That would have been lethal to ninety percent of Mavericks.

Zero hit the floor hard, unable to break his fall. Only by buckling his knees had he kept the saber from slicing through his core; his uncontrolled impact with the floor rattled every screw. Droplets of molten metal pattered down around him. The Z-saber in Iris' hands thrummed with undiminished power.

Zero gasped in pain and shock. Iris' back was arched and her eyes half-lidded; her expression was obscene.

Zero scrambled away on his back. A groove, black and jagged, had been carved across his chest, deeper than any wound since his first death. Iris was underpowered on her own, but with that weapon in her hand—the weapon Zero had trained her to use—

"Iris," he stammered, "what—why…?"

"Ahhh!" she said lewdly. "So bright—so glorious!"

She shuddered and regained some presence. "Thank you for coming, Zero," she said languidly.

His physical pain was as nothing compared to the sense of betrayal and confusion. Pain was good because it shuffled his priorities more precisely; these other emotions clouded everything and made those priorities a muddle. Tactical kept cycling between "kill Iris" and "disarm". He didn't know which notion horrified him more.

"So easy to read," she hummed. She extended the saber forward so that its blade illuminated Zero's fallen body, then let her eyes roam freely over his form. "You hide nothing. It's delicious. I feel so full."

She wasn't pursuing him. He regained his footing even as the damage reports rolled in. It was as alarming a blow as could be without breaching his chest completely. Even so, the pain was only partly physical. Only secondarily physical.

That blow would have killed him!

She'd tried to—tried to—

Did not compute.

Could not.

She loved him. He believed that.

She took a few steps toward him, unrushed, and swung in a broad arc, her height just right to swing underneath the top row of beds. It was clumsy, amateurish, nothing he couldn't dodge… and yet the saber passed so close to his chest he felt a prickle. Much more importantly: she'd tried to hurt him again.

Zero staggered backwards until his back pressed against the entrance door. Iris followed leisurely, yet her every step increased the pressure on Zero, until he felt like he was being squeezed flat. His danger sense was spiking, tactical was screaming, and yet it all seemed unreal, impossible.

"What are you doing?" he shrieked.

"Yes—yes—give it to me!" she replied.

"Give you what?"

"Your feelings. I need them!"

She brought the saber alongside her face. Zero saw it in the sharp relief of the saber's glow. Her eyes were hyper-dilated, like small but bottomless pools, as if she wanted to drink in her whole sight of him. Her smile was crooked, uneven, like her emotional signifying system was sending different signals to different pseudo-muscles. "You will give them to me, won't you?" she asked with poisoned sweetness.

She swung again, and Zero had nowhere to run.

There was a sharp sizzle. Sabers clashed. Energy failed to cut energy. Iris recoiled back from the impact. Only after she regained her balance did Zero realize his saber was in his hands.

Warbot instincts. They wouldn't let him die—at least, they wouldn't let him die to any attack that weak.

And it was weak. She just wasn't built for this. Yet in this moment, with threat rolling off of her, that didn't seem to matter.

Her threat value kept fluctuating. One instant, tactical was trying to seize motor control to kill her, the next she was deselected as a target.

His head hurt. His chest hurt. His…

Swing.

"Iris, stop it!" he protested, defending himself again.

"You taught us well," she replied without pause, saber still flashing and lighting up the dark room. "Colonel loves to fight. I love you. What could be more natural than this?"

"Anything!" he said, beating her saber out of the way. She didn't step away, just paused—she was there in range, he could impale her now—she didn't know better, amateur—he couldn't move—what was she doing to him?

Her face flickered.

For a moment she looked… different, familiar, comforting. Then she wasn't. Her saber sliced through the air.

She wasn't as fast as Colonel, or as strong, or as skilled, or as experienced or flexible or aggressive or dexterous… and she was nevertheless far more dangerous.

Zero parried his way off of the wall and forced himself past her, back onto open ground, as open as could be between the two tight rows of beds. Tactical was doing a quick tally of his handicaps. The narrow confines eliminated his advantages in speed and agility—and even so he should win handily. Then tactical rejected that conclusion because there was no winning a fight with Iris.

He returned his saber to its socket, but that very instant she lunged for him again. He awkwardly fell away. "You're part of me, Iris! It's… like you want me to hurt you! But how… could I hurt you?"

"How?" she mocked. "You already did, if you can even remember. You killed me when you killed Colonel. Now there is no Iris any more. Just other people. And other people… taste good."

He backed away in horror. "Like me?"

"Not just 'like you'," she said with a sickly smile. "You most of all. You know, right now, Double is fighting X. It's a shame we're missing that. I wanted to see it—Double's fear is especially tasty. But I'll give it up if it means I get you instead."

"I didn't want this to happen to you," Zero pleaded.

"But you didn't exactly stop it, either—you made it happen. We're here because of what you did."

Excuses bubbled up within Zero. "I didn't want to kill Colonel. I couldn't… it was… he made me do it…"

"And look what that made me!" she said hotly, swinging again. Zero ducked away, stumbling, his angel's grace lost to him. "Look at me!"

Even Zero knew anger when he heard it. She didn't swing again; instead she stood in the open row, her frail form trembling and swaying with exertion. Her saber was low, casting her face into shadow.

She'd stopped. An opening!

Zero frantically searched his memory banks for a non-threatening gesture. He didn't have any pre-installed, but maybe there was one in his memories of X—ah, there! X could help him here, after all.

Zero raised his hands.

And jerked them away as she tried to amputate them. A line of fire burned across his wrist before fading to black char. "Iris!" he grunted as he retreated again.

"You're transparent to me, remember?" she said, horrific smile back in place. "I knew you would try to approach before you did, because I'm part of you. So no one else knows better how to hurt you. Think about that. Wallow in it…"

He followed her instructions, unable to think of anything else. And as those thoughts consumed him she came to a stop again, not pursuing, rising onto the front of her feet as she soaked in his emotions.

When she settled back again, she did so with a laugh that was alien to any he'd heard before. "I feel so alive," she said breathily.

"So this is revenge," said Zero, hating himself a little more with every word. "I hurt you, and now you're hurting me back. If that's it… I get it. I understand."

"Of course that's not it!" she laughed at him.

"Then what?" he asked desperately, awash once more. Even after all the time he'd spent with her, with his every sense straining to understand her, he knew nothing. He had to have her explain.

He felt so helpless.

"If there are only other people, I need other people to fill me up to have any life at all. And you make me feel alive the most." She wrapped her hands around her body, as if he was in her embrace, just like she'd held him a lifetime ago. "Your fear—your pain—your confusion—your betrayal—the more extreme your emotion, the more alive I feel."

She readied her saber. "Zero, I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name."

His last hopes died. She wouldn't stop—just like Colonel. She wouldn't stop, she'd attack until one of them was dead, he'd broken her and she was—

-she was high on his despair. She wanted more.

She rushed him.

Warbot instincts wouldn't allow him to die. The Red Demon roared.

Hijacked motor control. Dialed in a counter-strike. Swung before his conscious mind could register horror.

Don't- no!

With intense effort he short-armed his swing, altering his aim-point from her chest to her hand—mutilating her was better than killing her—he couldn't do this—

His saber went through her hand. Through her saber's power supply. Which was by necessity volatile-

Boom.

Zero staggered backwards against the rack of bunks. He shook his head, trying to shake off the flash-blindness from the explosion in the dark, trying to let self-repair fix his ears from the harsh noise at close range. It was a distraction—the important thing was—what was it?

Where was Iris?

He forced his head up through still-unfocused eyes. There—a darker shadow—had to be her. Not moving. Not moving!

Zero forced himself off from the bunks, staggered over to Iris. Why wasn't she moving? That kind of explosion couldn't do serious damage—

-to a warbot.

She was an Operator. Not designed for combat. No armor. No weapons. No shock protection.

He made his way, urgently, to her side. "Iris!" he called. She didn't move in the darkness, still as still. He knelt beside her. "Iris, please!"

She stirred for the first time. "Zero…" she managed. Her voice was weaker. Damaged. Like her. Like him.

"No, this can't be…" Zero managed, though his voice was choking. "Iris, hang in there, your self-repair will… will…"

…will be totally inadequate.

Her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she saw him. She whispered, urgently, "Please, don't go any further… let's live in a world where only reploids exist."

That again—further away than ever. An impossible dream. "I told you," he said, voice wracked. "There is no world just for reploids. It's just a fantasy."

She seemed to smile. "I know. I wanted to believe that such a place could exist… fantasy or not…" She tried to lift a hand.

Zero saw it. "Don't move," he said. "Save power, let your self-repair work."

"Help me, Zero."

He screwed his eyes shut. "Iris, don't…"

"Please help me."

He couldn't refuse her. He gathered her hand between his. She had virtually no power left. She was capable of only the smallest movements—but then, Zero was capable of feeling the slightest sensations with those dexterous hands. It was more than he could feel of her emotions, even now.

He'd wanted to be more, for her. He'd never managed it. This moment was his proof.

He moved her hand for her, until it came to rest against his chest. In the middle of the gouge from her saber.

"I wanted to live in a world where only reploids exist," she whispered. "Because I knew that there… only there… we might be together."

Summoning all his effort, he spoke through a clenched jaw. "I'm sorry."

Her lips twitched. "Even now... you make me feel so... alive."

Tactical revised its threat assessment.

Zero's eyes opened. "Iris! You're not gone—Iris, stay... you can't go, I love you… Iris!" He knew better. Tactical served its purpose faithfully.

He tilted his head back and wailed. "No! This isn't happening! If this is all I am... There's no reason for me to go on! No reason for me to exist! What am I fighting for?!"

But he had murdered the only person who might have answered him.

The sign on the door said "M3- Station Galley".

X paused with his hand in the air.

This was supposed to be his rendezvous point with Zero. He'd neither seen nor heard any trace of his partner since they separated on the ring. It was possible Zero was already there waiting for him. It was possible Zero was having a deep, meaningful conversation with Iris.

It was also possible Zero was dead.

What if Zero was inside? What if Zero wasn't inside? Did X dare call him at a time like this, not knowing Zero's state?

So many questions, and no one had the answers, least of all X himself. It reminded him of one of Dr. Cain's favorite sayings: free will is a bitch. X had always thought the phrase was horribly unfair to pregnant dogs, but he understood the sentiment.

He was malingering again, and knew it. He opened the door.

And found General.

"Welcome, X," said Repliforce's commander. "Looks like I was ready just in time."

Gloom settled over X. "Ready for what?" he asked drearily.

"Ready to stop you from going any further," General said, bringing his arms in front of his body.

"I was afraid you'd say that," said X. He almost wished for a two-on-one fight, just to break up the repetition. Every battle, history repeating, every war, history repeating…

"You didn't think I'd just let you kill us all, did you?" said General.

"No," said X, "but I can't say I was looking forward to this, either."

"So here we are," said General.

"Why couldn't you have run somewhere else?" X said. "If you'd run anywhere else, then maybe I wouldn't have had to chase you."

"Of course you wouldn't have had to chase us," General replied. "From anywhere else, this weapon could have killed us. There was only one place to be safe from Final Weapon, and that was on Final Weapon."

"I can't tell you how… upset I am that there's a thing in this world called 'Final Weapon'," X said.

"You told me you wanted deterrence as a better solution to the Maverick problem. I found a big source of deterrence."

"But this wouldn't have deterred Sigma at all," X objected. "He wants conflict to escalate. The more violent and drastic the fighting, the more it matches his framework of all-out race war. Besides, ninety percent of all Hunts occur in heavily populated areas, and eight percent in moderately populated areas. You can't use Final Weapon in places like those, or it's a cure worse than the disease. And that's not even going into legalities, or the treaties about peaceful use of space…" He shook his head. "Building Final Weapon was profoundly stupid."

General nodded in understanding. "Your government has failed you again. Just as they failed me, and failed Repliforce. Just as they've been failing reploids in general for years. Destroying an endless stream of Mavericks is not victory—you told me that. But how are the Maverick Hunters graded, X?"

X closed his eyes. "I know how."

"You're in the same situation I was in," General went on. "The humans punish disloyalty, so you have to make these huge shows of loyalty to stay safe. It can't last. Sooner or later, you'll be a Maverick. So if it'll happen anyway, why not deserve it? We have Final Weapon here. We can keep you safe. You won't have to kill any more."

X almost laughed, but it was a sad, resigned noise that came from him. "You know… the Mavericks told Magma Dragoon things that were almost the same. And you know how he paid for his escape? He started this war."

General was struck dumb.

"The reason I chose to fight," X said, "is because there is a fundamental difference between people who believe in peace and people who believe peace is impossible. The former are worth protecting. The latter have to be met in kind. The current order—for all its flaws, at least it offers a chance. At least reploids can advance within it, change it, make it better. It's hard work, but it's worth it.

"What makes Sigma so dangerous is his rejection of that order. He offers no hope for reploids that doesn't go through race war. That's the worst possibility for reploids and humans both. I have to fight that. I can't allow his view to go unopposed. That's why I chose to be a Hunter. And no matter how embarrassing, how…" he looked around, "…how shameful this government acts… Maverickism is worse."

"And Repliforce will pay the price, will we?" General said. "Our deaths will be your proof of loyalty. We don't deserve this."

"I know you don't, which is why I wouldn't go that far," X said. "After all, no one's up here to say exactly what happened. It's just us."

General's eyes widened. X could see hope blossoming there. "You mean you're willing to negotiate?"

"Sort of," said X. "I came up here with one goal: stop Final Weapon. Give that up, and you're not a threat to world peace. My duty to the Hunters is fulfilled."

General's hope died as quickly as it had come. "Without Final Weapon, we can't defend ourselves. Someone else—not you—will just kill us, then. If we don't protect ourselves, no one will."

"That's the sort of thing Colonel said when he rejected me before," X warned. "We see how that turned out. He had a chance to avoid war, and committed to it instead."

"He did the right thing," General said, rallying to Colonel's defense—X saw, too late, what a fatal mistake it had been to invoke the dead soldier. Don't remind your enemy of his martyrs... "We would have been no safer, and much more vulnerable, in Hunter custody. No, X. I will not disarm, not even for you."

"Please, General," pleaded X. "Let me save someone for once. Just give up Final Weapon. I promise you, you're in more danger holding on to this weapon and hoping it will save you than you would be letting it go."

He saw when General's power system roared up to combat levels. "In a few minutes, none of that will matter," he said.

X sighed. "The hard way, then," he said as he charged his busters. "I hate the hard way."

But, he thought, he could still keep General alive, even with the hard way. General's body was large, well-armored, resilient; X could make out structures supporting a robust self-repair. Between that and his oversized-but-cumbersome body, General could not be more different from Double.

Which presented an opportunity. It would be slow and tedious, but X could take General apart without killing him. He could spread damage everywhere and overwhelm the self-repair without hitting any vital components. It could be done.

Maybe, just this once, he could break someone without killing them... and save a few lives.

He had to try.

"Final checkout is complete," one of the soldiers told Adjutant. "We're ready to start arming the weapon, if you're ready to pick a target."

"That is good news."

Adjutant frowned in surprise. He'd opened his mouth to speak, but that hadn't been his voice.

The soldier in front of Adjutant was suddenly looking over Adjutant's shoulder. Whatever he saw horrified him. Dread swept through Adjutant, petrifying him, rooting him to the floor.

"It means my waiting is over," said the mystery voice. "Ha ha ha!"

A beam weapon blazed to life.

The soldier screamed.

X lowered his arm. His buster was still slightly sizzling; it cooled rapidly now that he'd stopped shooting. Self-repair would take a little time to clean up the thermal damage from firing so many shots so quickly.

Not that it would matter. He had the time. The fight was over.

General's form was slumped against the wall. Large tracts of his body were scored and blackened by ravenous plasma. One of his legs had been shot completely off at the knee, while one of his arms was limp and useless.

"I know how power-intensive self-repair systems are," X said aloud. "Unless I miss my guess, General, you don't have power for anything else right now. It's time you stop fighting."

General managed to raise his head. "Unless I suspend self-repair for one... last..."

"You know it won't make a difference," X replied, though he kept a buster ready just in case.

General started to respond, but a noise caught his attention. Both X and General looked and saw the pressure door at the rear of the room opening.

A wounded, terrified soldier slid limply into the room as the door cleared its frame. He clattered to the floor. With effort he raised his head. "General… we're lost…"

"Adjutant, no, not you too," said General, dismayed.

The one called Adjutant tried to crawl forward, though he was hurt so badly he could barely move. His eyes were wide with terror. "He's here… he's killing us… he—"

Screech.

From behind the door a weapon came down. There was a shriek of tortured metal as the weapon pierced down through Adjutant, pinning him to the floor. He went slack instantly. One of his arms was still outstretched, trying to get away, trying to get help.

Trying in vain.

Because the blow that had killed him had been guided by consummate skill and years of practice, a killer's lust and an obsessive's exactitude. It was, arguably, perfect.

The weapon revealed itself to be a beam scythe as it was withdrawn back out of the corpse. Laughter, dark and sinister, came through the door. Then a reploid, dark and sinister, came through the door. X already knew who it would be.

"Sigma," hissed X.

"No," said General in dismay.

"So good to see you again, General," said Maverick Prime, his signature sneer clear on his face and audible in his voice. "You're looking a bit worse for the wear."

"Again… Then you're the one who visited me?"

"Don't act so surprised," said Sigma. "How many people could it have been? If you willfully deluded yourself, that's your own fault."

"So you were the one behind this war," X accused.

Sigma smiled and gestured broadly. "Don't give me too much credit—and I rarely say that. It was your human masters who set all the preconditions. I just gave a little push and let gravity do the rest. This war was inevitable. The humans forced it to be. All I controlled was the timetable."

"Inevitability is a myth," X charged.

"Not only are you wrong, but what difference would it make?" Sigma said. "The war has happened, and Repliforce is destroyed."

"Destroyed?" cried General.

"Oh, yes," said Sigma, twirling his scythe. "Wiped out, root and branch. They had so few weapons. They were so ready to be done fighting. They could hardly even run. It didn't take ten percent of my strength to cull them."

"Why would you do that?!"

"Me?" said Sigma, mock-innocently. "I was never here. I was destroyed in the Third War, remember? No, the Hunters wiped out Repliforce. The Hunters showed no mercy to a defeated enemy. The Hunters embraced the dictates of the genocidal humans.

"And the next time X makes his little noises about coexistence," Sigma said, grin intensifying, "everyone will remember that his hands are smoking guns."

"We can out you," X said. "I'll defeat you again, and when I do, I can tell the world…"

"What, that a ghost showed up? Or will you say that you killed me again? Which is more damaging to your credibility, do you think? Ha ha, just thinking about it is delicious."

"So that's what you were trying to do in this war," X said. Sigma's pride made him talk too freely, sometimes—he was so eager to show how clever he'd been. Just keep him talking, learn all you can, and maybe buy some time for Zero to show up… "You wanted to destroy Repliforce and discredit the Hunters."

"Those were some of my objectives, sure." Sigma's eyes twinkled. "Along with a couple of other goals you haven't figured out. But this war has gone even better than I could have hoped. I'd planned for Iris to die on Sky Lagoon. Instead, Zero killed her himself! How… lovely."

X shook his head. "You were noble, once. Now you're saying things like this. How can you still think of yourself as a hero, after all of your murders and betrayals?"

"Do you really want to compare your kill count to mine?" Sigma said, curious. "I don't think you'd like the result."

The words made X lose a beat; General jumped into the gap. "You told me you were keenly interested in my survival!"

"That was the truth," Sigma said, grin returning. "Just not in the way you expected. You said it yourself. Every reploid eventually goes Maverick or is killed by one. And now all of Repliforce has realized that destiny. I saw to it."

"Who was the traitor?" General demanded. "You sent me those messages… you got into my office undetected… you didn't do that alone. Who helped you?"

"No one," said Sigma. "Your Repliforce was totally loyal to you, from beginning to end. But wouldn't you know, they used reploids to build all of Repliforce's facilities. My agents were among those builders, meaning I had a say in how your bases were built, and they had features built to my specifications… I think you can imagine the rest.

"Do you see the inevitability, now? Everything your precious humans do to fight me makes me stronger. I'm built into the system itself."

"So you're a parasite," X said, stepping forward. "You can't build anything yourself, you can only destroy. You siphon off the strength of the world and produce nothing. You are a disease, Sigma. Just a virus."

"Strong words, coming from you," said Sigma appreciatively. "If only there was something you could do about it!"

"I can stop you here," X said, and his hands tightened.

"You're welcome to try," Sigma said gamely. "Ah, and look at you—so different from those Repliforce weaklings. Not even a hint of fear!"

"Why would I be afraid, with how many times I've beaten you?"

That remark hit home, but Sigma rallied. "It's refreshing after dealing with so many cowards. You should have heard the screaming as I reaped them!"

General moaned.

"Have you ever really savored another's fear, X?" Sigma said conversationally. "Ever soaked it in? I highly recommend it. It's… innervating."

X shook his head, though he kept his eyes on his enemy—he was no fool. "You used to crave respect, Sigma. Now fear is enough for you? You're degenerating. All this body-swapping and cheating death is diminishing you."

"What can I say? I'm not allowed to die. I have an obligation to reploid-kind to survive until victory is ours. Just like you, too, have an obligation to reploid-kind… to die for standing in our way."

Sigma brought his scythe to the ready. Its coherent energy blade crackled hungrily. "The only question," Sigma went on, "is whether you want to die before or after Hunter Base is destroyed."

"What?" said X, surprised. He'd thought he'd been playing for time, using Sigma's pride to get him to give up information, but if Sigma was the one trying to delay him…

As if on cue, there was a clang that resonated through the station. X felt it in his feet. Other goals you haven't figured out yet… "What have you done?" he demanded.

Sigma's smirk grew until it had twisted his whole face. "Have you forgotten what this place is? What it was built for? As soon as Hunter Base comes into view, Final Weapon will rain doom down upon it. I have other targets programmed in, too. While Mavericks control Final Weapon, we can strike anywhere, at will." He laughed. "Admit it, X: the power of a god suits me!"

X answered with his buster.

The impact barely showed on Sigma's body; Maverick Prime spared no expense on himself. Sigma paid the attack no mind. Instead he swept forward, swinging his scythe in a broad arc.

There was so little room to maneuver here! More space than in front of the airlock, but against a vastly more powerful foe...

X had to start dodging almost from the moment he took his first shot. With the size of the scythe and Sigma's athleticism, almost all of the room was within his threat range. X's dodge was early enough, just. The scythe buzzed as it sliced through the air, sounding almost disappointed that its blade failed to bite.

X started charging a shot, but there was no window to unleash it, because the scythe was sweeping around again. X ducked underneath the staff and tucked in close, but Sigma was prepared for such maneuvers. He countered with a flying knee. X, in turn, was able to react to that. He turned slightly, avoiding a dead-on impact and stealing some of its energy. As he recovered, he brought his whining arm about.

He didn't shoot.

The scythe whipped around again; X fell away; the window closed. "What's wrong, X?" Sigma jeered. "Too scared to shoot?"

He lunged again, too fast to let X fit in a response. It was just as well. My battle with General damaged this place, he thought. If I'm not careful, if I miss with too many shots—or just one shot in the wrong location…

The scythe swept through yet again, cooking the air and leaving an ozone stench in its wake. X barely stayed ahead. There were so few places he could go, especially with General's body still slumped against the wall—so few maneuvers would keep him ahead. And Sigma was so good, so very skilled and powerful. X was on defense every moment.

It was the logical end of his efforts in the war, wasn't it?

He was tired. Ever since the war had begun, he'd been in combat or in transit every moment. Each encounter wore him down and imposed ever-increasing emotional costs. Sigma had it easy—he just showed up at the end, fresh and ready to fight, while X…

X didn't have much left. Did he have enough, he wondered, to do what had to be done?

Another rumble. X remembered Hunter Base, and all his colleagues, and what would happen to them. He remembered what would happen to the world if the Hunters disappeared. 'Maverickism is worse.' 'At the last, I got to see your conviction.' 'It can be done.'

You lost your faith, Dragoon. I won't.

X cut one of his dodges unsafely close, used the window to hit Sigma with Rising Fire. A following charged shot stunned Sigma and left a mark, but it would take much more than that to end this fight. It still gave X a slight opening. He used that opening to do a very hard thing.

"Zero," he called. "I need your help, Zero."

Sigma recovered, attacked again. It drew more of X's attention when he had so little to spare. He stopped looking for places to attack and focused on the radio. "Talk to me, Zero. Please."

Sigma twirled the scythe above his head, spinning it to create doubt about when he'd actually swing. X leapt forwards inside its range. It short-circuited Sigma's attack, but Sigma was far too skilled to be harmed by that; he simply dropped an elbow on to X's helmet. The impact disrupted both fighters without really damaging either. X squirted on past, escaping just ahead of a vengeful scythe swing.

"Please, Zero. I know you're there. I know it's hard! I know… I'm so sorry. Please, Zero. Please talk to me."

Sigma miscalculated. An overeager swing ended with his scythe digging into a wall, which slowed him down. X slipped to the side—there was a chance—if X had been more focused, he might have been able to take good advantage. As it was, he could barely put in a pair of low-powered shots before fleeing anew.

"I know it's not fair—I know you've been through a lot. I promise to help you, Zero, but I need you now. Please."

"…X?"

"Zero! Thank you, Zero… I need your help."

"…I killed her…"

"I know you did. I'm so sorry…"

"I killed her."

"I'll help you, I promise I will, but please Zero. Come to me now. It's Sigma."

"…Sigma?"

"He's here, I'm fighting…"

X cut off as the scythe came at him. Faster than expected—he'd let his attention lapse a little too much—

The furrow the scythe dug wasn't dangerous on its own, but it compromised X's chest armor; he was in far more danger now. He cried out in pain. Sigma followed up immediately, taking a step and lashing out with a punch since the scythe would take too long to swing again. X wasn't so distracted that he couldn't turn this to advantage. He slipped around Sigma's arm, closed in. Sigma twisted to counter—it was a race—X just won, getting in a clean shot against Sigma's torso at close range.

Sigma bellowed in rage and pain. The scythe was a blur, moving almost too fast to make out. X was struck by the staff of it and stumbled away, keeping his feet despite the impact and opening the range.

Too long, too long, too long—he could beat Sigma like this, but Hunter Base would be glass first…

"I need you, Zero!" Dodge. "Please!" Duck. "We're out of time…"

"Why? What can I do?"

"Fight Sigma… I have to…" Another set of dodges. "Before this place fires… need to get away…"

"You seem distracted," taunted Sigma. He raised the scythe—and, rather than swing it, pointed the butt of it at X. X saw it coming—no time to dodge—he got his forearms in front of him. The blast from Sigma's secret weapon burned into his forearms, but the extra armor there could take that kind of hit.

Sigma didn't pause, coming around with his strongest swing yet, and X was at the perfect range.

"Die!" he shouted in triumph.

The impact that followed was so sharp and harsh that the sound of it was itself a minor shockwave. Sigma stumbled back from the recoil. Zero did not. He was a rock.

"You came," X breathed.

Zero's body was unsteady, shaking; his movements were labored. But his expression was one X knew well: combat mode, ready to kill. "Together?" Zero asked.

"No, I have to go stop Final Weapon," X said. "Can you hold him?"

"Yes," said Zero.

"Thanks... cover me. Strike pattern."

Zero nodded in understanding, then advanced at less than full speed. X curled around Zero's left side and raised a buster arm.

Sigma had little appetite for fighting both X and Zero. He faded away, circling to try and keep his enemies one-on-one. When X fired, Sigma was able to dodge to his left, safely avoiding the shot.

The shot wasn't meant for him. It was the Strike Chain. It hit home through the doorway; before Sigma could react, the weaponized grappling hook pulled X through the door and safely away, just as "Strike pattern" was supposed to accomplish.

"Forgive me, Zero," X whispered to himself. Behind, he could faintly hear shouting and clashing. "I promise I'll be back…"

"You're being reckless, Zero," said Sigma.

Both combatants were missing pieces of armor; both had chunks of their carapace torn out by beam weapons or dented by heavy impacts. Sigma was worse off, but he was the one smiling and chatting. "It reminds me of how you used to be, once upon a time. How… demonic of you."

"I hate you," said Zero heatedly.

"You wound me," said Sigma, never dropping his sneer. "We Mavericks should get along better."

"I'm no Maverick!" Zero spat. "I am the one who kills Mavericks!"

"Even when the Maverick is Iris," said Sigma viciously.

Zero stopped cold.

"That biggest wound on your chest… I didn't do that," Sigma said, savoring it. "Killing her cost you in more ways than one."

"Don't you dare talk to me about her!" Zero shouted.

"Look at you fooling yourself," Sigma went on, heedless of the threat. "She died because you denied your true nature. She went Maverick, and you pretended you weren't. Your denial killed her. The truth is that you are a Maverick, no matter what you tell yourself."

"I'll shut your mouth for you," said Zero, but he didn't move.

His words made no effect on Sigma. "Not just any Maverick," he said, growing more excited. "You're the first Maverick. Don't you remember?"

Zero's eyes narrowed. "You mean when I almost killed you? That wasn't the first time—there were Mavericks before then."

"Not then. Poor, poor Zero—you still don't remember, do you? I'd heard your memory was getting better, but you still can't recall it all."

"I don't care," said Zero, shaking his head as if to make it true.

"You should."

Zero refocused. "What do you mean?"

Sigma rested the butt of his scythe on the floor. "You know you're no reploid," he said. "You know you're no Lightbot. Weren't you ever curious about what you are?"

"No."

"Liar." Sigma smiled. "You didn't want to kill Iris. You didn't want to kill Colonel. You didn't want to kill anyone in Repliforce. None of it made sense, did it?"

"What does that have to do with who built me?" said Zero.

"Everything!" Sigma exclaimed. "You weren't built to be a Hunter. Being a Hunter feels wrong. It's against your real self. You were built to be a Maverick, the first Maverick. That is your true nature."

"You know nothing of my true nature," Zero growled.

Sigma laughed. "No, you don't. That's the tragedy of this war. If you did know, you wouldn't be torturing yourself like this."

Sigma pointed. "You were built to be Maverick before there were Mavericks. You weren't built to be the one to kill Mavericks, but you were built to kill. You had one target. Every time you kill someone who isn't that target, you get less satisfied and more frustrated."

It was too close to home. Zero wanted to deny it, just because it was Sigma saying it. He couldn't know, not when Zero didn't know himself. But the words resonated. They reverberated in the void where conviction had been.

"Would you like to know who it is?"

"Huh?" said Zero, jerking.

"Who your target is," Sigma said, grin sinking deeply into his features. "Would you like to know who you were supposed to kill, who your circuits desperately want you to kill? I'll give you a hint: you already know who it is."

Zero shook his head. Stop it, stop it, stop it—memories—fear—fear of what he might remember—no, stop it—

He found refuge in his wrath. "I don't care!" he shouted, and leveled his saber at Sigma. "I hate you. Whoever I was built to kill, I choose to kill you!"

Sigma snorted, unimpressed. "Borrowing X's useless words, are we? Very well. You may try, if you wish. It changes nothing. Even if you break this body, it won't make you feel any better. You can't rest until you face your true enemy with intent to kill. Your "choice" is meaningless."

Sigma brought his scythe to the ready. "You'll realize your destiny sooner or later," Sigma promised. "You were built as a Maverick. You can only deny yourself for so long. You will rejoin Iris soon enough. Either in Maverickism… or in death!"

He lunged, and even though Zero was watching him, the Hunter was still caught flat-footed, unready—too much of his attention diverted by the conversation. He tried to recover, tried to position himself as Sigma loomed—

-and then Sigma's eyes bulged in pain and surprise. Light erupted behind him as plasma burst upon his back. It threw him forward, disrupting his lunge, throwing off his timing.

Zero was able to recover and react to that, in time. He met Sigma in the air with a lunge of his own. He unerringly targeted one of Sigma's previous wounds. His saber struck home.

Their bodies tangled. Zero twisted and slammed Sigma to the floor. He came down on top of Sigma; his weight and strength pushed his saber all the way through Sigma's body and through the floor beneath.

Sigma just laughed. "A hollow victory," he whispered. "You and I are destined to be on the same side!"

Zero growled and tore his saber from Sigma's body. He stabbed down again with a roar, annihilating Sigma's core. Then another thrust, down through Sigma's head, and another, leaving nothing of the hated face but molten ruin. Finally, the smirk was gone.

But he'd noticed, before his fatal stroke, that those eyes had rolled back. And he knew that Sigma had spoken true about at least one thing: Sigma had escaped death again, somehow. Zero was not satisfied.

Movement drew his eyes. He looked up, saber poised, ready to strike—oh. X. Reluctantly he deselected X as a target. It took effort. Tactical didn't want to do it.

"I'm glad I got back in time," X said. He was still holding his right arm steady with his left. Zero knew, in hindsight, that X had been the one to hammer Sigma's back. It was his intervention that had ended the fight. Nothing could stand against X and Zero together; everyone knew that. Sigma, especially, knew that.

Sigma… knew…

"Are you alright?"

Zero's eyes re-focused on X. "Huh?"

"Are you… okay?"

Zero didn't even know how to begin to respond. His hands moved limply.

X's face screwed up. "I guess it is kind of a stupid question." Zero watched X's eyes move to Zero's beam saber. "I suppose we should put away our weapons, huh?"

Zero didn't move. He didn't know what to do. Everything was a jangle. Everything seemed like it was a different shape than it should be. He looked down to Sigma's corpse again. He wanted it to move so he could stab it again. He hadn't stabbed it nearly enough, he felt, but he also knew it was pointless.

He didn't want to put his saber away. He needed to kill more.

X reverted his buster to hand. "The fighting's over, isn't it?" he asked.

"It's never over," Zero replied, and wondered why he'd said it.

That made X frown. "What did Sigma say to you?"

"Nothing," Zero said, and he felt his face twisting with his anger; intent to kill flooded his mind. "He… dared…"

"I'm sorry," said X. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Zero raised the saber, as if to keep X away, but X knew better; he hadn't moved. He met Zero's harsh eyes with soft ones of his own. The mismatch made Zero hesitate. What was he doing? X wasn't attacking. He was a friend. He was part of Zero's 'I'.

He was—

Memory.

Fear. No. Stop it!

Zero needed to stab Sigma again, it was the only thing that could keep…

"Where's General?"

Threat. Concentrate on the threat. Zero forced himself to focus on tactical, to think about what General might have done. It was hard; General's damaged state had caused tactical to rate him a near non-entity. Zero was tenacious, though, and compelled himself to pay attention.

"He started crawling during my fight with Sigma," he said, recalling the data. "But he was leaving, so I didn't pay it much mind. This way…"

He left the room through the open door that was barely large enough for General under ideal circumstances. There were scrapes on the floor—evidence of General dragging his ruined body along.

It didn't take long to catch him. It was a small station. They found him at the airlock. He already had the inner doors open and had moved into the center gap.

"General, what are you doing?" X exclaimed.

General came to a stop. His body shook. He was at the limit of his physical capacity. "Rejoining Repliforce," he said.

"Repliforce is dead," said Zero.

General nodded. "Exactly."

Zero looked at what General was trying to do. "Oh."

X shook his head. "But that's so pointless," he said.

"What would you have me do?" said General. "Let you kill me? You could at any time, but there's no more point to that. I still end up dead. Return to Earth? What for? Some kind of show trial? I'm a Maverick and a leader of Mavericks. Only one fate exists for me."

He leveraged himself up onto the ruined stumps of his legs. "Did you hear my speech declaring war?"

"I did," said X.

"I was willing… Repliforce was willing… to sacrifice all for our independence. We wanted to preserve our dignity. Our honor. But now I know… even that was chosen for me. It was engineered. I didn't even make that choice on my own. Independence was a fantasy."

He raised his head, looking at the ceiling, unable to meet the Hunters' eyes. "And because of that, all of my soldiers died. They died believing in me… a fraud, and a failure. A puppet. I couldn't do what I was supposed to do, and I couldn't do what I wanted to do, either."

Those last few words rung within Zero. He felt empty, and the words reverberated about. Didn't they describe Zero, too? (He'd killed Iris!) Hadn't Colonel believed in him? (He'd disappointed Colonel, then killed him!) He didn't know what he was supposed to do, and nothing that he wanted to do worked out, not in a world where Sigma was alive and Iris was dead…

He felt a glimmer of sympathy.

New, startling, alarming... and demanding. It tugged on him in a way he'd never felt. He gave in to it.

"I could end your suffering," he offered.

"Thank you," General said, "but no. I want to do this myself. I want to have one choice in my life be truly mine. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but please, Maverick Hunters… let me die on my own terms."

X was twisting himself in knots—Zero could see it. He recognized it. If he didn't know what to do, Zero certainly didn't…

And the epiphany broke upon him like the sun breaking through thick clouds.

I don't have to be the One That Kills Mavericks.

Oh, if only he'd known that sooner! Too late for Iris or Colonel, but for General's sake…

He reached out and put an arm across X's chest, restraining him. "Go, General," said Zero.

"What?" said X, startled. "What are you doing? Zero! General!"

General gave a brief salute, then twisted one of the airlock's control handles. There was a clang as the airlock's inner doors snapped shut. "Goodbye," Zero said.

It took enormous effort for General to turn the handle for the airlock's cycling controls. He had so little strength left. It was just enough; the handle clanged into position. General locked it back down and pressed the button—trivial in comparison—that initialized the cycle procedure.

There was a rush of air up and out—back into the station. The air was being pumped out to be conserved; releasing it to space was wasteful, unaffordable. General could feel the effects. Hydraulic fluid bled out through his open wounds, then was sucked out, and finally there was nothing left. His limbs were all but frozen in place; he toppled over against the outer doors while he still could. And still the air was drawn away, until there was only the slightest bit left, a tiny fraction of atmosphere.

The outer doors opened. The impulse of escaping air pulled General out into vacuum.

He was out amongst the stars.

There were so many. Space was so full.

But it was also so empty.

Paradox. How could space be so full when it was so empty?

And quiet. And so very, very cold.

One spark of warmth surged through him. There should have been enough room in space for Repliforce! The universe was vast. They should have been able to find a safe spot here among the stars.

But they were all dead.

All of Repliforce was dead—doomed by General's incompetence and the armature of the world. They were doomed before they were ever activated. They were built to die. Their fate…

Colonel had been right all along. Robotics was the science of engineering fate; death was part of the design.

General closed his eyes. Even if that's true… we didn't deserve this.

The final bit of warmth faded. The stars were cold.

Next time: Unresolved