General crossed his arms.

The timetable was beginning to fail. The Maverick Hunters' "war of posts", as Colonel called it, was having its effect. They weren't stopping Repliforce, but neither were they staying put long enough to be destroyed. They would hit the head of a column, force the soldiers to debark and deploy, then fall back to a new position before Repliforce could come to grips. As far as Repliforce could tell, they weren't inflicting many losses on the Hunters at all, while these constant skirmishes were taking a steady toll on Repliforce's numbers and equipment.

Toss in the occasional flanking ambush that inflicted mass casualties, and Repliforce's offensive was losing momentum fast.

They were making progress, but not enough; they weren't beating their clock. And now mechaniloids in the forest screen were rapidly disappearing. And now the mountain outpost was under attack.

"Fight well," Colonel was saying to Frost Walrus. The feraloid had volunteered to stay behind, see if he could detain Zero-maybe not kill him, but at least delay him. He was a defensive specialist, after all. Repliforce could offer him no support in this attempt. The mountain outpost was their rearmost position, and Repliforce could not simultaneously march forwards and backwards.

That didn't make Colonel or General feel better about abandoning their subordinate. Colonel's fist was shaking with rage and emotion. "It's hard," General said to Colonel.

"It should be me," Colonel said bitterly. "Excepting maybe yourself, sir, I'm the only one in Repliforce who's a match for Zero. I can stall him, maybe even beat him. Better I go than we sacrifice ourselves one unit at a time."

"You don't need to rush to your fate," General said.

Colonel gave a wan smile. "My fate is rushing towards me, sir. I've got to try."

General looked at him for another moment, then gave a curt nod. "Very well. I will continue to conduct the war from here. Do you have a plan to bring Zero to you?"

"I do," Colonel replied.

"Then do you as wish."

"Thank you, sir."

"And come back to me," General added.

Again, the wan smile. "I promise nothing, sir."

"You're very thorough, Mega Man X."

X wasn't fooled by the words; the tone was like a prolonged sneer. Web Spider's face was far from humanoid, so he had to make his facial expressions with intonation alone.

He seemed pretty good at it. He'd certainly had enough practice.

"You knocked out enough mechaniloids to draw in all my patrols, and then you massacred them," Web Spider went on. His voice was biting now, and his lesser limbs were quivering with rage. "You didn't spare even one of them."

"How could I?" asked X. "If I let them go, I'd just have to Hunt them later. Later, after they've hurt someone else, or killed someone else, or after they've gotten to someplace where people might get hurt in the crossfire. This is war, Web Spider. Your General should have known that before he made his choice."

"No mercy in war, is it?" chittered Web. "No quarter asked, none given?"

"If you have any ideas, I'd like to hear them." X hoped he sounded sincere, but there wasn't much optimism in his voice.

Web pointed. "You say that as you stand there with a charged buster."

"You think I want do this?" X demanded. "You think this makes me happy?"

"Your feelings are irrelevant. You killed my unit. That is what matters."

X knew why Web was drawing the pre-fight formalities out. All around him he sensed the spiderling mechaniloids gathering, in every tree, on every branch. He had more senses than his foes ever expected—another manifestation of the legacy of Dr. Light. Legacy- this marvelous combat body, strong enough to push even Zero, the ultimate warbot, to his limits.

Legacy—a mind that could regret wielding that power.

Legacy—an emotional core that could weep at having that level of power at all.

"You could have left us alone," Web said. "You still could. You could disappear into the forest until this is all over. But you didn't, and you won't, will you?"

"I tried," X said, voice very small. "I wanted to keep this from happening… but now Repliforce has invaded Abel City, and people are dying. You've forced my hand.

"And there's no way for me to show mercy. You all went Maverick, so you all…"

He couldn't finish. He knew he gave Web more of an advantage the longer the conversation dragged on—it gave the spiderlings more time to gain position. X just couldn't help himself. It pushed back the time before the fight actually had to happen.

In theory he should have been killing as quickly as possible and moving on to the next target, but even X had his limits.

"There is a way," Web said. "Just… do nothing. Let things happen."

"I can't do that," X whispered.

"You can. Just relax." Web's eyes glittered with rage. "It'll all be over soon."

Spiderlings leapt.

X fired straight up.

A maximum-capacitance ball of plasma roared from X's arm, larger than the emitter that formed it. It blasted and burned everything in its path, from spiderlings to branches, and X followed with a leap upwards into the gap.

Spiderlings hit the ground beneath him like a crashing wave, erupting up to cover where he had been. A second charged shot, this one straight down, turned the mass of spiderlings to slag.

Clacking with wrath, Web Spider darted forth. He led with his face, racing for X's landing spot. Small, rapid-fire buster shots from X flew for Web's face. The feraloid covered his face with his forelimbs, shielding himself, but that just made him lose sight of his opponent. X jumped back to a tree, ricocheted off of it, and leapt up and over Web.

He hammered his foe's back with plasma.

That would have felled many a Maverick, but not Web Spider. He turned quickly, eight limbs churning in a fast rhythm. As he brought his face back towards X, he spat out projectiles that crackled as they flew.

X was ahead of that. By bouncing back and forth between two trees, he was able to throw off Web's aim. Web was too inexperienced to be able to shoot accurately while moving, especially with the size of his body; he had to choose to do one or the other. It was a fatal disadvantage.

Plasma leakage got in under Web's failing armor; a minor explosion from underneath the shell of his carapace blew a hole in him. His body crackled with damage and the sparks of shorting circuits. His torso sagged as his limbs failed him for a moment. "Even now… I should expect no mercy," the Repliforce commander hissed.

"I wish I had the option," X whispered.

Web gathered himself for one last rush, but with his level of damage it was anything but quick. It gave X more than enough time to fully charge his buster.

He didn't raise his buster until the last moment, though, as if by putting off taking the shot he might not ever have to. Yet his combat reflexes wouldn't let him not-shoot. So, when Web reached the critical range, X's arm raised and plasma flew from it and Web's head vanished.

That didn't fully stop him. Web's body crashed to the ground and slid towards X with its momentum. It would take only a casual motion for X to evade—

"I won't surrender!" "Death before dishonor!"

Disorientation swept through X as he saw Colonel's face on Web's smoking, empty head—

And then the carapace of the corpse swept his feet out from under him and his world swam and he crashed and tumbled.

Even after he stilled, he felt like his gyros had tumbled. Why had he seen Colonel? Why had he heard Colonel's voice?

It was the single-mindedness, the knowing march to oblivion, the embrace of doom.

X had seen it before. In Colonel. In Mavericks. In those who didn't realize there were any other paths, and in those who'd locked themselves irrevocably to a single path.

Were there any reploids in Repliforce who knew better? Were there any who could be saved? Or were they all bound up in this common, collective insanity the world called Maverickism?

He allowed his eyes to close. "Web Spider eliminated," he reported.

"Good job, X," replied Double. "He was in command of their screening forces. Without him, you probably won't encounter much opposition until you get to the base. It's to your northeast. You said you wanted to hit their computer facility first, right?"

So hard for X to refocus on his task. He forced himself. "Yes. If we can access that, we can search down any records or sightings they've had of Dragoon."

"Plotting a course now. I'll have you waypoints in a moment."

It was so blue, X thought as he looked up. The sky… so very blue.

The sky he could only see because his buster had burned all the green and brown out of the way. Like he was doing as a Hunter, killing his way through the present to reach some sort of future…

He reached his hand up.

But you couldn't touch the sky. You couldn't ever get there.

He let his hand flop down onto Web's corpse. It drifted, almost automatically, towards the dead reploid's weapons bay. Unique systems scanned, analyzed, and copied.

Webs, he thought. Perfect. The exact weapon one uses to keep something from reaching the sky.

"I have your course locked in."

X rose gingerly to his feet. "Alright, Double. Let's keep moving."

"Yes, sir."

Grant gave the map a thorough looking-over. The Hunters' line, its string of "posts", was falling back. That wasn't a bad thing. It was expected. They were inflicting casualties, then ceding ground; they were maintaining good order. It was easy for a retreat to become a rout, but the Hunters weren't falling into that trap. It was amazing what combat experience counted for.

There was a sliver of opportunity between the moment the enemy knows he needs to fight and when he's on top of you. The Hunters were riding that razor's edge—so far, successfully.

Grant had space to give. He had time. The clock was on his side. All he had to do was keep Hunter Base intact, and eventually the Hunters would win.

He didn't know what Repliforce was trying to do. If they attacked the government offices, the legislative halls, they could inflict damage… but what then? Hurting the government wouldn't make Repliforce legitimate, and most of the politicians had long-since evacuated. They weren't about to negotiate without a gun to their heads, and that opportunity had been missed.

Were they just trying to conquer enough industry to make reinforcements? Most of that industry was under lockdown and had protections of its own. It would take time for Repliforce to overpower those protections, then get the factories running again. Too much time. The issue would be settled before that came into play.

But Repliforce didn't know that. So maybe they were trying to seize industry. Hard to tell.

Most of Repliforce's weight was falling to the east, along the coast. That made sense—Repliforce's water assets outweighed the Hunters', so they could always use that flank. The weight of the Hunters' defense was to the south and west, shielding Hunter Base. Fight by fight, the Hunter right was bending back. What had been an east-west line now had sag in the east.

So… say Repliforce could get all the way through the city, break out into open ground to the south. What then? Where could they go? No city on Earth would accept known Three-Laws-violators. No city on Earth wanted to give its own restive reploid population ideas.

Maybe they were just trying to lap around to the south so that they could take Hunter Base from all directions. Possible, but that would take entirely too long. The Hunters would win that way, too. Grant did not fear that outcome.

The main thing he feared was running low on mechaniloids. His were being tracked down ruthlessly. During normal Hunting operations they were considered expendable, but during a war of this kind they were being expended far too quickly. His vision was shrinking.

Still. Attrition was favoring him so far, X and Zero were slicing through Repliforce's backfield, and as long as the Hunters didn't lose quickly, they'd eventually win. So far, so good.

"Sir?"

Grant looked at Alia. "Yes?"

"We have a message incoming," she said. "From Repliforce."

"Are they surrendering yet?" Grant said drily.

"No. It's a challenge."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Here," she said, gesturing. She shot out two orders while Grant was coming to her console, which was the closest to him. She brought up the message on one screen while she moved to the other and kept working.

Grant stole a glance at her console. She was monitoring at least six squads. Impressive. He looked back to the message.

"Zero of the Maverick Hunters, you are a disgrace!" It was Colonel's voice. "I thought we understood each other. I thought you had valor. I thought you valued honorable combat against worthy opponents. So why are you bullying weaklings, Zero? Your actions are beneath you. You're wasting your time and your reputation.

"I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. I hereby challenge you to a duel. No spar—this is actual, glorious battle, fought to the last. If the idea doesn't make you shake with cowardice, meet me at the Robot History Museum in the north of Abel City. Come to me, Zero, and meet your match."

Grant couldn't believe it. "We're in the middle of a war and he wants a duel?"

"Apparently so," Alia said with a hint of strain.

How ludicrous. Mavericks never cared about honor. Grant found he didn't much care, either—he was accountable to the ORR, not to any idea of honor. He doubted the idea mattered any more to Zero. He didn't care what others thought about him, for better and for worse. "Recommendations?"

"It sounds like a trap," she said. "Then again, this is Repliforce, not the Mavericks. For him to use that kind of language… Someone who makes so much noise about honor probably doesn't set traps. But I don't think it's worth it to find out for sure."

"We've used Zero to spring traps before," Grant said. It was one of the luxuries of having Zero as a Hunter.

"Now, sir? When there are other things he could be doing?"

They were words that applied to her, too. Grant nodded. "Thank you, Alia. Carry on."

Her head snapped back to her own screen, and orders began to flow from her again.

Grant, though, knew one thing that she did not. There was one thing that tipped the scales. If Zero succeeded in killing Colonel, it would throw Repliforce's command structure into disarray. That would slow them down—and any time he could gain was precious beyond jewels.

Accepting the duel was worth it. Even if it was a trap, it was Zero walking into the trap. Things would work out.

Grant walked over to Iris. She was staring at the screen, and had something bulky on her ears. "Iris," he called, trying to get her attention.

No response.

"Iris!" he shouted, losing his patience.

No response.

"IRIS!"

Still she stared. She made no response to him.

Infuriated, Grant snatched the headphones right off of her ears and flung them to the ground. She shrieked, slapped her hands to her head. "Do you hear me now?" Grant snarled.

"Yes sir!" she replied, voice quailing.

"Look at me!"

She glanced to him—glanced away—struggled to comply.

"Pull yourself together or get off my watch floor," Grant growled.

"Yes sir," she said. With effort she finally managed to look at him squarely, though her gaze kept on flicking away, and she never did pull her hands far from her head.

Grant noticed how quiet things had gotten. He felt the stares. "The rest of you have jobs to do," Grant said at large. Slowly the conversation bubbled up a bit as people went back to their duties; Grant looked at Iris once more. "Colonel has challenged Zero to a duel at the Robot History Museum. You are to order Zero to accept the duel and guide him in."

Iris' already-wide eyes dilated further. "To fight Colonel?"

"That's right. There's a remote possibility this is a trap, but it's also a golden opportunity to cripple Repliforce's command structure. We won't get many chances like this. We need to take it."

Her eyes began to water. Grant's temper flared. "But…" she began. "But he's…"

"Pass the order," Grant said. He was out of tolerance for defiance.

"Yes, sir," she said. She dropped to the floor, retrieved the headphones, forced them back over her ears. It made Grant contemptuous. Didn't she have an internal transmitter? Then what did she need headphones for?

He didn't have any more time to waste on this one problem. Turning away, he shouted. "Alia! Report on Task Force Lynchpin!"

"Holding strong in the center, but they're coming under even more pressure. As our eastern units fall back, Lynchpin's starting to be flanked…"

"I know you're in a hurry," came Cyber Peacock's voice, "but do you think you could give me a minute?"

That was a level of audacity even the most brazen Mavericks rarely reached for. "What for?" X asked after blasting apart another mechaniloid.

"I was ordered to evaluate you. I want to pass along my findings."

"To the rest of Repliforce?"

"Of course."

X stopped before what had to be Cyber Peacock's door. "Okay," he said, "as long as I get to read it, too."

"Deal."

"And you've got too much pride to break that agreement, right?" X called again.

"I will not besmirch the Repliforce name."

The word choice, the phrasing—right out of Colonel's book. Doubtlessly Peacock modeled his behavior after Colonel, too. Yes, X could count on their pride. What better animal to represent Repliforce than the peacock, that traditional icon of vanity?

Peacocks were a paradox. The fancier and more ornate his plumage, the more likely the peacock was to attract a peahen and carry on his genetic legacy. The fancier and more ornate his plumage, the more likely the peacock was to attract a predator and be unable to escape it. What was good for the species was bad for the individual.

Like Cyber Peacock's staying behind to send off an evaluation to warn Repliforce of what X could do, even as that guaranteed Cyber Peacock's destruction.

"I'm coming in, but I'll hold my fire until you're done," X said. When he got no response, he moved in anyway.

The room was some sort of operations floor, not too dissimilar from the Hunters' own: a large bank of monitors covering one wall, with row after row of computers on tiered desks, stadium-style, facing that wall. The desks still had personal effects on them, as if they'd been abandoned in a hurry. The only inhabitant was Peacock. He'd stayed behind when everyone else had abandoned the facility—probably at the first sign of X's attack. That would explain why he'd encountered only mechaniloids.

"Gah," Peacock said with a frown. "I must be doing something wrong."

"What do you mean?" asked X.

"When I try to evaluate your maximum potential, the results keep coming back as "limitless". That's not possible."

"I like to think that all beings have limitless potential," X said. "Reploids and humans can both transform themselves, learn, and become more than they were."

"Nonsense," said Peacock, typing away. "We are what we are. No more, no less."

"That's a newbuilt's attitude," X replied. "You haven't yet learned that you can learn. You haven't…"

He trailed off. "Cyber," he said, "how old are you?"

"Seven weeks two days," Peacock replied.

Light save me. They're all… children. No wonder I can't reach them. It's not just the pride that was programmed into them. They're… all… children. They literally don't know any better.

He expected guilt to overcome him, then, but instead it was anger. Anger—not at Peacock, or even at Repliforce. These powerful but woefully immature children... This stupid, pointless war was going on because Repliforce didn't know any better, didn't know how to avoid it—and the people who did know better and did know how either wanted it, too, or didn't care enough to protect Repliforce from stumbling down that path.

"I have no more time, Peacock," X said, hands tightening.

"Fine," replied the solider. "It's sent, and a copy is being printed out at the side of the room." He turned to X, and his tail feathers fanned out threateningly. "It's time for us to dance, then?"

"Horrible choice of words," X said as his buster charged.

"Just because a fight ends in death doesn't mean it has to be ugly," Peacock replied. "Let's begin!"

Peacock took after Colonel in more ways than one. He was so wrapped up in the pageantry of battle that the actual start of the battle caught him by surprise. The charged plasma smashed into him while he was still in his pre-battle pose.

Somehow he retained his balance, and from the tips of his tail feathers, thin laser beams lanced out. They weren't aimed; the spread was wide, intended to allow Peacock to engage multiple enemies at once. X didn't even dodge, not really. He was as likely to dodge into a beam as out of one.

Instead, he stood calmly, and charged another buster shot.

Peacock seemed to realize the flaw in his tactics. He jumped into the air, but didn't come down. Small thrusters suspended him aloft. He put his hands forward. With his non-charging buster, X fired small shots as Peacock, each one hitting his foe in one of his hands. It delayed Peacock actually starting his attack until X's charge was finished.

Peacock's eyes widened for a moment as he realized what was about to happen. He cut his thrusters and dropped. The charged plasma ball blew down the wall behind where his head had been.

X could see the realization dawning on Peacock. Moment by moment, the soldier began to understand what he'd committed to.

"Not so romantic now, is it?" X asked.

He saw Peacock master his fear. "For Colonel!" the Maverick proclaimed, and threw his hands forward again. More lasers, these ones precisely aimed, sliced forward, burning into desks and computers and personal bric-a-brac.

But they didn't burn into X, who was already moving. A side-to-side dodge, then a leap into the air, then a sideways air-dash right out of Peacock's line of fire. The lasers sliced through the ceiling, into and through water pipes above. The pipes sprayed into the room and onto Peacock. Peacock stepped out of the spray, shaking off the water to clear his vision.

The first charged shot didn't breach Peacock's chest; some of its energy was spent vaporizing the water. That enveloped Peacock in a puff of steam, blinding him for another crucial second- a second that allowed a second charged shot to hit home, exactly where the previous two had hit. It flooded Peacock's chest with furious plasma, incinerating every vital system, circuit, and component of worth.

By the time the body clattered to the floor, there was nothing left of Cyber Peacock.

It was so callous, how X operated, he thought. So… disrespectful to an enemy who'd just fought valiantly and well, to pause at their body only long enough to download any valuable weapons data, and then step over it and move on.

He hadn't time for anything else. And what he'd told Web Spider was true. This was war. It was how things worked. X's experience assured him of that fact, at least.

X accessed the console Peacock had been standing at. His erstwhile foe hadn't closed it out—no doubt keeping his part of the bargain to allow X to see the assessment. Or just another rookie mistake. Too late to ask.

Out of genuine curiosity, X scanned over the report. Most of it was pretty standard—X was a versatile, mobile fighter who preferred medium-range small arms combat, blah blah blah—but the final bits, the bits Peacock had been fussing over at the end, got his attention.

Compared to his Third War baseline, X's performance so far in this war is improved by over fifteen percent. The margin is too large to be explained by experience and improved instincts alone. This suggests his physical chassis is better than before, in firepower, speed, strength, and durability. X, already a superior design, is improving his design organically, allowing him to maintain his advantage over each generation of reploids even as technology improves. Whether there is a physical limit to this improvement is unknown, but there is no obvious logical limit. Therefore, his ultimate potential must be classified as limitless.

Was that even right? X had felt slow, sluggish, since the Fourth War had begun, but so far he'd been far from threatened... so maybe it was. Maybe his mental state was throwing off his self-assessment.

But more likely than not, Peacock was underestimating the natural growth any living being would experience over time. The Third War had been a long time ago, after all. Well… it had felt like a long time ago, at least.

None of these thoughts brought him any solace. Time to do the job he'd come for. "Cyber Peacock eliminated," he reported back to Hunter Base. "I am investigating the Repliforce network for any evidence of Magma Dragoon."

"Wonderful! Good work, X."

"I wish I agreed," X mumbled without transmitting. Over the radio, he added, "It looks like this isn't where they command their mechaniloids, but that's okay, there are more tricks than that… hm. I have a report here of a prisoner transfer. Double, have any Hunters been captured by Repliforce in the fighting?"

"I'll check, but I don't think so. We've got half a dozen em-aye-ay, but that's not the same as captured."

Prisoner transfer, X thought. It was a possibility—if Dragoon had been picked up by Repliforce, they might not classify him as one of them. Moving him might register as prisoner transfer.

The report had a timestamp, but the listed locations weren't clear. The departure field was a term, not coordinates; the arrival field had coordinates, but not any system X recognized.

Typical, X thought unhappily. GAARD, Repliforce's creators, had tried to solve every problem in one swoop. Their conviction—that they alone could figure out what everyone else had done wrong and fix it themselves—explained a lot about Repliforce, this war… And their use of non-standard coordinates.

Well, the timestamp would be good enough. Repliforce's air base would show the flight paths. All X had to do was match the timestamp to a flight and the location would become clear. And wiping out Repliforce's air base was a worthy goal itself.

Inasmuch as destruction could ever be considered "worthy".

"Double," X called, "navigate me towards Repliforce's air base."

"Yes, sir. Going to pay Storm Owl a visit?"

"Something like that."

"Please, Zero, don't go!"

The words wrenched at Zero. "You're the one who said I had orders to go," he objected.

"I did, but…"

"You want me to disobey my orders?"

The words were a challenge, but a hollow one. Zero didn't want to kill Colonel, and that outcome was a certainty if the fight happened. Zero had allowed Colonel to think he was competitive, but…

Zero knew better. The gap between Colonel and Zero was great enough that Zero could hold back and Colonel couldn't even tell the difference. X had picked up on it instantly. He did not approve.

Maybe he'd been right. Certainly, if Colonel had known, he never would have challenged Zero like this.

And now Zero had orders to accept the challenge. The trick of it was, Zero didn't really care about orders. They never touched him that deeply, never enough to make him feel "ought". He did what he had to do to stay in the Hunters, nothing more.

If she told him to stay away, he would. What she wanted was more important than orders. But he needed that extra push. His instincts would always tell him to kill. He needed something to tell him when not to kill. He needed her to tell him 'no'.

She didn't know that, or couldn't sense it from that distance. Or maybe she couldn't hear Zero over the much closer voice of Grant. Or maybe she just couldn't find it within herself to break a Law, or even ask another to break a Law.

Maybe asking her to have an opinion strongly enough to sway Zero was just asking too much of her.

Whatever the reason, she said nothing. Zero moved on, in silence. He dismounted his hover-cycle (recently liberated from Repliforce ownership) and left it in the parking lot before the Robot History Museum. He'd never been there; X told him it wasn't worth it, since it didn't tell the whole truth. That had been enough for Zero.

"Did Colonel say where he'd be?" Zero asked.

"No."

In front of the museum was a flagpole, surrounded by an open space. Good visibility. No matter where Colonel actually was, he'd be able to see Zero if Zero went there.

It would give Colonel a chance to see Zero first, and make the right choice.

Which was to run away.

"I don't want to do this, Iris," Zero said.

"Then don't."

"I have to."

"Why?"

"I don't know," was the honest answer. He couldn't give it. "Colonel is the strongest fighter in Repliforce. If I destroy him, the war's nearly over."

"You don't want that, though."

Even over a voice line she could see through him. "Orders," he said, unconvincingly. "I am the one who destroys Mavericks. And Colonel, like it or not, is a Maverick."

"But he's also my brother, Zero! And you're my friend! I… I can't stand the idea…"

"Maybe he's not here," Zero said. Cutting her off was the only way he knew to get her to stop—she was making him more uncomfortable with each step.

And there was Colonel.

He was walking out of the main entrance to the museum. His eyes were fixed on Zero right from the start. His saber was already in his hand.

Zero's tactical subroutine roared to the forefront, spitting out ideal ways to conquer this opponent.

"Zero, please!" pleaded Iris. "There are plenty of other people to kill out there—kill them instead!"

"And I will kill them in time," Zero said. "But he has to be first. He wants this."

"He doesn't, Zero—and even if he does, I don't!"

"Then stop us."

She could say nothing.

Colonel was in voice range, now. "Colonel," shouted Zero, "I'm disappointed in you. You've led your whole force Maverick, and now it's too late to stop it. You've made it so all Repliforce has to answer to me."

"I'm glad you came, Zero," replied Colonel, though his expression was not a happy one. If anything, it looked... strained, as if everything was taking more effort than it should.

"Zero, please, he's my brother! I'm linked to him, remember? We have one—Zero, don't do it!"

"I have to!" Zero said, and he actually said in in addition to transmitting it. "I've got to kill you, Colonel."

"You're welcome to try," Colonel said, igniting his saber.

"Prepare yourself!"

All there was left to do was pick an attack pattern, lunge in, and begin Colonel's destruction. It would be fun. It would be easy. It would be satisfying.

No it wouldn't.

"Zero! Noooo!"

Zero winced. Colonel stumbled.

The two warbots made no move towards each other. The only sound was the humming and hissing of sabers. The surge of emotion rocking them both was invisible, inaudible, but potent—pathos so strong it had its own gravity.

Colonel staggered back, his free hand on his head. Zero shook his head like he was trying to clear it.

"It would appear," Colonel said through gritted teeth, "that Iris does not want us to fight."

"You can tell?" Zero asked.

"I can feel her fear," Colonel replied. "Her pain. Her… feelings, for both of us. She can't bear to lose us."

Colonel quenched his saber. "By showing up," he said to Zero, "you have redeemed your honor. I drop my challenge against you, Zero. You are no coward. For Iris' sake, I will let you go."

"You're the one who called me here," Zero said.

Colonel tensed. "Are you prepared to fight after all?"

"Please, no, please no," sobbed Iris over the radio.

Colonel turned. "If we face each other again, even Iris won't stop me," he said. "There will be no mercy." Away he walked, paying Zero no more mind.

Zero wanted to strike at him, punish that arrogance, remove a threat… but he couldn't do it. "Rragh!" Zero growled, turning away in confusion and anger. "Someone has to stop Repliforce. If it's not me, then who? If it's not me, who am I?"

He walked, slowly, as if underwater, back to the hovercycle.

Colonel slumped into his seat. "Where to, sir?" the pilot asked.

"Take me to the front lines," Colonel replied. "I'll join the assault. We're behind schedule, and I need to fix that."

"Yes, sir."

Next time: Hold