Chapter V:

Anger Mismanagement

A clap of thunder sounded off beyond the walls. It served as a reminder that even after another 18 hours had passed, the storm was still persistent. At such a rate, it seemed as though this cyclone would never truly end. More thunder rumbled from outside. The echoes seeped into the walls of the twins' newly claimed room.

The only light inside came from the monitor 9S used to view the memories Devola recovered for him. He had been glued to that terminal since their return. He was elated to find so many memories stored on that single chip. The one 4S recovered paled in comparison. There were hundreds of files. Hours of data had been left for him to uncover. The vast majority of the files contained silent, uneventful recollections, but that did not matter to him. They were all so interesting.

Devola and Popola sat on one of the beds, chatting with each other as they always did. 9S would occasionally remove his headset just to hear them talk among themselves. Sometimes, he could not understand a word they were saying. They would occasionally speak in what he could only guess was something akin to tongues or cryptophasia. Whatever it was, it most certainly could not be a coherent language.

They were an odd pair. Part of him found their bizarre behavior endearing. Though, 9S could not deny the creepy nature of it. To be seated in this dark room for hours on end only to hear the two girls suddenly start speaking gibberish was a little disturbing.

After viewing one particularly dull file, he decided to listen in on them if for nothing else than to remind himself that they were still there. He rolled his eyes at what he heard.

"What are we supposed to do," Devola inquired.

"Nothing we can do," Popola muttered begrudgingly. Traces of seething anger could be heard in an otherwise mundane, if not slightly shaky tone. "We have no magical weapons so he mays a well be invincible."

Were they still yammering about his encounter with Amos? It was becoming an annoyance more than anything.

"Even if we do find something that could put him down, it ain't gonna make much of a difference," Devola added.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. The Legion's last stand was almost 10,000 years ago. This guy has been all alone in a hostile world for who knows how long? He's survived humanity, shades, aliens, machines, androids… I don't know if I'd wanna tangle with someone who can do all of that for so long."

"It makes no sense," insisted Popola. "This should be impossible. All traces of Demonic Element were banished. The entire world was cleansed. A living Legionnaire roaming freely in this world just isn't possible."

"I guess somebody must've missed a spot," Devola said with a chuckle. A somewhat disturbed laughter. She briefly paused before voicing a concern of her own. "On top of that, I'm guessing he's sentient. I mean, hell, Nines made friends with the damn thing! It's a miracle he's alive. If this guy was your average salt monster, we'd still be back there picking up the pieces of the brat's shattered skull!"

Devola turned to 9S. "Ya gonna keep eavesdropping all day or are you finally gonna tell us what you two talked about?"

9S ducked his head, pretending he was hard at work, but he quickly gave up the facade. "How did you guess?"

"It wasn't a guess," Devola flatly corrected. "I can see your screen from here."

"I already told you everything," 9S said with an annoyed sigh. "Stop worrying about it. And don't go digging up any weapons that could do him any harm. I don't care how many humans he's killed. I want Amos on our side. Just let me handle it."

The twins settled down after yet another heated debate with him. 9S carried on watching No.9's memory data. As he scrolled through the list of files, he heard rustling from behind. 9S glinted over his shoulder to see the twins headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"We forgot something," Devola informed. "Be back in a sec."

9S shrugged and watched them leave. He then turned to the terminal. He picked another random file and leaned back. Footage of a familiar desert appeared on screen. Dunes stretched out as far as the eye could see. 9S narrowed his eyes cynically. Was it truly to be another brief clip of a vista? Such memories were all he had seen for the past hour. He longed to hear No.9's voice. To learn more about his precursor.

For fear that he might miss something vital, 9S was prepared to sit through it all while expecting nothing in return. However, something did catch his interest. No.9 abruptly turned his head. His peripherals shifted to a darkly dressed android standing next to him.

9S leaned forward in his chair. He recognized her within an instant.

"2B," 9S spoke aloud.

Almost as if correcting him, No.9's voice filled his ears.

"No.2?"

It was the first spoken line 9S had heard in quite a long time. It almost startled him.

The image of 2B, or more accurately, this No.2; she turned to meet No.9's gaze. 9S felt as though she were staring him down. For but a split second, he had completely forgotten that what he was seeing was nothing more than someone else's memory displayed across the screen of an old terminal.

"Yes," she inquired. Even the prototype's voice was identical to how he remembered 2B to sound, if not a little livelier.

"Have you thought of a name yet," asked No.9. His cheerful, quizzical tone seemed so far removed from 9S.

Could he and No.9 truly be the same android? 9S raced through his own memories. What few remained, and thought upon them all while No.2 remained silent and simply stared at him through the screen. It was a haunting gaze. It felt like being watched by a ghost.

9S's behavior in the past was far more reminiscent of No.9. Just as 9S began to question if the memories Pod 153 left him were his or not, he was interrupted. No.2 spoke softly. Far more gently than he ever recalled 2B doing.

"No, I haven't. Zinnia said they would give us names, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Still, I kinda hope they'll just let me pick my own. I'm sure they'll just name us after some random flowers. It's really a letdown. I've got a couple ideas."

"Stop complaining," No.2 snapped. "Be grateful they'll give us something one day."

No.9 sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I wonder why they haven't done so yet. We've been serving for a while, now. Is there something specific we have to do or…?"

The memory ended far too soon. Out of all the files he had viewed up until that point, this one had the most abrupt ending.

In an irritated frenzy, 9S frantically replayed the memory. He simply had to see it again. At least one more time.

He viewed it a second time, but then he played it over again.

Then he played it once more.

Again and again, the boy rewatched that same memory unfold. A loop that would only end after 9S had seen it enough times to be satisfied, or whenever he could finally come to terms with the fact that there was nothing more to see.

The scanner spent some time idly scrolling through the different files. The last memory put him in an inexplicably sour mood. He reviewed the dates attached both those had already seen and those had yet to open. All of the files were created within the same year.

9S eventually tore his attention from the screen and to the front door. He removed the headphones and stared at the unmoving entrance. He could hear the rain, thunder, and especially the wind as it battered the walls. Even compared to the wild gales they dealt with on the way to the wall, it sounded as though the storm had yet again escalated to another level.

What concerned him was not the raging typhoon, but the fact that Devola and Popola had yet to return. 9S began to ponder what was going on out there. He grimaced as possibilities filled his thoughts. If there was ever a time for one of those resistance grunts to give them a hard time, it would likely be when he was not around. 9S highly doubted neither Popola nor even her more hot-headed sibling would do much aside from taking the abuse.

With nothing better to do and with his worries growing in intensity, he took hold of his sword and marched to the exit. He pushed open the door. 9S barely stepped outside when a violent gust of wind shoved the door further out of his way. It nearly ripped the thing off of its hinges.

9S flinched and ducked his head. Rain poured down from the heavens with newfound wrath. It still paled in comparison to those awful winds. Walled off by old, dilapidated buildings, yet all that shelter meant nothing.

There was not a soul in sight. 9S scanned his forsaken surroundings. He spotted an opening in the building just behind what used to be Anemone's canopy, but it was no longer in view. The entire setup was likely carried off by the constant gales.

Just inside the building, he could see a large gathering of people. 9S clenched his sword and made the trek across the camp. It was a struggle to walk against such a violent wind. Regardless, he charged through and entered the shelter. He spotted the twins quickly enough. They stood out in the crowd. Two heads of crimson hair decorated with matching, white flowers. They faced away from him and just as 9S had worried, their presence did not go unnoticed by the other residents of the camp.

A small cluster huddled near them. Angered faces lined the shadows. Popola stood quietly and listened whereas Devola would occasionally argue back. What they spoke of was unknown. 9S failed to hear them from such a distance while the cyclone wailed upon the earth. He was not at all concerned with specifics. He lifted the tip of his sword out of the mud and slowly approached.

It became more and more of a struggle to contain his anger. The viewing of that memory was already enough to contend with.

He let out an agitated sigh as he went. "I take my eyes off of them for a minute and now this."

As he drew closer, their voices became clearer. His stride came to a halt once he reached Devola.

"What seems to be the problem," 9S inquired in a soulless monotone. Traces of irritability were obvious to all who heard it.

"You," one of the resistance members announced. "Don't think you're doing a good deed by defending these two. They're just trying to get in your heads."

"I wasn't defending anyone," 9S corrected. "At least, not yet, anyway." He briefly examined the twins. Popola matched his analyzing gaze with a matching look in her eye. She silently scrutinized his every movement, already anticipating the inevitable.

The man turned his attention back to the twins. "No excuses. We've got wounded and you haven't done a thing to help. I don't trust you to lay a finger on them. Just go out there and fetch us more spare parts."

"Is that what this is about," 9S inquired. "If so, then you'd best stop pestering them. I already have them assisting me with a project of mine. You would surely understand this if Anemone was at all a competent leader and actually communicated the situation to you properly."

"Did you not hear me!? We're low on supplies and can't do anything apart from keeping them stable!"

9S looked on without a trace of sympathy. "And did you not hear me? I have a project and require their aid to complete it. Nothing is more important than my memories. Nothing. A fact you'd likely understand yourself if someone came along and stripped you of all that defines you."

"Whatever it is, it can wait! Maintenance has been overloaded for weeks, now! The situation is just going to keep deteriorating because these slime balls are too busy chasing you around."

Popola attempted to intervene. It was not a job she wanted as she would rather help heal as opposed to simply finding the parts for others to make the repairs. However, it something she did not intend to pass up. Any chance to atone was a welcome one.

"9S, don't worry about us. We'll help out at the maintenance shop and be done by the time you've reviewed all those files. Then we can go from there."

"No," Devola snapped.

Popola's forced smile was shattered as it became obvious that there would be no reasonable conclusion to this scenario.

Devola paid her no mind. "We were already helping him, and we'll keep doing so! Maybe instead of standing here, screaming at us, you could go back to doing your job and let us do ours. Unless you're just so inept that…"

She was cut off. The mechanic lunged forth out of a fit of rage and grabbed hold of Devola's left arm.

It would be the last thing he would grab with that particular arm. 9S lifted Cruel Oath high into the air on violent impulse and brought it down on him, slicing it clean off.

Blood sprayed freely from the gruesome wound. Through all of the shouting and confusion, 9S heard one of the strangest sounds he may have ever experienced. It was enough to pull him out of his bloodthirsty haze by its sheer, disturbing nature.

Quiet yet still very much audible. A sound that came from nowhere in the immediate area nor did it come from within. Instead, he heard it fall from the heavens far above the spiraling storm clouds. It trickled down like rain and filled his ears. A sound he had only rarely heard before in archived footage of humanity.

The squeaky cackling of infants. Phantom laughter from a foreign realm that he could not see, yet could so easily sense with a perked ear. The sound was one he could only describe to himself as cherubs laughing away in Heaven at the sight of his bloodletting.