this place.]

[I don't either. We're just passing through.]

Craft stood at the bar, leaning in and waiting for the bartender to finish his conversation with an officer. With such a huge presence, it wasn't hard for him to ignore him for much longer.

"Woah, big guy, it's been a while!" The bartender greeted Craft warmly with outstretched arms. He was short and thick around the belt with rich tanned skin, and he had a friendly, pockmarked face. His nametag read RICHARD in large letters, and Zero guessed he was the bar's owner and namesake. "What brings you to these parts, Mr. Wolf?"

"Need a favour," Craft said curtly. Richard crossed his arms.

"Always business with you, fuckin' A'," he dismissed. "Hows about a drink? It's been a while! Say, who's the…"

He pointed a finger in Zero's direction. Zero's brow furrowed, but he let Craft speak for him.

"Friend."

"What, the fling with the redhead lass not go well?"

Craft opened his mouth to reply, but shut himself up before he could let his temper get the better of him. "Just a friend."

"Right. Can I get ya anything, big fella?"

"I need you to let me into the garages out back," Craft replied. Richard scoffed.

"Came all the way down here and don't even want a drink? Come on, I got the best shit down-sector on tap," He whined, leaning back in disbelief. He turned his attention to Zero and smirked, sending discomfort crawling under his skin. "What about the blonde? Can I interest you in anything to drink, little fox? First one's on the house, just for you, darling."

Zero's frown deepened. "Spare me the chit chat."

"Ah… you always did like the feisty ones, didn't you, Mr. Wolf?"

Craft shuddered, now feeling sufficiently uncomfortable. He set the statement aside and decided to do some soul searching later. "Rich. Stop wasting my time."

"Ah, fine, fine… wait here, I'll find my keys…"

The difficult bartender left, defeated, into the staff room, hopefully to find his keys. Zero groaned and rested himself on the bar counter. Everything from initials to strongly worded anti-government sentiments to hookers' phone numbers had been carved into the countertop.

Craft watched Zero drawing circles into the counter with his finger and sighed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright."

It really wasn't. Zero had been objectified enough back home by the man he supposedly loved, and now he was here, getting leered at by lecherous strangers who would've had no issue with going up to Zero and asking how much a night would go for had it not been for Craft's intimidation factor.

Soon enough, the chatty bartender emerged with about 20 keys hanging heavy from a keyring and beckoned Craft and Zero over with a wave. He fiddled with his keys until he found the right one, going on to open up a back door.

"Come right on through," he said, holding the door open for the two warbots. Zero gave him a steely-eyed glare as he passed him by, but it didn't put a dent in his spirits. "Lemme know when y'all return. I'll be right here."

He closed the door, sending a hollow echo ringing through the halls. The back tunnels of the fourth floor were cold, fans whirring above to vent off toxic fumes. Roller doors lined the tunnels, leading to warehouses, storage units and garages. The main tunnels diverged into dark alleyways like winding, thin capillaries. Between the roller doors were windows to the underground rooms of residential apartments, more like holes in the wall, illuminating the tunnels with golden, flickering light from the living spaces within.

When Zero peered in, he found reploids crammed into a tiny room, living like sardines in filthy, derelict conditions, cracks running up and down the walls and puddles forming from where dirty water dribbled from the ceiling in a small stream.

[How can you trust that guy?] Zero decided to fill the silence in their heads. Craft shrugged one shoulder.

[I don't,] he answered, [but he trusts me, so that's gotta mean something. Saved his bar from a couple thugs years ago, so he still feels like he owes me.]

Speaking of- there were a few reploids loitering around the back tunnels. They gathered in the shadows of the alleys, watching people pass through on the main path. Young reploid men huddled behind the corners, some indulging in drinks, while others opted for harder stimulants. Some scrambled away deeper into the alleys when Craft and Zero passed by, some remained as still as a statue and watched their every movement with eerie glowing eyes, like nocturnal animals in the dark.

Zero tried to mind his own business, but it was difficult when his potent combat systems, though dulled in comparison to his old self, kept reminding him that he was being glared at by many eyes, glares he knew were hostile with how the deplorable living conditions down here would rip away at someone's soul.

[Does X know about this place?] Zero had to ask, recalling how X boasted of his beautiful paradise. Craft chuckled lowly, tickled at his naivete.

['Course he does. Think he cares?] Craft replied. [Ain't his problem. He'd probably round up everyone in this place and shoot them, if they weren't the ones working all the industry jobs. As long as he keeps the humans happy, everything's just fine in his eyes. They're the important ones. The weak, feeble humans, who know they can't fight back, so they just don't. Can't have reploids thinking they can be anything more than cogs in his machine. You know, give the dog some leash, but don't let it off its chain, or it might bite its master.]

It made sense, at least, if you lacked compassion for an entire population. Zero knew that, at least in part, X's cruelty was born out of his own grief manifesting into inhumane ruthlessness. It didn't excuse any of it, but it at least gave Zero a starting point in understanding why X was this way.

Before Zero could get too caught up in those thoughts, he was given something real to worry about. Craft grabbed Zero by the waist and pulled him aside into a small corridor hiding behind a corner. He covered Zero's mouth before he could make out a shocked yelp. Instinctively, Zero began to writhe and make muffled indignant whines.

[What's your problem–!?]

[Pantheons.]

That pacified Zero immediately. They peeked out from behind the alley, watching a scene between two young reploids and the pantheon soldiers unfold in a nearby tunnel.

"Piece of shit clankers! Get the fuck away from me!"

The two reploids were frantically backing up from the pantheon patrol, desperately looking for anything around them they could use to fend off the faceless soldiers, throwing rocks and metal debris at their pursuers to little effect. The pantheon in front wielded an arm cannon, a bit like X's, while the ones lagging behind were equipped with electric batons that crackled with the threat of electrocution. The lead pantheon held its cannon firmly in its other hand, both at ease and ready to fire at any given moment.

The pantheon's voice sounded chillingly robotic, completely unlike the cadence of any normal reploid. "Again. Neo Arcadian intelligence has found you have violated the 2323 Weapon Control Act in your dealings with the terrorist Rebellion group. Stand down and come peacefully."

"Yeah right, so I can be sent to die in one of your fucking death camps!?"

The young reploids were growing increasingly panicked as the pantheons closed in on them, their options in fighting back or fleeing running dry.

"You will be terminated here if you refuse to cooperate. Should you escape, you have already been branded a maverick, and will be hunted by the authorities until you are brought to justice," the pantheon continued, not a shred of humanity left in its single-eyed stare and robotic, monotone voice. Its movements were staggered and stiff, like they had been determined years ago by programmers' design.

The two reploids were eventually backed into a corner. With no way out, the pantheons circled them like a firing squad. And in a last desperate hail mary, one of the young reploids reached for a holster obscured by a thick insulating poncho and drew a plasma pistol, firing it at whoever he could aim at first. He managed to catch one of the baton wielding soldiers in the arm, but it was far from a fatal blow, and ultimately a meaningless attempt.

"Shots fired. Engage," the lead pantheon ordered. Before the mavericks could get another shot in, they had been fired upon, the leader unloading two shots clean through their unarmoured chests. They weren't expecting it at all, but their shock would only last mere milliseconds. Their blood and metal insides splattered from the exit wound, and they fell to the ground with a dull thud. The civilian models were dead in an instant, unprepared and unequipped for a point-blank shot to their heart units. When the dust settled, a single pantheon stepped over their bodies like they were piles of trash and kneeled down to check for vitals.

"No signs of life," it said after a short assessment. The leader held his arm to his mouth and spoke into a terminal on his wrist.

"Case 1938-SW. Suspects fired upon officers. Suspects were killed on scene. They will be taken to this sector's recycling facility for processing. This case is now closed." It closed the terminal, turned to its partners and waved them over to the bodies. "Take the bodies. We will reconvene at the station assembly point."

The lesser pantheons wordlessly obeyed with a firm nod and rushed over to hoist the corpses over their backs, marching away with predetermined purpose. Craft could feel Zero's breath hasten against his hand when the pantheons eventually passed them on the way out.

For a while, they stood still and dead silent, waiting for the storm to pass. When the unnervingly cold pantheon heat signatures eventually left Craft's detectable range, he let Zero go, letting him rush away and breathe a sigh of relief, slouching over like his stomach was turning.

[You alright, Zero?]

Craft placed a tentative hand on Zero's shoulder, making the on guard warbot flinch away. Craft pulled back nervously.

[Yeah… why?] Zero tried to shake it off, leaving the alley and moving onwards through the tunnel. Craft hurried over to walk alongside him lest he lose himself in the confusing maze.

[Well, you just watched those poor kids get shot, is all,] Craft said. There was a sheen of sweat over Zero's head, and Craft could sense his heart rate hike. [You wanna sit down for a bit?]

[I'm fine,] Zero insisted, though it came a little too strained for it to be believable. [Let's just… get the bike and get out of here. X might already be looking for me at this point.]

Craft gave Zero an uncertain look, before deciding Zero was right. The less they hung around here, the better- even for outer sector standards, this place wasn't welcoming in the slightest. Zero quickened his pace, fueled by nerves and urgency, his tightened features fraught with caged emotion.

They walked in silence for another few minutes, Zero keeping his head fixed forward in a bid to ignore the stares, the miserable flophouses all around him, the bodies of reploids too young to be suffering like this strewn all over the floor, passed out surrounded by empty bottles or half-dead from an overdose. Craft knew that they'd be better off talking instead of wallowing in worry, but words were lost on him.

Craft stopped at a familiar corner, marked by an electrical box with a faded yellow warning sticker. It led to a small tunnel that led to a dead end, a dumpster, and a garage roller door. [Here we are.]

Zero kicked aside an empty bottle as Craft approached the roller door, slipping his hands underneath it and cracking it open, rattling a yawning groan as it was forced open for the first time in a while. Zero felt painfully aware of how loud it was in the claustrophobic tunnel systems- if a pantheon patrol were to find them, there'd be no way out.

[I'm gonna go in and see if the coast is clear,] Craft said. Even when it was fully open, he still had to lean down to fit under the garage door. [Stay here, I'll be back in a second.]

Zero nodded, and Craft disappeared into the abyss of the warehouse, his echoing steps growing quieter until Zero couldn't hear anything at all. Alone with his thoughts, Zero meandered around the alleyway, unsure of what to do with himself. He was in a cold, unfamiliar world, in tunnels that were both empty and simultaneously populated by hundreds of reploids, all imprisoned in the trappings of X's grand design.

From out the corner of the alley, he caught the sight of a gang of four reploids leaning against the wall, dressed in tattered white and blue clothes that looked like they were plucked off a dead Neo Arcadian soldier. When Zero noticed the glint of a blade hanging from one of their belts in the street lamps' glow, his eyes widened and he quickly hid behind the wall of the alley again. He wasn't sure if they had seen him looking, or if they had been following them that entire time.

He quelled the tension building in his chest with a sharp inhale and a deep sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow. He still felt queasy from the incident they had witnessed before, the way the pantheon's plasma round sent blood, viscera and metallic shards splattering all over the tunnel floors. It was burned into his mind, how the blood pooled around their bodies before they were hauled off to be melted down for scrap, still warm and twitching. They weren't even given the chance to beg for mercy. Zero had seen many innocent lives go like that- alive one second, and dead the next, but this time, it haunted him more than it ever would back when he was a Hunter. At least in those times, it was Sigma's crazed viral mavericks doing the slaughtering, not X's army. He wondered if he could've stopped it. Maybe it was Axl's murder still weighing heavy on his mind.

The little gang of reploids were nothing to worry about. He was just on edge. Craft plunged him headfirst into the sordid abyss of Neo Arcadia's other face, and it was a lot to confront in one day. He was with no sense of direction- the tunnels weren't marked on any of the maps provided to him. It would be fine. They weren't any older than Axl was when they first found him, anyway.

Just in case, Zero checked around the corner again, peering into the valley between the apartment complexes. The four reploids were gone. Maybe they decided to move on. A chill gust of wind swept through the empty tunnels, making a little tornado of garbage. Zero turned back around to retreat into the safety of the corridor.

"I've never seen your pretty face around here before."

Zero whirled around in a flurry, coming face to face with the mysterious gang of youths blocking the way out. Zero squared his shoulders and bared his fangs in an aggressive scowl, but when he was dressed in the clothes of a hapless civilian, he supposed intimidation was a hard ask. The young men approached him slowly, like a pack of hungry wolves stalking a fawn.

"What's a spoiled inner city bitch like you doing so far from home?" The largest and closest one said, casting Zero a vile smirk, his tone sickenly condescending. "Poor little rich girl, lost and all alone."

Zero would've been offended had his fight or flight response not been raring, adrenaline coursing through his systems and overwhelming his sense of dignity. It felt like his heart was in his throat, and he could hear the blood pumping in his head. He raised his fists in a fighting stance. He had torn apart mavericks twice their size with his bare hands.

"I'm quivering with fear…" his assailant growled, reaching for the blade at his belt. It unsheathed with a shrill scraping noise as it ran against the plastic holster. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll get you home, nice and safe."

Zero was expecting it when he lunged forward, dagger thrusting forward. Zero moved out the way, his blade only catching a lock of his hair. The reploid staggered forward, sent off balance, and Zero took it as an opportunity to throw a strike back, sending his fist into the reploid's stomach when he turned around again. He grunted and doubled over, stumbling back. It incapacitated him for a good moment, but it wasn't anything like the blows he used to dish out. It wasn't time to worry about that, though, not when the other reploids took it upon themselves to join the scuffle. Maybe back then, Zero would've had no trouble with taking on four civilian hoodlums, but now, he felt sorely outnumbered. Even then, he refused to give up.

A fist was coming his way, and Zero had to dodge quickly, crouching down and sweeping his ankles with a swipe of his leg while he was there, throwing his assailant to the floor and smacking the back of his head against the ground. His friends were right behind him, already rushing forward to continue where he left off. As risky as it was, Zero took the offensive, sprinting forward and throwing a punch into one of their faces, thrusting his knee up and striking him between the legs. It was a cheap shot, but it disabled him long enough for Zero to duck for cover when the other tried to slash him with a stolen kitchen knife. Crouched below his outstretched arm, he grabbed his wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other, twisting them and using his momentum to strain his forearm in the middle.

"Argh, you little bitch–!" the knife wielding man cursed, his blade falling limply from his weakened grip as he groaned and panted, dizzy from pain. Zero backed away to assess his combat options as his attackers quickly recovered, before sensing a presence coming up behind him.

Zero spun around, claws unsheathing as he swung them blindly at the leader of the gang. He caught him in the face as he tried to grab Zero's waist, his razor sharp talons digging deep into the soft flesh and leaving a thick gauge running from his nose to his cheek. He lurched back and roared in pain and mercurial wrath, adrenaline taking over as he shook off the burning agony and shock and charged forward into Zero, shoving him with all his weight against the wall and pinning him there, grabbing his wrists in his hand and trapping them above his head.

"You're gonna pay for that," he snarled, pushing his knife against Zero's throat. The blade scraped against the brace latched around his neck, making a grating, high-pitched scratch. Zero frowned, squirming and kicking in his grasp, but nothing weakened his grip. "Couldn't have just come along quietly, couldn't you? Had to make a fuss. No one likes it when a bitch bites."

Fed up with the emasculation, Zero spat in his face. He flinched back, but regained composure and wiped his face on his sleeve.

"You have some nerve," he snarled. His friends were coming up closer behind him to watch. "You know, I know a guy who'd pay good money to own a blonde like you. I think we'll have to teach you to play nice."

Ah, shit. Zero's options were running thin. He could fend them off for a little bit, but he had no chance now, with his back against the wall and a knife at his throat. It'd hurt his pride, but he needed saving. He pinged Craft's transponder with an urgent help message. Even if Craft read it at that second, he'd take a moment to return.

During that time, the assailants were growing bolder, toying with Zero's fear. He tried not to show it, but he was scared. Partly of what they'd do to him if Craft wasn't coming back to help, partly of the fact that these were a ragtag group of starving, untrained civilian reploids, barely adults at that, and they had just managed to best him in a fight. The same Zero that ripped took on Sigma without any weapons or armour and still almost won, had it not been for an in-built restraining program.

"It'll be tough to give you up," the leader mused, running his knife up Zero's chest and over his cheek, not hard enough to leave any holes in his clothes or shed any blood, but enough to make Zero hold his breath. "I've never seen such a pretty face. Shame it has to belong to a bitch like you."

"Get off me."

Zero's voice came out thin and gravelly. The reploid just laughed. "Nah. I think I like you better like this," he said. "How about this? You shut up and be nice, and I'll make this easy for you."

God, this is embarrassing.

"Ugh...Craft…" Zero wheezed out. The reploid cocked his head.

"What?"

Zero shook his head and grit his teeth, setting aside all reservations about losing his dignity as the world's strongest reploid in lieu of self-preservation. He shut his eyes, threw his head back, and screamed.

"Craft!"

The weight was taken off his chest, and Zero fell to the ground with nothing there to hold him up. When he opened his eyes, he found Craft ripping his attacker from his body by his arm and throwing him against the wall like he was nothing more than a wet paper towel.

If they knew what was best for themselves, the young reploids would've turned heel and ran as soon as Craft smacked their strongest against a concrete wall like he was wringing out dirty laundry. Unfortunately, they were young, stupid, and angry, and didn't know when to stop. One of the reploids ran forward, collecting the dropped kitchen knife from off the ground as he rushed Craft, thrusting the blade into the warbot's chest with a furious cry.

The force knocked Craft back and ripped a hole into his shirt, but the dull blade didn't leave as much as a scrape in his underlying flesh, sliding off his chest like he had tried to pierce a brick wall. Craft huffed, grabbing the audacious young reploid by the collar of his jacket and hurling him aside. The remaining two came after him as a duo, but Craft could see them coming from a mile away. He tore forward, evading the closest assailant's attempt of an attack, pulling back a massive fist and swinging a punch into one of the attacker's face, the force of the impact making a stomach-churning crack as he effortlessly shattered his nose and sent him hurtling to the ground in a bloodied heap.

The other reploid was quick to return to the fray, fueled by rage and humiliation, he tackled Craft from behind, scaling his back and wrapping his arm around his neck. Craft hated how it looked, but he had to thank the collar for stopping him putting any direct pressure on his throat. The warmachine growled, hands blindly scrambling to grab onto the small reploid latched onto his back and trying to gouge out his one good eye, before he managed to find his wrist.

He peeled the reploid's grip from his neck, Craft's grip tightening until it made the bot cry out in pain, before swinging him over his head in one fluid motion and pummelling him into the ground. The three were left groaning and shivering at his feet, too weak and injured to get up and fight. Craft didn't bother kicking them when they were already down, only standing over them to ensure they didn't try anything with Zero. Safe from further damage with a few substantial wounds to nurse, running away was their best option, that was obvious to them now. At least, to those three.

The largest one, the reploid who had Zero pinned, had recovered somewhat from being slammed into a wall with enough force to make him see double. He staggered to his feet, and with an unbalanced stance, he reached for a hidden plasma pistol in his holster, aiming it straight at Craft's face with shaking hands. Craft caught the gun's glint in his peripheral vision, and before he could pull the trigger, Craft had grabbed the pistol by the barrel and forced the reploid's arm to the ceiling.

The plasma round fired harmlessly into the roof. With his opponent frozen in shock, Craft swiped the pistol from his hands, reeled back his boot and slammed it into the reploid's chest, thrusting him to the ground. He let out a wheezing gasp as the wind was knocked from his systems, Craft's foot pinning him to the ground with the force of a moving train.

"You cowards, attacking an unarmed reploid like that," Craft growled, cracking the pistol in two and throwing the plastic fragments away. "You should thank your lucky stars I'm not gonna report your sorry asses to the authorities." Craft's expression grew severe. "Now get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind."

The pinned reploid nodded desperately. Craft scoffed, taking his foot off the reploid's chest. He yelped and crawled away, clumsily scrabbling onto his two feet and fleeing into the tunnels, his friends finally taking the hint and racing away in tow. When the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance, Craft turned to Zero, still flush against the wall and staring wide-eyed at the scene playing out in front of him.

[Zero? Are you hurt?] Craft asked, hurrying over to Zero's side. He offered a hand, and Zero took it, letting him pull him to his feet.

[Only thing that's hurt is my pride,] Zero answered, still shaken up by the ordeal, but unharmed nonetheless. He stared off into the tunnels where the gang had disappeared. [You let them go.]

Craft huffed. [Nothing would've come out of sending them to X's death camps. If I wanted them to die, I would've killed them here,] he said, [that battle was beneath me. There's no honour to be had in killing pathetic civilians. Come with me.]

He began to head off into the garage, expecting Zero to follow. Instead, Zero stood there, gaze locked on the place where the young men had once been.

[How'd this happen to me?]

Craft stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. [What do you mean?] He turned around and returned to Zero's side. Zero let out a deep, forlorn breath, his hands balling into fists and face drawing tight.

"How?! How could a group of low life thugs get the upper hand on me?!" Zero couldn't bite back the words leaving his vocaliser. "C-Craft, if it wasn't for you, they would've- they–" His voice stalled in his throat. Zero shook his head in disbelief. "They were just civ models. Kids! I… I could take down entire maverick armies, I was made for destruction, for war and all its battles, and now– now I'm just… I'm just… a worthless life."

He looked to his hands as though they held the answer. "What happened to me? Has… has it always been this way?"

Craft got down on a knee, levelling himself with the distraught warbot. "Zero. I don't think it's you."

"Then what's wrong with me?"

Zero was breathing hard and fast, wild eyes flickering back and forth as he matched Craft's gaze. Craft hummed inquisitively. He reached into his chest pocket and drew a cigarette from a hidden carton, held it between his lips and lit it with the lighter in his wrist.

"Look at me," he commanded. Zero did as he said, and he grabbed Zero's head and tilted it upwards, exposing his vulnerable throat and the neckbrace locked around it. He gave it a thorough inspection, cocking Zero's head side to side as he quietly scanned the device. After a tense silence, he pulled away and took a drag, the smoke from his breath rolling into the flow of the ceiling vents.

"I knew it." Craft stood up again, crossing his arms. Zero cleared his throat and rubbed his neck.

"What?"

"That's a restraining bolt." Craft tipped his chin towards Zero's collar. "Must be hooked up to your processor unit, restricting your motor functions and combat protocols."

It took a beat for the words to sink in for Zero. They hung in the air long after Craft spoke them, like a smog over Zero's psyche, invading his mind like a creeping poison. His blood ran cold, his eyes wide and directionless, his face hollow and emotionless. His hands slowly reached for the collar, trembling as they came to wrap around the neckbrace.

"But– why? Why would X…" Zero's question trailed off, with the answer obvious to the both of them. He slowly closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He had his suspicions, that much was true ever since he was awoken from his slumber with the collar binding his neck, but X had worked tirelessly to convince him that his unfaltering frail state was the result of his lingering hibernation sickness. He had been completely shut down for a good century, his body wouldn't be the same after so long- that was what he said every time Zero questioned why he was relegated to a mere accessory at X's side.

Zero knew himself, he knew his own body better than X ever could. It had been long enough- he should have healed by now, but his progress was stagnant. Zero slumped against the wall and made a defeated sigh.

"I was stupid to trust him…" he muttered. "I thought… maybe, it wouldn't happen to me. He's already lied to me so many times, and you know, I still thought… he wouldn't do this to me, he loves me. He's my friend. So stupid…"

He shut his eyes and his face tightened, groaning with frustration. "How could he…? After everything."

The betrayal stung. Craft would never understand how much it did- X and Zero had centuries of history long surpassing his measly lifespan, and so, when the time came for him to offer consolidation, words were lost on him. All he could offer was his company and a few kind reassurances, and he knew well that wasn't enough.

"Don't blame yourself, Zero," Craft said, "we all trusted him, once."

Zero lunging forwards and forcefully grabbing Craft's arms came as a surprise for the large warbot. "Please, you gotta help me. Can't you get this thing off of me?"

His stare was intense and desperate, voice pitched and quivering. Craft took a deep breath in, psyching himself up for the hard task of telling the truth.

"I can't," he confessed. Zero shook his head, knee deep in denial.

"No, no. You… you have to," he insisted, "I can't go on like this. This- this can't… help me, Craft."

A warmachine, Craft seldom cried. This was bringing him close, though. He swallowed through the thickness in his throat. "I… I can't. I know modern Neo Arcadian restraints. They don't come off unless they're unlocked by an authorised person, and if I had to guess, that person would be X. They really bolstered these collars ever since I left. I'm sorry. But I can't remove it without taking your head off with it."

"But– there has to be something… is there anything- anything you can do?"

Craft chewed his lip. He was the last person to ask for tech advice, especially when it came to Neo Arcadia's enigmatic technology, a well kept secret even when he was one of X's most trusted commanders. He'd be no help to Zero's plight.

There were people who knew more than he did. It was just that they were Resistance folk.

"I… I do know someone."

"Then take me to them. I'll do anything." His gaze dropped to the floor. "I just want my body back."

It tugged at Craft's heart strings. He battled internally between his loyalty to Zero, and the safety of the Resistance. He really didn't know what to think of Zero. He had been his companion for a while now, and yet, Craft was unsure if he could be trusted as an ally to the Resistance or if he would lead X to their doorstep. Whether the Resistance could trust Zero was another story. The public knew nothing of how X treated Zero, to them, Zero was an accomplice to X's villainy, nothing more than another Neo Arcadian despot. Zero's grip tightened, still waiting for a response from Craft.

"It's just… he's from the Resistance."

"Craft. I'll fight for you. I promise," he said. "I'll fight for you, for the Resistance. For Axl. I just need you to help me. Just this one time."

Craft blinked, brows raising above his boxy helmet.

"I can't promise he can even remove it."

"Anything is better than this." Zero jostled him. "We can run away. Even if he can't help me, I just need to get away from this place."

Craft's throat bobbed. "It won't be easy."

"I never said it would."

It seemed that Zero was adamant, and who was Craft to deny a mistreated reploid freedom? He sighed.

"Alright. I'll give you a day to think this over. If you change your mind…"

"I won't. Thank you, Craft," Zero said, letting him go again. "I won't forget this."

The large warbot huffed, lips quirking to a warm smile. "My duty is to protect you. I'll do whatever it takes," he said. "Sorry about the shirt."

Zero made an amused huff, playfully slapping Craft's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Makes you look gruff and scary."

"Hah. Well, if it's any comfort to you, I still have my bike."

---

Craft's ride chaser was a militaristic model, much larger than Zero's old and beloved Adion to account for his much larger frame. Both sleek in parts and sturdy in others, it had plenty of storage compartments and more importantly, plenty of space for Zero to cling onto Craft's back as they travelled back to the citadel, the grey and bleak concrete flophouses of South-West Sector C fading away in the distance until it had been hidden away by a vast wall. Again, Zero was surrounded by the pristine beauty of X's Neo Arcadia.

The trip was quick, the highways mostly empty besides buses and share taxis faring up and down the Central Roadways, police bikes and military drones trailed close behind. Compared to Abel City at peak hour, it was quiet, and neither Craft nor Zero had anything to say to fill the silence. Rain was beginning to trickle down when the two returned to Central Neo Arcadia, and when they finally got to the citadel, a downpour was rolling in on looming black clouds that obscured the low late afternoon sun. They had changed back into their armour upon returning to Central.

"Home sweet home," Craft said glumly as he parked by the gates of the citadel. "Enjoy the ride?"

Craft was a good driver. "If only we didn't have to come back here."

They rushed inside and passed the gates, the guards opening them without any comment. Craft covered Zero from the storm with an arm around his shoulder. The thick foliage of the entrance gardens offered them light reprieve from the torrent before entering the citadel anteroom.

Like he had been expecting their return, X was at the tower foyer, surrounded by a small army of reploid soldiers who looked about as fretful as he. Zero could see his severe frown from afar, his frustration abundantly obvious in his glare. It all melted away the moment he laid eyes on Zero.

"Zero!"

X sounded so happy, he sounded young again. His grave red eyes glimmered with joy, his face overcome with a wide grin. He bounded towards him with outstretched arms, taking Zero's hands and ripping him from Craft's side.

"Oh, Zero, I'm so happy you're home," he said. His voice was high and light. "Where were you? I was looking all over. I was about to send a search team out for you!" He shook his head, setting that all aside. "Ah, come here, buddy."

He pulled him into a rough kiss, so desperate Zero would've assumed he had been gone for a million years instead of about half a day. Zero felt stiff in the embrace, the gesture that would've made him melt years ago was now rich with bitter possessiveness. Craft groaned softly and looked away, and not in humility.

Zero laughed nervously when X parted lips with him, feeling deeply aware of how he was surrounded by onlookers. "Just going out, that's all."

"You oughta tell me when you leave, honey," X said, "I thought something awful happened to you. Gave me a heart attack!"

"I'm fine, really," Zero insisted, "I was just exploring the city. Besides, I had Craft with me if anything bad happened."

For a second, X's smile faltered. It was like he wasn't used to smiling much. His stare was all too wild and yet all too cold for it to impart any comfort. "I should've been the one protecting you."

Zero closed up, taking in a nervous breath and holding it. He tried to weasel his way out of X's iron grip as stealthily as he could. He had only been gone for a day, and here X was, an angry and uncertain mess, desperate to keep him close to him and him only. Zero still wanted to leave, but there was still a part of him that cared for him. For years, Zero had been X's rock, the one who told him everything was going to be okay. Even now, Zero pitied X for being so prone to his own emotions. It was what made him special and so dangerous at the same time.

"I need to take a shower. This rain isn't good for my hair…"

It was a stupid excuse, but stupid excuses were better than telling the truth and triggering X's mercurial anger. X was hesitant in letting him go.

"Ah, yeah. You're soaked…"

X released him. Zero nodded with feigned gratitude. "Thanks."

Zero didn't look into his eyes when he spoke. As quickly as he had returned to X's possession, he was gone again, rushing away from X as fast as he could and disappearing into an elevator.

It was quiet without X or Zero's voices to fill the anteroom. Craft could sense X's heart begin to thrum and his breath quicken as barely contained frustration quickly rose to the surface. He looked around at the soldiers around him restlessly.

"Don't you have anything better to do?! Leave!"

The soldiers jumped to attention and scattered, regardless of if they even had anything else to do. Soon, it was just X in the empty foyer standing before Craft. The large warbot knew he was trying to intimidate him, but he wouldn't let him into his head.

X narrowed his gaze. Craft turned up his nose.

"...Where were you."

It wasn't a question, but a demand. Craft scowled. "Zero told you."

"I know. Be honest with me, Craft," X said, "you stink like the outer sectors."

"I smoke."

"Ha-ha." X began to pace. "What do you think you're doing with him? Trying to get him killed out there? Or are you trying to toy with my Zero's mind, poisoning his thoughts with your maverick nonsense?"

"He deserves as much as anyone else to see what's out there. Your precious Neo Arcadia," Craft said, spitting the city's name like it was a curse, "you can't control him forever. He has to know. He rules this city at your side, doesn't he?" He furrowed his brow. "He isn't your Zero."

"Then he isn't yours either. My hands are tied when it comes to the outer sectors. You know how difficult this energy crisis is making things," X snapped back. "What would Zero think if he knew who you really were?"

Craft didn't say anything. X scoffed, baring a cunning grin.

"You know what your surname means? Fenrisúlfr?" X asked. Craft tightened his jaw. "He was a great wolf of Norse mythology. He was the son of an old evil, a wily god, destined to wreak havoc through the nine realms. The gods raised him, afraid of his power, and when he grew too powerful to be controlled, he was bound by the troubled gods and left to rot, until he could avenge himself at the twilight of the gods."

"Ragnarok," Craft assumed. "You and those Aesir gods assume the wolf was an inherently evil force. You assumed, regardless of the truth, you raise us, abuse us and betray us. You strip us of free will, and wonder why we bite back? The wolf was an innocent beast."

"He's to murder the Allfather and consume the world in his wake. Can you blame them?

"It'll happen eventually. You can keep me in chains as much as you like. Ragnarok's time will come."

X huffed, crossing his arms.

"Fine, innocent wolf. You know, you could always come back. Rebuild the Einherjar unit, have your name cleared of your maverick allegations," X suggested. "We could use someone like you back in the force."

"Forget it. I fight for the people I believe in."

X's smile fell from his face in an instant. "Suit yourself. Stay a pathetic slave, until I find a reason to kill you," X said. He turned his back on Craft, glaring coldly at him from over his shoulder. "I don't know what Zero sees in you. Just know, he doesn't need you. He needs nobody else but me. Remember that."

Then, X was gone in a flash, warping away someplace Craft didn't care to know. Now that X no longer stood between him and Zero, Craft sped away, following Zero's ID on his close range radar back to his room.

No doubt, he was upset. About the restraining bolt, the sorry state of X's city beyond the walls of Central. In his head, Craft was crafting a consoling speech, but he knew that words would be lost on him by the time he reunited with Zero. X's warnings still lingered in his mind, as did the image of him violating Zero's free will so egregiously. Like cutting out someone's throat, just to stop them whistling an annoying tune…

He still harboured some uncertainty about taking Zero to the Resistance, but what other choice did he have? He couldn't stand seeing someone of his status being dragged around like a dog on a chain. Charitable reasoning aside, if they were to release Zero of his restraints, he would make for a formidable ally, granted he really could find it in himself to turn on X. Whatever happened, if he did nothing, nothing would change. He had made that mistake before.

Right now, wanting him to win their war might be a bit much to ask for. They'd have to take it one step at a time. Craft found himself back at Zero's quarters, and he let himself in. The red reploid sat at the side of his bed, sloughing his wet vest off his shoulders as he watched the rain begin to pour down from outside.

"Zero-"

Craft set his jaw, realising he should probably say nothing. Zero sighed, slouching over in despair. Without his baggy vest, he looked awfully frail, chest thin unlike the broad silhouette the sculptures of him cast, his spine and ribs showing through his iridescent black skinsuit.

"This thing's killing me," Zero murmured after a corrosive silence. Craft quietly shuffled over, sitting at arm's length from his master. He wrapped his arms over his bare chest, shivering with overwhelming cold nausea, skin prickling. "This collar."

Craft frowned, eyes flickering away from Zero. His mouth felt as dry as a desert. Zero was as pale as a ghost, a cold sweat creeping down his neck.

"I feel sick. And he has the cheek to act like he cares about me?" Zero lamented, his voice high and strained as his throat tightened up. "What a joke. It's all a pathetic joke."

Zero slowly closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, grinding the bridge of his nose against the heel of his palm. "I don't know what to do. It's all out of my control. Everytime this shit happened, I just solved my problems by punching the bad guy and then everything was fine. What can I do now? Ugh…"

Craft kneaded his thumbs together in clasped hands.

"Maybe I should just shut up and take the cards handed to me. I mean, I'm comfortable, aren't I? I could've been one of those miserable souls in the outer sectors. Here, I got everything! I eat real food, I have servants who worship and fear me, I don't have to fight. I-I have the love of my life—"

He was cut off by a dry heave. Craft winced. Zero wiped his mouth and shook his head.

"Christ, what am I saying? He's one bad day away from killing me. I can't pretend like I enjoy this…"

Weakly, he tugged at the collar, knowing it wouldn't budge. Zero let out a weary, shaking exhale. Everything Craft wanted to say to him seemed pathetically insufficient. Both of them were warbots, both of them were unequipped to tangle with such complex emotional situations. It certainly wasn't something he was ever trained in.

"I'll take you to them, the Resistance. Cerveau, he's a mechanic, used to be an RIAOT research fellow," Craft said, unsure of what else he could say. "He can help you. I hope. At least, he'll give you more answers than I ever can. Ah, you know, if you give him a shot, he could rebuild your Z-sabre–"

They were empty promises, and Craft knew it. Zero slowly turned to him, drained and exhausted. "Just get me away from here. That's all I ask of you."

Craft paused, before bowing his head. "I'll do what I can, sir."

Zero smiled weakly. "Thank you. I'll do my best for you, too. We're getting out of here together." He extended a hand. "Deal?"

Craft stared at the offered hand, before realising he was supposed to take it. He did so, giving it a light squeeze before releasing it. "Deal."

"Good. Good…" Zero looked away again and got to his wobbly feet, still feeling lightheaded and ill. "I'm just… going to the bathroom. I feel like puking."

He was burning up on Craft's thermosensors. For that, Craft couldn't blame him. He felt sick just thinking about what X had done to Zero. Zero disappeared, and the faint, muffled drumming of a running shower filled the silence and mingled with the rain outside.

He wasn't sure what mess he had gotten himself into. All he had set out to do was save Neige from the claws of Neo Arcadia, and now here he was, watching a struggle brewing between two fallen heroes. Whatever the outcome, it would be catastrophic for the last bastion of humanity. People would die, people he believed in and loved. People like Neige. Now that he was surrounded by the tempting artifice of Neo Arcadia, there were times where he had lapses in judgement. It would be easy to return to the Einherjar warriors and enjoy a life as a captive beast, until his captors would find a reason to bind him in fetters. Maybe it was the right thing. Yet, he had wandered too far in his path of resistance to return to a comfortable life. He'd let the river of expectation flow long enough.

Beyond the gloomy grey skies, in the vast darkness of space, Craft Fenrisúlfr wondered if Ragnarok was orbiting overhead, a grim reminder of who he really was.