Megaman X: Elysium Rising
Chapter 15: Start Again
BGM: Metallica - Fuel
By Genoscythe
AN: How does it feel to come home from school, check your inbox, expect to have nothing in it, and find 5 new reviews waiting to be read? I'll tell ya, it feels pretty damn good. Thank you all for sticking with me, and I promise you'll get some answers in this chapter!
Also, there's some questions I need to answer from Phantom Kensai. Well, for starters, I had this idea in my head a long time before Megaman Zero came out (it first started when I read a short fanfic, the name of which I've lost in my memory and have desperately tried to remember), and when I finally felt like I was ready to write this thing, Megaman Zero had gone and messed with my timeline. Rather than turn the entire idea on its head, I decided to bypass the Zero series completely. I knew this would make some people upset, but that was something I accepted. I know I'll lose people who love the Zero series, but this is the way the story has panned out in my mind, and I can't imagine it any other way. Kensai also said that the Zero series has finality, and that Legends shouldn't have messed with that. However, the Legends series didn't mess with Zero's finality, as Zero came out much later than either of the Legends games did. So, if anything, Zero messed with Legends. I think that clears up everything, so thanks for stating your honest opinion, Kensai. Also, thanks for not outright flaming me. Oh yeah, and about Malakai. He'll be important, rest assured. Being in the 9th Ranger Division doesn't give him much screen time though, since he's often on separate assignments or different parts of Hunter HQ than that of the heroes. Not to mention, most of the characters aren't all that fond of him and tend to avoid him. You won't see all that much of him for at least a little while, but I definitely haven't forgotten him."Have you ever heard of a human scientist named Marek Belheim?" Marx asked Nephtis as she lay on the bed, rapt in attention. She shook her head. "Didn't think so. Not many people have. Anyway, he was my creator. He was a Russian scientist interested in reploids, so he moved here to study them. After all, Neo Tokyo is the birthplace of our species. Dr. Belheim, although a fairly successful scientist in Russia, was struggling to keep up with the reploid geniuses here. He ended up running a small junk shop with his son, Darius."
"Darius?" Nephtis asked, pointing to the inanimate metool sleeping in the corner.
"Darius." Marx nodded. "He was the first one to suggest that Dr. Belheim should get a reploid. Unfortunately, Belheim wasn't in any position to buy a reploid. So…he did the next best thing."
"He stole one?"
"Uh…so to speak. Replitech produces hundreds of reploids every day, and every now and then problems occur on the assembly lines. I was one such problem. There was a malfunction on one of the assembly lines. Whether Darius caused it or not, he never told me. What I do know is that the entire batch of reploids was damaged and considered useless by Replitech. They dumped them all, and Darius picked me out of the trash pile.
He and Dr. Belheim fixed me up and gave me some system upgrades. The good doctor also tested his new firewall system on me," Marx chuckled and looked down at himself. "I guess the old man was more of a genius than he gave himself credit for."
Nephtis giggled. "So you really are a piece of junk." He glared at her.
"You want me to finish the story, or not?" He asked sternly. She bobbed her head. "Okay. So, I for the most part, I stayed in the junk shop and helped run things. Neither Dr. Belheim or Darius could match a reploid's strength, so I mostly unloaded new shipments and carried spare parts. In fact, I was doing so well that Darius decided he could finally move to America. The only reason he stayed with his father was because he was worried about his safety, and with a reploid to protect him there was really no need. So Darius moved to America and became a biologist, leaving me and the old man to fend for ourselves." Marx said lightheartedly, though there was an underlying tone of resentment in his voice.
"What happened to Dr. Belheim?" Nephtis asked, and Marx held up a hand.
"I'm getting there. Everything was going fine…
For a winter night, the sky was surprisingly clear. However, the chill that tore through the streets was even colder than Dr. Belheim had expected. At the sound of a distant explosion, he had stepped outside the junk shop to determine the source. The narrow street was silent and empty, and the echo of the explosion drifted on the wind. When all was quiet once more, he retreated inside to the safety of the junk shop. He walked through bins filled with odds and ends, unidentifiable metal scraps and the occasional reploid arm, until he arrived at the back of the shop.
Through a door to the left, Marx sat in Dr. Belheim's office, typing something into the gauntlet of his newly modified combat armor. Being a cheap Replitech model only days before, Dr. Belheim had adjusted it to provide better reflex response and two built-in shoulder cannons. "How's the armor coming along?"
"It's a little tough adjusting. I can't get the visor calibrated to my systems."
"Let me see your helmet," Belheim offered, but as he was about to lift the helmet from Marx's dusty-haired head, another explosion ripped through the silence. This time it was much closer.
"What the hell…" Marx murmured, beginning to stand. Belheim gently urged him to sit down again.
"Let me see what's happening," he said, turning about. However, before he had left the small office, Marx was at his heels.
"No way, old man. I'm the one made out of high-density metal alloy, not you."
---
Marx pushed Belheim out of the way and walked to the front of the store. As he pressed his face against the glass window, he could hear the roar of a gasoline engine, and a moment later something skidded around the street corner outside. As it sped down the street toward them, he recognized it from the recent news report. It was Ride Boarski, leader of the Red Storm bike gang. A few days ago, he had appeared on the Maverick Hunters' most wanted list, and Marx had vaguely wondered what the Maverick Hunters would be doing messing with part of the Red Alert syndicate.
Boarski roared past them and on down the street, but behind him came his gang. Reploids modeled after pigs rode atop old-fashioned looking motorcycles, one driver and one on the back, shooting automatic weapons at something in the distance. That something was nearing them rapidly, and Marx saw that they were Maverick Hunter ride chasers. The Maverick Hunters were firing personal sidearms, stronger but far less useful than the Red Storm's automatic weapons, at least in a motorcycle chase.
Marx flinched as one of the Red Storm riders roared dangerously close to the window, and this brush with disaster reminded him that Dr. Belheim was standing directly behind him. Marx opened his mouth to yell at his creator, but his words were drowned out by an explosion outside. Marx glanced back to see a Maverick Hunter's ride chaser being catapulted into the air. With a horror that sparked action into his limbs, he realized the airborne ride chaser was heading in their direction. The left stabilizer had been destroyed, and the vehicle was propelled in an awkward fashion into the upper level of their building.
Marx grabbed his father and dashed, lifting the man as easily as a cardboard box as the building shook from the impact. However, the entire world suddenly crashed down on his head and buried him under a pile of flames and debris. Marx shook off the large chunks of concrete and metal, completely disoriented. To his left, the remains of the ride chaser smoldered, and its Maverick Hunter rider lay next to it.
The hunter was still alive, so naturally when Marx found Dr. Belheim buried under a massive pile of rubble, he called for help. To Marx's surprise and anguish, the Maverick Hunter rose, dusted himself off, and started for the large gash where the front window used to be. "Hey! I need help here! Maverick Hunter! There's an injured human over here!" His cries fell on deaf ears, so angrily, he grabbed the hunter by the shoulder and pulled him to where Belheim lay.
"...the hell? Let go, dumbass!" The hunter roared angrily.
"Didn't you hear me? I can't help this human by myself. Don't you have a medkit or something?" Marx asked desperately. The hunter merely snorted derisively and made for the exit again. Marx, grabbed him again, but this time the hunter rounded on him with the butt of his sidearm.
"Touch me again, and you'll wish you were him!" The hunter gestured toward Belheim. The thought that he would have to free Belheim himself finally dawned on Marx. Frantically, he ran back to the debris pile, while the Maverick Hunter left to continue pursuing the Red Storm. Marx dug his hands underneath huge chunks of concrete and lifted, hearing the pistons and joints in his arms whirr unhappily. He forced a large chunk of rubble off of Belheim's prone form, but that only caused more of the ceiling to cave in.
He dug madly at the rubble, eyes fixed on Dr. Belheim's lifeless face caked in dust and blood. He felt as if he were digging for an eternity. He felt time slip through his fingers, mimicking the dust that clouded the floor. Finally, he realized that it was a lost cause. Belheim was dead, and he had nobody to thank but that reckless Maverick Hunter. With a new fire in his eyes and renewed vigor pumping through his body, he stood and ran out the entrance into the midst of the firefight. The vehicles were abandoned, and now open war was being waged on the streets.
Red Storm hid behind their motorcycles while the hunters used objects like cars for cover. The fight was completely chaotic, with warriors running, slashing, and shooting in every direction. Marx searched quickly for the hunter he sought, and found him quickly enough. He wore deep red armor, and a lavishly horned helmet with gold trim. He was chewing through the Red Storm with a gaudy automatic pistol to match his armor.
Marx, being unable to use his visor, tackled a nearby Red Storm that had come close to him without realizing it. Grabbing the pig reploid's automatic rifle and unloading it into the pig's face, he took the gun and ran into the midst of the chaos. The battle was thinning, as there was a relatively small amount of combatants, so Marx wove through the combat easily. He soon found himself behind the crimson Maverick Hunter, and he contemplated shooting him in the back. Then, he remembered that he wanted some answers.
Marx pulled the trigger, and automatic rounds tore apart the Maverick Hunter's shooting arm. The hunter howled, and Marx grabbed his head and thrust him into the ground. He grabbed the automatic pistol from the still-twitching arm on the ground and held it against the hunter's head. "Why?" Marx asked simply. "Why'd you leave him?"
"What? You!" The hunter roared in angst, but Marx had him pinned too hard for him to escape.
"Isn't it your duty to protect humans? Isn't that what the Maverick Hunters are? Protectors for the humans?"
"Protectors...hell. Maverick Hunters are hunters, pure and simple. We aren't here to protect nobody..." The Maverick Hunter grunted, defiance in his voice.
"He's dead. My creator's dead. You have any idea how that feels?"
"This is your problem, not mine. Lemme go, alright?" Marx had had enough. He flipped the gun over in his hand, and smashed the handle into the back of the Maverick Hunter's helmet. Four times he struck, and then stopped momentarily.
"He didn't get a slow death. Why should you?" Marx asked rhetorically, his emotions overcoming him. After that, he wasn't sure how many times he had hit the Maverick Hunter. All he knew was that it was enough. Enough to quench his bloodlust, but not enough to fill the empty void that was filling his heart.
"...so, I was arrested for murdering the Maverick Hunter. Due to the...circumstances...of the murder, my sentence was somewhat shortened. I was put into cryo-stasis until a short time after the Red Alert syndicate was destroyed. After I was re-awoken, I took the belongings the Defense Force had kept for me, and started life as a freelance mercenary. In fact, I was only on my third job when you hunters captured me," Marx's story came to a close. Nephtis's eyes had a thoughtful, faraway look about them. For a time, neither of them said a word.
"I...misunderstood a few things about you." She finally said. "I misunderstand a lot of people. So...I'm sorry," she extended her hand, and at first Marx had no idea how to react. "Please?" She asked sincerely. Marx couldn't believe it. This was the third time in one day that she had said please(and Marx guessed it was the third time she'd ever said please). So, he extended his own hand and they shook, making Marx's skin tingle. She retracted her hand, and sat back on the bed.
"So...we're even? A fresh start?"
"Yeah."
"Well, goodnight, then."
"Goodnight," Nephtis pulled the sheets around her once more, and Marx settled back onto the floor. He was just about to shut down when he remembered something.
"Hey! You never told me your story!"
"Uh...what do you mean?"
"I just spilled my guts, woman! Now it's your turn!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"This isn't fair!"
"Goodnight, Marx."
"Hey, don't try to silence me!"
"Don't worry, it's not possible."
"Stop changing the subject."
"Stop harassing me!"
"This isn't harassment! C'mon, be fair for once, here."
"If you don't shut down by the count of three, I'll shut you down myself."
"Don't think you're getting away with this."
"1"
"You've gotta tell me sometime."
"2"
"Why not? If it's embarrassing, it can't be any worse than what I just tol-"
"3" Marx wisely shut his mouth and repositioned himself to make it look like he had shut down. Sighing, he knew that he wasn't getting anything else out of her tonight. However, before he shut down, his thoughts drifted to Belheim. The kind, yet stern man that had been gracious enough to grant him life. The man who, in death, looked more peaceful than he ever had while still alive.
End of Chapter 15
AN: Just bloody wonderful. I'm addicted to World of Warcraft now, even more than I was with Half-Life(still the best fps evar). So...if you want to blame the late update on something, blame it on Blizzard for being such a damn good video game company. Then blame it on me for listening to my friend, who got me addicted in the first place. Speaking of World of Warcraft, if you're a Horde player on the Kil'Jaedin server, you can find me on my warrior(Camelman), my rogue(Genoscythe), or my Druid(Ozric) in case you want to talk or make use of my l33t skillz.
Also, if anyone wants Genoscythe sprites(ooh, ahhh), then tell me. If you're e-mail address isn't on your profile, then you'll have to tell me that too. These sprites were made before my writing career even started, but considering that and considering I made them in MS Paint, I think I did pretty good. See for yourself if you'd like. Merry Christmas, and have a happy whatever else there is. I dunno. It's two o'clock right now. I don't know anything.