Mikhail watched in amusement as the troupe of Mega Men returned from dealing with the rampaging pseudoroid. In the time since he'd last seen them, some great fun had apparently occurred at the expense of the now bedraggled looking mercenary. The long-haired man was barely dry enough to not avoid being referred to as dripping wet, but clearly more than soaked. Thetis was massaging his face from where he'd been grinning too hard, Atlas was smiling like a Cheshire cat, and Aeolus had a smug smirk on his face much larger than the usual one. And Siarnaq... well. Mikhail raised an eyebrow. Siarnaq had a harried look to him, clearly damaged and cradling his arm carefully. Despite that the enigmatic ninja had a spring in his step if you looked hard enough. That really caught the Master off guard, who turned his gaze to Omega questioningly.
The glare he received clearly indicated that, if he asked, he would end up splattered all over the walls, burnt into a crisp, and ripped to shreds in no particular order. After pausing for a moment to wonder how so much could be expressed with a simple glance, the Master shrugged it off and got to business. "So, how was the mission? Receiving a report over a communicator is one thing, hearing it is another. Let's have it."
The ensuing report was delivered with painstaking accuracy by Aeolus, who took great pleasure in illustrating just how much their favourite new member had been in trouble and how they'd rescued him. The tale, which was accurate if a little derogatory to Omega, was finished with a simple flourish about how they'd had to clean him off in the lab after the incident with the slime-filled canal. Thankfully Aeolus didn't narrate that with more than a few words, since Mikhail was pretty sure that the mercenary was about ready to throttle him. Very enthusiastically he might add, judging by the renewed glares towards the green aristocrat.
Mikhail finally dismissed the Mega Men and the mercenary once their newest story was told, the latter leaving the room in a fine fury. The others went elsewhere, to do whatever they did in their spare time. Atlas mentioned something about sparring, which made Thetis groan in reluctance. The Master considered them as they left, a thought forming in his head.
Lately, a great deal of hunters and citizens of Legion were, to put it bluntly, getting rather bored. Bruised egos from the Ouroboros incident were widespread, mostly belonging to those who'd had their ships destroyed and been unable to partake in the fight. Even some of the hunters that made it to the 'ultimate biometal' had been rather put out at how little they'd had to do once the Model A and ZX Mega Men had gotten their acts together and, to put it bluntly, kicked all sorts of ass. The Guardians were the only group that had come away completely satisfied from having played such an important role. Even so, the relative peace that had resulted was undoubtedly a nuisance to a group that was so used to action. With all the Model W cores destroyed, a good lot of them were at a complete loss for what to do. The only thing keeping them occupied was the repair of their ship wondrous ship, the Grand Nuage, and that would only keep them busy for so long. That attitude held by the Guardians was common among a good portion of the populace. In simple terms, people who were used to fighting now found themselves standing idle, and people who'd wanted a fight were now without one. Tempers and tensions were higher than usual. No one admitted it of course, after all, the Ouroboros incident had ended a good amount of minor spats between people who'd realized that there was a common enemy and fighting each other was a needless waste of energy. Having a giant doomsday device flying around tends to do that, the elder mused with a chuckle.
Still, Mikhail thought, with the source of a lot of the world's strife gone, tempers that had gone unsated were starting to return. Everyone was still riled up, but this time there was no single great enemy to fight. That is, apart from the raiders, but the majority of them had smelled trouble and started acting more subtly or downright gone underground. Those that hadn't, well... In short, people were happy, but they wanted a fight.
And in the end, despite all that had happened, after all the trouble that the Ouroboros incident had caused, Mikhail was pretty sure that there had never actually been an official celebration. When people wanted to fight and celebrate... what better way to do that than a fighting tournament? All of his attendants might call him old or nostalgic, but he couldn't remember the last time Legion had hosted such an event, and he kind of missed those things too. The Master smiled to himself, even as he viewed his schedule for the rest of the evening. He'd have to talk to Thomas about this.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Elsewhere, Thomas had his own thoughts.
The other Master of Legion gazed upwards, the Grand Nuage spectacular even in the repair bay. Its golden figurehead sparkled magnificently, the repairmen having polished it zealously once it was repaired. The hull she flew on was nearing completion, and what few scars remained were ready to be covered by paint. It had taken a lot of effort, but the proud Guardians had done more than their fair share to get their base up and running as soon as possible. Its sides gleamed in the calm hangar lightThe Guardians, however, weren't the only ones in on the operation. Ashe lay snoring on a nearby pile of crates, her silver hair covered in grease and splayed across her features. Model A hovered nearby.
"That girl's working a lot harder than she should, given her condition." Thomas turned, surveying the Model ZX male as he came into sight. He too was covered in gunk, a portion of his brunette hair sticking out at an odd angle and soaked in oil. "If it wasn't for little A there, we'd probably have had to drag her back off to the hospital just to keep her from hurting herself again."
Thomas nodded knowingly. The youngest biometal turned, facing Vent as if speaking to him. He laughed. The Master looked at Vent curiously, "What was that about?"
"It was just something he said, about how having to be her morale support would be a lot easier if she didn't try so hard to put herself onto life support," Vent grinned.
"She is indeed a very determined youth. Where would we be without her, and Grey too..."
Vent's face darkened for a brief moment, "I'm not sure I'd like to think about that." As suddenly as the emotion had appeared, it disappeared, and the Guardian commander was left his usual, chipper self. The pair returned their gazes to the craft nearby, a respectful silence permeating the air as they surveyed its hull.
Thomas broke the silence, "She really is a wonderful ship."
"Prairie would have loved to see her like this. I've modified her a bit, you know," Vent replied absently.
Thomas peered sadly at Vent. He knew all too well what had happened with Prairie, the former Guardian Leader. An attack by a minor Raider faction, who'd held a Model W core, had managed to strike her down just before the ZX pair arrived. Despite that, she had survived the ordeal. She could have survived 'til the next day, too, but...
Thomas raised his head to stare at the great ship, his eyes glazed over with memory.
He entered the room, the medical wing of the Guardian base, with Mikhail at his side. Albert was also there, hidden in the background. His face, unlike the other two, showed no emotion, as it had always been with the enigmatic man. However, it was bowed with respect, his serene eyes shadowed. Mikhail was not so closed, being the most honest and open man in Legion as some said. The poor Master's face was creased with sorrow, tears ready to spring from behind his eyes.
Thomas himself was somewhere between the two, his face distraught but not a shudder of his frame or a glisten of moisture in his eyes betraying him entirely. If Albert was the enigmatic scholar and Mikhail the honest old man, then he was right between the two, a proud warrior, not showing his tears, but not hiding his emotion. This distress was well justified. In the bed of the medical wing, surrounded by her weeping Guardians, lay the only being alive that they knew of that could attest to being older than even the Masters of Legion. The attack from earlier was already a well known fact. But what was not well known was that the leader of the Greatest vigilante group ever had not died in the attack.
No, she had chosen to die later, on her own terms.
"Please, reconsider!" bleated a thin girl, her brown hair in a disarray. Aile.
"I've made my choice, and you all know this," smiled Prairie as she once again attempted to console her flock. "I've lived a long, good life, one much longer than regulated and allowed by Legion's laws. Speaking of Legion, I am honored that you all have come, Masters."
"No, it is our honour, Lady Prairie. For you, who are older than wiser than even us three, to have requested us by your deathbed, is a request that none of us would dare refuse," spoke Albert.
Thomas was momentarily removed from his memory at the thought of Albert. That lying, cheating, evil son of a... but, as he recalled, if there was ever a time in his life when he'd seemed genuinely cowed, humble and honest, it had been that time. And how could he blame him? Prairie had always had an aura of something ancient and beautiful about her, as if she had known both the best and worst of history and lived through it all with nothing more than a smile to keep her going. Even Albert had respected her utterly. She represented to them, to everyone, the spirit of a leader, the determined soul of humanity itself as it strove to improve itself and that around it for the better. Albert may have hated the world for what it was, but he respected her for having done whatever she could to fight for what she believed in, despite whatever trials had come. Prairie was the epitome of faith, fighting for what one believed in.
And now...
And now she lay, dying, in a bed. Thomas couldn't believe it. Everything that she stood for, that he knew she stood for, was in jeopardy somehow. As if the death of this one woman to mere raiders was some unspeakable sin against humanity.
But that she chose to die herself? On purpose? He leveled his gaze at her, one that people compared to the powerful glare of a lion, and yet felt at that moment as though he were no more than a lost, confused kitten.
"Why?"
The simple question, unspoken by anyone else, reflected what was on all their minds. The room as as silent and heavy as a grave, full of regret and loss. Yet, despite all that, she smiled. She smiled.
"Because it is my time."
That simple sentence, alone in it authority, demanded utmost attention from even the three governors of the entire world.
"I've lived on this earth for well over a lifetime, if not two or three. I was born in a horrible era, and watched as it, and the heroes in it, disappeared into dust, which blew away to reveal a small, delicate bud. I watched those remaining from that desolate time nurse that small, shattered flower into the glorious bloom of peace. I watched, and then I participated, to strengthen that peace into what it is today. Now that the Model W is gone, I'm... no longer needed. I've been blessed with more time than so many others have ever had. I've played my part on this great stage we call life. But, to remain on that stage forever would be meaningless. You can only play a role so long... It is time. It is my time, to pass on that role to those more able to take it. It's my time to return to watching the world pass, and to take a rest from which I'll never return. I've seen people greater than me, who'd lived longer than me, do the same. Whether by choice, in a glorious climax of blood and metal, or in a most unexpected and tragic way."
She smiled sadly, "In a manner of speaking, they're the same I suppose. Aile, Vent... everyone, do not grieve. I've loved my life, every second of it, no matter how much I thought it was going to end in the next second, or it was never going to end at all. I've been blessed, that I've been able to live beside you all and watch you grow. All of you, you're more than capable of taking up this role which I am about to leave behind. Thank you, everyone. It means so much, that those I love and cherish will be able to take up my burden."
And with that, the illustrious leader rose, facing the doorway. No one moved or spoke as she stood there, in what they knew would be the final moments of her life, stronger and prouder and more beautiful than ever before despite the remnants of the Raider's attack that bled heavily at her side. Her eyes reflected a memory, one held the final determination of a great warrior staring down what he knew would be his end with a smile.
Mikhail squeezed out a final request, through heaving lungs, "Prairie... when you leave, no one shall know. You are the only one who has any recollection of what happened during the blank period. When you go..." it hung in the air, and the Master did not need to finish, for everyone knew the rest of that sentence instinctively in their hearts.
No one will remember history.
And again, Prairie smiled. This time, however, it was with a grave sadness that sung of the despair of ages. It was an unspoken, unspeakable, tragedy that draped heavily over her shoulders and her heart, one that reflected through her eyes and finally revealed the world-weary part of her soul that her usual demeanor hid, that she herself had thought gone long ago. "There are hints for those who seek it, and know where to look," she said, "But be warned, Mikhail. It is as I have said before.
Some things are better left unknown."
And then she left.
Everyone stood still, as if time itself had stopped. Then Vent and Aile, who had been crouched next to her bed, sprung into action. This sparked a reaction in the rest, who had felt, even if only for a moment, that time had well and truly ceased its eternal pace. They all left the room, hurrying through the halls, until they came to the door to the teleportation chamber. As the door opened, they had managed a single glimpse of Praire, one last view of a woman who had impacted them all so much.
She was smiling again, a gleeful, happy smile the likes of which had never been seen before and would never been seen again. It was filled with the joy that a person feels when their hopes and dreams have finally been realized, and even moreso, passed onto another generation and for all time. It was the happiness when one comes from the worst of their lives and has finally arrived at the very best.
She smiled. She smiled at them. And she spoke, the last words anyone alive would ever hear from her again. "Thank you. Thank you all, for everything."
Then, she disappeared. The transporter had worked its everyday magic, and she was well and truly gone. Everyone stared, stoic, desolate. It was Albert who finally had the courage to speak.
"So ends an era."
Everyone looked to him, his solemn gaze filled with some unspoken promise from deep within, one prompted by Prairie, not by Prairie herself, but by Albert to himself from the depths of his heart and beliefs. He gazed directly at Vent and Aile, the strangest, strongest determination held within, and spoke with a voice that sent a shiver up the spines of all who were in attendance.
"Here begins one anew."
And that was it.
But, no, it wasn't quite. The time had come, one week later, when Albert had finally decided to make sure that nothing had happened to the body. He had traveled with some of his staff to the frozen Area F, where it had been reputed that the founder of the Guardians had died as well. It seemed fitting, really. But when the search team arrived there, they'd found nothing. No mechaniloids, no body, no signs of life or death at all. No ships, raider or otherwise, had been around the area at all in the past month, and only one life sign had been tagged by the satellites as having been there. Prairie had entered the area, and in the exact location she had stopped moving, there was nothing. Only a small depression in the snow showed any evidence at all.
She had simply vanished.
Prairie's death had been as mysterious as her early life. No one knew where she, leader of the Guardians and beloved of everyone, had ended up. Her origins and her last resting place were lost in the sands of time, buried beneath the serenity of snow and in the silence of eternity.
An enigma in the beginning, an enigma at the end.
Thomas shook himself out of his reverie. Aile had appeared in the distance of the repair bay, waving at the pair of them to come over to her. Vent also awoke himself, and Thomas had the suspicion that he was not the only one reminded of the former leader's final moments. Even Ashe, who had not been there, woke with a start as if having missed some terribly important event in history. As Vent and Thomas slowly walked to the female Guardian leader, the grey-haired Hunter had the feeling of being watched. A quick glance around showed nothing, but for a moment she could have sworn she saw two lights; two happy, glowing figures atop a pile of crates that was stacked high into the dark recesses of the building.
She stared at that spot, but then shrugged and followed the others.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Seraph, who had finally returned to the mortal realm, glanced at the one beside him, amused. "So, does what Vent and Aile did to her strike your fancy?"
Beside him, a small pink cyber-elf, whose features were hidden in her glow, smiled. "Vent was right. I love it. Those two have done so well as leaders..."
Seraph returned the gesture, beaming, "Yes, I think you chose your replacements well. Ciel is quite proud of you, although I'm sure she's told you herself more than enough times."
"I never hear the end of it. Her and Zero, well, what part of Zero that isn't still here, have made a hobby of it. Or at least that's what I think they've done, you can never tell with that blond fussbudget. Don't tell him I said that." she giggled. Then her gaze calmed, and she stared at copy X. "You've really changed... I'm still not used to it."
"I get that a lot."
"I'm sure you do. Copy X... no, Seraph. Thank you, thank you so much, for what you did. Back then, in the snows of area F, and now, in this humble repair bay. It gives my spirit peace."
Seraph smiled. "I only did what was appropriate. I may have had to die to learn how to do the right thing... but, with any luck, I'll do it properly this time."
"You will. We all have faith in you," she replied.
"It means a lot to me to hear that from you, of all people. But time grows short. Return to cyberspace. As you said before, your time is, unfortunately, over. I'll take it from here, just like Vent and Aile did."
The woman, her pink aura glowing majestically, gave the Grand Nuage one last, meaningful, and slightly embarrassed gaze before she faded back into her eternal rest. "I really do love what they've done with her." The figurehead of the Grand Nuage, the golden angel, seemed to stare back even as she disappeared. Its face, which Vent and Aile had painstakingly re-sculpted, now resembled Prairie in all her glory.
Seraph stared at the last sparkles of the cyber-elf's passing.
"Good-bye, Allouette."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Omega lay in bed, having just awoken from a nap, yet still tired from his recent ordeals with Legion and crazy pseudoroids. He glared around the room in annoyance, searching for something to distract himself from his earlier humiliation. Something menial... ah, there. Getting up, he walked to the window to open it for some fresh air. The late evening stars sparkled dully against the blackness engulfing them, a stark contrast to the gleaming, vigorous neons of the busy city below. Vehicles whizzed past each other on the street below, the occasional sound of a muffled honk drifting up to his high position in the main building of Legion. Streetlights cast a glow upon the few people scurrying down below, small as specks of dust from his vantage point. It was a calm, slightly eerie quiet that resulted, the muted orchestra of nightlife complimented by a lonely wind howling a soft dirge past his window. The God of Destruction took a rare moment to enjoy this peace, his arms barely able to support him on the thin ledge between the window's bottom and the wall.
He drew back, savoring the night air, before something caught his attention. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, really. As he flexed the fingers on his hand, the very same one that he'd regenerated in an instant, a realization came to him. The Red Demon knew he could regenerate his limbs, but he didn't remember being able to do it quite that fast before. He frowned, the action creasing his forehead. Was this another result of that mysterious potential system? Resolving to try and figure the silly thing out once and for all, he closed his eyes. Delving again into his own data, he found some new lines of code, but overall, not much changed. After briefly glancing at the descriptions for his new EX Skills, he set them aside and went after the real problem at hand; the true meaning of his potential system.
Half an hour of hitting his head against that figurative wall, he still hadn't figured it out. Whether through confusing program codes or sheer complexity of design, he couldn't make head nor tail of anything his inquiries into the potential system resulted in. Snarling at the nuisance his own systems were giving him, Omega stomped around his room, pacing and thinking to himself with frustration. It would be much simpler if my own programming would allow me to understand what the hell this potential system is. I don't remember being able to regenerate my arms like that. Not to mention the EX combos. What on earth is next? It's disadvantageous to be confused by my own systems... If I understood this stupid thing better, I could take advantage of it, not get caught off guard by it constantly! A few more rounds around the room still didn't help him. He stopped pacing, gave up, and sat on the bed with a pronounced whump.
"Good lord, All I wanted to figure out was what the stupid potential system is..." he pouted. For some reason, at that very moment, the system vexing him decided on an encore. Potential system upgrade commencing. A.I. Suggestion integrated. Initializing...
Omega scowled, "Oh great, now it's mocking me."
"Potential system upgrade completed. Action labeled "mocking" currently designated invalid action.
Omega started, confused. Wait... was one of my programs talking tohim?! That's it. He'd finally gone nuts. A voice in my head, really? The God of Destruction flopped back onto the bed loudly, annoyed and frustrated from trying to figure out his own programming. Or both. Omega sighed at his condition. He was overtired from the earlier fight with the temporal bird, agitated at himself because of his programming, and currently talking to said programming because there seemed to be little else to do nowadays but dive headfirst down the spiral of insanity out of boredom. That in itself was more that just a bad sign. Things just kept getting better, didn't they? His potential system decided to continue its tirade, and in the end Omega resigned himself to the bizarre conversation with it.
"Informational input; program subroutine labeled 'voice in your head' incorrect. Program subroutine currently unlabeled; more accurately describable as minor upgrade of main Potential System program. Subroutine is designed for the purpose of surveying upgrades and explicating potential system upgrades to A.I. Program 'Omega'. Unlabeled program was created to modify and ensure stability of Potential System upgrades," it finished.
"So you're saying that, with all those upgrades this potential system is making to MY body, it decided to make a separate program to monitor its own progress? What, am I not good enough to double check what's happening to my own body or something?!" he snapped at it, completely forgetting how ridiculous he might have looked yelling at himself.
"Program subroutine was created to manage backlog of potential system modifications caused by malware file W31L-Obd2. File W31L-Obd2 interrupted upgrade process of potential program, overriding physical upgrades. Potential System routine attempted compensation for lack of results via more upgrades, which were overrided as well. A feedback loop was developed accidentally. Once Malware file W31L-Obd2 was removed, a new subroutine was necessary for analyzing potential system upgrades to ensure compatibility."
Omega sighed, muttering aloud to the program, "So basically, my potential system tried to upgrade me when things weren't working, but Weil's program stopped it, so it just kept on trying the upgrades anyways. Then, when it finally could work again, it had to develop a subroutine to make sure the upgrades were actually gonna work? That still doesn't entirely explain what the Potential System is or how it works, but I guess it'll have to do."
The program apparently took that as a question, as it attempted a reply, "Program labeled Potential system-"
"Okay okay, you know what, just forget it! Forget I said anything! It's bad enough that I'm talking to a voice in my head, but one that speaks techno-babble? Gah!" he covered his eyes, massaging his temples to try to calm down. "Good lord, I'm going nuts. It wouldn't be so bad if the bloody voice in my head could talk legibly, but noooo! Is that too much to ask for? Apparently so, yeesh."
The voice in his head seemed to contemplate something for a moment. "...Program routine labeled 'talk' undesirable?"
"Yes."
"Attempt to change routine? Yes/no."
"Yes."
"Initiating potential system upgrade."
"Good lord not that shit again," Omega groaned. His mind seemed to go silent, minus something that seemed like a silent buzz. Quite disgusted with the whole ordeal, Omega sat up, considered going for a walk to clear his head, and ended up just flopping back down onto the bed. He didn't have the energy as far as he was concerned. He'd almost fallen asleep when the program acted up again.
"Subroutine installed, file name 'talk' renamed 'speech'. Initiating subroutine."
"Good for you," he snorted sarcastically.
"Is this easier for you to understand?"
Omega startled once again, and would have stared stupidly at the program had he been able to. Instead, for lack of a better target, he just stared at the wall.
"Wait, what? Uh, yes?" the God of Destruction was taken aback. This program, upon his asking, had actually managed to make itself easier to understand? The last time he checked, programs couldn't re-write himself, unless... the potential system. It was involved in this.
"Program, explain the Potential System using the speech subroutine," he commanded.
"Understood. The Potential system is a system that upgrades systems that appear to be below peak operating efficiency. It rewrites and improves programs or body structures whenever possible to increase their efficiency, usually by changing your basic DNA code to suit the needed physical changes."
Omega scrunched up his face, "Okay... I think I get it, but could you give me an example?"
"Yes. Because you don't have your armor, your defensive abilities are down. Two possible solutions were available: either increase the strength of your basic defense system, your 'skin', or increase your regenerative abilities to compensate for the damages. Partial skin upgrades have been implemented, but too many would increase your weight and possibly cause more problems, such as when 'swimming'. The regenerative upgrade was calculated to be more useful, as exemplified during the incident with 'Oceatar'."
"Now I get it," Omega grunted, whacking the bed as if to punctuate his statement. "The potential system, to put it bluntly, brings out my potential by increasing aspects or abilities of mine that need improvement? Such as, if I started to carry lots of heavy objects or use my sword a lot, it would make my arms stronger?"
"Yes. It could also make your sword more powerful in that situation."
"I'm liking the sound of this!" he grinned. He looked down at his hand once again, curling his fingers against the air.
"Does the A.I. Program 'Omega' understand the Potential System now?"
"Yes."
"Then further action by the 'speech' subroutine has been deemed unnecessary. Stand-by mode initiated."
And with that, it went quiet.
In the silence that followed, Omega grinned. Now he finally understood the extent of what that system was about! He considered the new upgrades to his programming carefully. The Potential System seemed to have created a new program designed solely to help the 'A.I. Program', himself, to understand it better. He was concerned for a moment about how quickly it learned to talk to him (in a literal manner of speaking), but then shrugged it off. The system was obviously designed to be solely beneficial. It would correct itself if something went wrong, wouldn't it? Then he chuckled. This potential system could almost be called a type of evolution. How ironic that it was contained in a reploid called the God of Destruction!
But, whatever. The night had darkened, and all but the most necessary of lights in the city below had been shut off. Deeming it to be very late indeed, Omega turned to his bed. Another day over. What would the next one hold?